Jackie Braun - Sheikh in the City

The stack of mail cushioning her heels drew her attention. She hadn’t had time for more than a cursory glance at the envelopes before leaving for the Hendersons that afternoon. Most contained bills. A few were junk mail. Only one was personal and would require a response. She pulled her feet to the floor and sifted through the pile until she found it. Even without opening the thick envelope she knew what was inside: an invitation to her younger sister’s wedding.

On an oath, she ripped back the flap and pulled out a square of ivory vellum. The quality of the paper and the engraved lettering had cost their parents a fortune, but then nothing was ever too good for Elle.

Emily’s younger sister could do no wrong. Even the fact that she was engaged to marry Emily’s ex-boyfriend, who had not yet been an ex when Elle first began seeing him, elicited no censure from their parents. Rather, Emily had been called on to be more “understanding” and, later, to be “happy” that her flighty baby sibling was finally settling down.

Elle Lauren Merit and Reed David Benedict, together with their parents, request the honor of your presence at their wedding …

Emily got no further than that before crumpling the invitation in her hand. Out of respect for the tree that had been chopped down to produce the paper, she decided to toss it in the recycling bin rather than the garbage. But she had no intention of honoring Elle and Reed with her presence as they exchanged I Dos, any more than she planned to give in to her mother’s urging that she don a bridesmaid gown and join the wedding party.

It wasn’t that Emily couldn’t forgive them. She wanted to believe she was bigger than that despite their monumental betrayal. No, it was the fact that neither of them had ever so much as acknowledged the pain they’d caused her or offered an apology of any sort. Quite the opposite. Elle had manipulated her illicit affair with her older sister’s longtime beau into proof positive that true love could not be denied.

“It’s destiny, Em. The answer to my prayers. Reed and I were made for one another,” she’d had the gall to claim. As if Emily was supposed to feel so much better knowing her sister had been hot for her boyfriend from the very beginning.

Reed had been neither romantic nor idyllic. Rather, he shifted the blame for his infidelity squarely to Emily.

“If you weren’t always so busy catering parties you might have noticed how unhappy I was,” he’d told her when she’d learned of the affair.

His remark had landed like a sucker punch. “I have a business, Reed.” A business he’d been only too happy to help her create and grow when it had been convenient for him.

“Don’t remind me.” He’d snorted in disgust. “You’re very much in demand these days.”

“Am I supposed to apologize for being successful?”

“No, but you shouldn’t act so surprised that with so much free time on my hands I found someone else.”

“That someone else is my sister!” she’d shouted.

He’d merely shrugged. “Elle understands me. She’s not interested in having a demanding career and working long hours. She wants to be supportive of me so that I can advance in mine.”

Gaping at him, Emily wondered if Reed had always been so chauvinistic or if her growing success had brought it out. Regardless, his attitude had her blood boiling.

“So, women can’t have a demanding job or pursue their dreams without expecting the men they’re involved with to stray. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m saying no man wants to place second to a woman’s ambitions.”

While Reed clearly felt a woman should be thrilled to place second to a man’s, his parting shot contained enough truth that Emily had decided if she was only entitled to one true love, it was safer for her heart to choose cooking.

Sighing now, Emily rose and, peeling off her stained chef’s coat, headed in the direction of the bedroom that, a year ago—a lifetime ago—she’d shared with the man who would soon make her sister his wife.

EVEN though she had retired late, Emily rose just before eight o’clock, as was her practice. She was a morning person, even though these days her career often demanded late nights. Caffeine—and lots of it—helped her stay on her feet.

Her East Village apartment measured barely seven hundred square feet and offered an uninspiring view of the alley from its two hazy, south-facing windows. In addition to the one small bedroom where she’d passed the night, it contained a hopelessly outdated bathroom and a cramped living room that doubled as her business office. Its kitchen, however, was a work of art.

When she and Reed had moved in a few years earlier, splitting the down payment and monthly expenses, the kitchen had been horrendous while the other rooms hadn’t been quite as space-challenged. The major renovation she’d treated herself to after he’d packed up his belongings and gone was responsible for that. As far as trades went, Emily figured she’d come out way ahead.

Gone was the galley that had barely allowed room for an under-counter refrigerator and persnickety electric stove. A wall had been knocked out, new wiring and plumbing installed. The new kitchen, which took up the space of the other three rooms combined, had a multi-burner gas cooktop, double ovens and a commercial grade refrigerator. It also offered plenty of counter space for food preparation and ample storage for her extensive collection of pots, pans, gadgets and appliances.

At this point in Emily’s life, her surroundings reflected her priorities perfectly, and she would make no apologies for that.

One of the perks of working from home was that her morning commute could be accomplished in a dozen steps while wearing her pajamas. Emily was seated at her computer, tweaking the ingredients in a recipe for roast duck, when she heard a knock at the door. A glance through the peephole had her cursing.

It was Dan.

He appeared freshly shaved and was wearing a tie. Despite the limited view, she was sure he looked every bit as polished and sophisticated as he had when she’d met him at the Hendersons’ the evening before. Meanwhile, she was clad in wrinkled drawstring pants and a snug white T-shirt that couldn’t camouflage the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. God only knew what her hair was doing.

To think she’d been concerned about her appearance last night! When she’d told him to call, she should have been more clear that she meant on the phone. And why, she wondered now, had she ever thought it a good idea to put her address on her business card?

Emily debated not answering his knock. She could get his number from Babs and contact him later in the day. But what if she couldn’t? What if she failed to reach him and he decided not to hire her despite the interest he’d expressed the prior evening?

Okay, she had an overactive imagination, but this much she knew: It never paid to be rude to a client.

So, after running her fingers through her hair in the hope of taming it, she flipped the dead bolt and unlatched the security chain. As she opened the door, she maneuvered her body behind it, using it as a shield so that only her head and one shoulder were visible. Pasting a bright smile on her face, she offered a greeting.

“Dan. Hello. This is a surprise.”

“Good morning.” His voice was as rich as the freshly ground roasted Kona beans in her coffeemaker, but his engaging expression faltered almost immediately. “You weren’t expecting me.”

“No.” She let out a self-conscious laugh. “Or is that yes?” When his frown deepened she clarified, “You’re right. I wasn’t expecting you. Sorry.”

“But I thought we had agreed to this morning? I believe you said I could call on you any time after nine.”