Azeem, who to Madani’s knowledge wasn’t even seriously involved with anyone, was surprisingly outspoken on the matter, which in turn made him annoyingly outspoken in his dismay over Madani’s decision to honor his arranged betrothal.
“You have an opportunity to lead even before taking your father’s place,” Azeem had hollered during one of their many arguments on the subject. “If you refuse to marry under these conditions, others would be willing to follow your example.”
He’d considered that at one time, but he’d shaken his head. “It is done.”
Madani hadn’t just been referring to the fact that his betrothal to the daughter of one of his father’s closest political allies had been arranged when he was still a toddler. As he’d told Azeem, it was his father’s wish. What reason did he have to risk his father’s health? Nawar would make a suitable wife. Besides, the notion of marrying for love seemed far-fetched. He’d spent time with plenty of women over the years, but he’d never felt the intense emotion the poets claimed existed.
For no reason he could fathom, his thoughts turned to Emily Merit.
“I was unaware you knew someone in this part of Manhattan,” Azeem had said when they’d arrived outside her apartment building that morning. “She must be very pretty to have roused you so early after a late night. Am I to conclude you have changed your mind about a final fling with which to remember your bachelorhood?”
“This is a business meeting,” he’d answered irritably. “Nothing more.”
It was a business matter, but the pretty young woman he’d hired to cater his dinner party also had captured his interest.
Chapter Three
THE FOLLOWING week, Emily was still on Madani’s mind, which he supposed made sense since his personal assistant had given him the list of the RSVPs for his dinner party. He decided to call her.
She answered on the fourth ring, sounding cheerful if breathless.
“Hello, Emily. This is Dan Tarim.”
“Dan, hi. You must be psychic. I’ve been thinking about you and was just about to call.”
Her laughter, light and musical, floated over the line. He pictured her face with its errant dimple, blue eyes and soft mouth. Interest, an uncomfortable portion of it sexual, gave a swift tug.
“You’ve been thinking about me?”
“Yes. I’ve put together the most amazing menu for your guests.”
“Menu,” he repeated.
“As I promised, I want to run it by you before I purchase all of the ingredients, especially those pricey white truffles. And, of course, I will need a head count.”
“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.”