Hired: The Sheikh's Secretary Mistress. Lucy Monroe

must convince Grace to help him find a convenient wife…the only kind he wanted.

      Memories of the one emotional entanglement of his life and its aftermath sent chills through his heart. No love. No intense emotional connections. He was never going there again. Not in his mind, not in his heart and definitely not in his life.

      Grace settled into her seat beside Amir at Fenway Park. They’d flown to Boston on business and he had surprised her with front-row tickets to see her favorite baseball team. She loved the Boston Red Sox and any other time would be absolutely ecstatic over his generosity. Only she had a bad feeling they were by way of a bribe.

      He hadn’t said another word about her finding him a wife in almost a week, but she was too smart to think he’d forgotten about it. That wasn’t Amir’s way. She’d worked with him for five years and couldn’t think of a single instance when he had ever given up something he wanted after only one argument. He was much too confident and strong-willed to be easily dissuaded from a path he’d chosen.

      And he’d made it clear he wanted her on that path, choosing with him.

      This wasn’t right. Or even remotely fair. She should be enjoying the game. Instead, her mind was whirling with ways to convince Amir she meant business and fears that she wouldn’t be able to hold the line against him.

      It was hard saying no to the man you loved, even if he saw you as a piece of handy office furniture.

      Amir looked sideways at her. “Everything all right?”

      “Yes. I’m really happy to be here. Thank you.”

      The smile he flashed her was both sincere and incredibly sexy. “I am glad. And you are welcome. You deserve much more.”

      Okay, so not a piece of office furniture. Guilt suffused her. She sighed. She’d be willing to bet that if asked, Amir would not only describe her as a top-notch personal assistant, but he would also claim they were friends, too. And they were. The truth was, Sheikh Amir bin Faruq al Zorha was her best friend. She was pretty sure he considered her the same or close to it.

      The problem for her was that she longed to be more than his friend and knew that could never happen. He was so far out of her league, she might as well be considered a player in peewees, while he was definitely a top player in the major leagues.

      None of which was anything new to her, so why was she allowing the situation to ruin her current experience? The answer was, she wasn’t going to. This was a wonderful treat for an obsessive baseball fan like her and she wasn’t going to diminish it with depressing, but old and familiar thoughts.

      Grace forced her attention back to the men on the field. And if her senses were more in tune with the man beside her, no one had to know.

      Amir had been biding his time before approaching Grace again about the issue of finding him a wife. Whatever had caused her to be less than receptive the first time around would no doubt get better with time.

      This strategy had worked before. He would put an idea to Grace and give her time to think about it. If her first reaction was negative, more often than not she would talk herself into it more effectively than he could. Usually. He was hoping this was one of those times. But if it wasn’t, he’d taken care to soften her up with a trip to Fenway Park and was in the process of buying her a team jersey after a rousing win by her favorite team.

      She’d chosen one that was made for men and obviously at least a couple of sizes too big. When he’d pointed out one that would have been more formfitting, she’d shaken her head.

      He couldn’t complain about her propensity to wear either shapeless or oversized clothing—or both—because it was one of her habits that helped him control the frustrating desire that plagued him around her. Though even that habit was rather endearing.

      He had never known a woman so clueless regarding her feminine appeal, or how to showcase it.

      For this small mercy, he could only be grateful.

      He waited until they were in the limo before broaching the subject on his mind and in the end, she made it easy for him.

      She settled back against the leather seat facing him. “Okay, what gives? As if I didn’t know.”

      He poured her a glass of lime Perrier and himself a finger of vodka. Too bad she did not drink. Enhancing her malleability right now could only improve his cause. “If you already know, there’s no point in me saying it.”

      She took the sparkling water. “Thank you.”

      He inclined his head.

      She took a sip, regarding him over the rim of her crystal tumbler.

      “Thank you also for not denying that tonight has all been about buttering me up.”

      Now that stung. “Do you really think so?”

      She just shrugged, her hair for once not pulled up in a tight bun, but barely confined in a wild ponytail that made her look younger than her twenty-five years. She was dressed in a Red Sox T-shirt he’d bought her the year before and a pair of jeans that made her legs look a mile long. Thank goodness they were in her typical baggy style.

      He gave her a chiding look. “You’re not being fair, Gracey. And that’s not like you.”

      She pouted, her lip protruding adorably, and he had to slam down on the urge to kiss her.

      “Oh, all right…it’s not all about buttering me up. Even if you didn’t have something you wanted, you probably would have arranged tickets for the game.” She rolled her eyes. “And bought me the jersey, which I’m sleeping in for the foreseeable future…so, thank you.”

      The image of Grace in bed was not one he could afford, so he thrust it from his mind with ruthless precision.

      “I might have gotten regular box seats.” Though he wasn’t stingy with her and she knew it.

      Grace had few passions and baseball was one of them. He indulged her as much as possible. An excellent PA like her deserved a few perks.

      “Maybe…but regardless, I know you aren’t above using my good mood and sense of gratitude toward you for your own ends right now.”

      “If I were above it as you say, I wouldn’t be a very good negotiator, would I?”

      “I suppose not.” She bit her bottom lip and looked out the window for several seconds of silence.

      “What is holding your interest? It is simply the clogged traffic we encounter after every one of these events I’ve taken you to.”

      She sighed and turned her attention back to him, her hazel eyes troubled. “You want me to find you a wife.”

      “Yes.” He had her, he knew it. And no, he didn’t feel the least guilty for getting her in a moment of weakness.

      She glared at him. “You think you’ve won, but you haven’t.”

      “I will.”

      Her frown grew more fierce, but she didn’t deny it.

      “If you really wanted my cooperation, you should have arranged for me to meet Big Papi.” Her eyes glowed with something that disturbed him on many levels.

      “I have no desire to introduce you to your hero. Sports stars like him could benefit from having a good personal assistant, too. I will not lose you so easily.” He said the words as a joke, but felt them deeply.

      “You think so? I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

      “I am not amused.” The idea of her leaving him to work for the Red Sox’s lauded designated hitter filled him with annoyance, even though he knew it was in no way possible.

      She laughed, but then sobered almost instantly.

      “I’m not saying I’m going to do it, but if I did, what are you looking for in a wife?”

      The