Sheikh in the City

“Of course.” He cleared his throat. “That’s actually the reason for my call. One of my guests and his wife will be out of town, leaving just two other couples and myself.”

“That’s too bad. I’ll adjust the portions accordingly.” Then, “You don’t have a date?”

“A date?”

“I only ask because Babs Henderson insists on an even number at her gatherings. I’ve known her to ask her social secretary to sit in to avoid going odd.”

“No. I don’t have a date.”

“Really?” She sounded surprised. “Okay.”

“You think I should have one?”

“Well, no. It’s not a requirement or anything. I just thought that someone who looks like you would have one if not several women…” She coughed, clearly embarrassed. “Um, never mind.”

Manhattan was far from his homeland, but Madani had spent enough time in the city that he knew plenty of women he could invite. Women who would drop everything to spend an evening in his company, even though he always made it clear, without going into too much detail, that a long-term relationship would never materialize.

He didn’t feel he was being unfaithful to Nawar. After all, they were not officially engaged. In truth, they had met on only a handful occasions during which he’d been allowed no more than to brush both of her cheeks with his lips in his culture’s customary greeting.

He pushed thoughts of Nawar and all other women away. All other women save Emily.

“When are you free to discuss the menu?”

“You want to meet?” She sounded surprised. “We can…or, if your schedule is full, I can e-mail you the proposed menu and we can go over it on the telephone.”

“Is that how you normally conduct business?”

“Sometimes.” She laughed, the sound again pleasing. “I’ve found that there’s really no such thing as normal. Some clients want to try samples of the dishes I suggest. Others leave everything to me. And then there are the high-maintenance types who demand they accompany me to the grocery store.”

“And you let them?”

“I don’t encourage it, but for what I charge…” She cleared her throat. “You’re a businessman. The client is always right, remember?”

“Indeed.”

“So?” she prodded.

“When can we meet? And, of course, I’ll want samples.” He chuckled before adding, “I may even request to come shopping with you. Those who know me well will tell you I can be very demanding.”

“Are you serious?”

“On all counts.” Though he hadn’t been till she’d called him on it. “Are you free Saturday night?”

“I’m a caterer.” Her tone was dry.

“Day then.” Which was for the best, he reminded himself. Even in his country, Saturday night was the territory of couples and dates.

“I have a dinner party for twelve at seven o’clock. It’s going to take up a lot of my time since my assistant has asked for the night off. I plan to start some of my prep work the night before.”

“So the morning should find you free.”

Her laughter was exasperated now. “You don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

“No. The customer is always right, remember?”

“Absolutely. Come by anytime between ten and noon. I can’t promise samples of the meal I’d like to make for your guests, but we can go over the menu and I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have.”

“Very good. Until then.”

For no reason he could nail down, Madani was smiling when he hung up.

Dan arrived at Emily’s door promptly at ten the following morning. This time, she was ready for him. She answered his knock fully dressed and coiffed, her teeth brushed and her makeup applied.

She’d taken a little more time on her appearance than she normally did on a day that would find her toiling in her kitchen, but she wanted to present a crisp and professional image since she had a client coming over. Of course, that didn’t explain why she’d opted to forego a white, standard-issue chef’s coat in favor of a short-sleeved teal blouse that brought out flecks of blue in her eyes. Thankfully, enough sanity prevailed that she’d layered an apron over the dry-clean-only fabric before starting to chop the ingredients for one of the three appetizers she was to prepare.

“Good morning.” His voice was as deep and rich as she remembered.

“Good morning.”

He was dressed casually in tan slacks, a pair of broken-in loafers and a white oxford shirt. He wore no tie, which made sense since it was Saturday. Even so he radiated the same authority and sophistication he did wearing expensive, tailored suits.

Realizing she’d been staring at him while he remained in the hallway, she backed up and invited him inside.

After Emily closed the door, she turned to find that he was staring, too. At her apron.

“You are already working?”

“For hours now. I’ve been up since six, although I didn’t get anything accomplished until after I’d had a cup of espresso. I was up a little late last night. Today’s client called just before five yesterday afternoon with a last-minute menu change. It seems one of her guests has a shellfish allergy, so the shrimp appetizer I’d planned was a no-go.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

“A caterer’s work is never done.”

“Exactly.” She flashed a smile as they walked into the kitchen.

“Are you like this every weekend?” he asked.

“When I’m lucky.”

Dan frowned at her reply. “Perhaps you should consider hiring more assistants. It sounds as if you could use the additional help.”

She could. That was true enough. But adding more employees to the payroll was out of the question. Their wages and the additional taxes would eat too far into her profits. Emily figured she could work herself to near exhaustion on weekends for however long it took to open her restaurant. What else did she have going on Saturday nights anyway? When The Merit became a reality, she would gladly hire a full kitchen and wait-staff, and take off nights here and there when the mood struck. Until then, caffeine would be her best friend.

Which prompted her to ask, “Can I get you something to drink? Espresso? Coffee? Tea, maybe?”

“Coffee, since I see that you already have a pot prepared.” He nodded in the direction of the state-of-the-art brewing station she’d splurged on the previous Christmas.

“Yeah. I switched to French roast after the espresso.” She grinned. “I figured I’d better pace my caffeine intake. I can’t afford to get jittery when I’m working with knives.”

He smiled in return as he settled onto one of the tall stools at the granite-topped island. At the moment, the island was littered with a cornucopia of fresh produce that had already been washed. Some of it would be used in a salad. Others would be chopped and added to the various dishes.

As she poured them both a cup, he reminded her she hadn’t answered his question about hiring more help. Emily didn’t feel it would be professional to discuss finances with a paying client, so she edited her response before speaking.

“I’ve always loved cooking and creating new dishes, which is why I do what I do for a living. So, I don’t mind the extra work.” She handed him his coffee and sipped her own.

“But what do you do for pleasure?” he asked.

The exotic lilt in his voice caused the last word to feather over Emily’s flesh like a caress, and it had her stammering like a schoolgirl.

“I…I…I…read.” If he hadn’t been watching her she would have smacked her forehead at the lame response. She didn’t have to know Dan well to figure out he was sophisticated, educated and cultured. He probably could lead Met patrons on a guided tour of the museum’s Egyptian antiquities exhibit. And she was certain he spent his free time engaged in far more pleasurable

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