Modern Romance - The Best of the Year. Miranda Lee

head, intending to give a sharper retort along the lines of Immature as you are, your worshipfulness, I don’t think you exactly need a nanny, then she remembered all the eyes upon them. That type of banter was private, between her and Sharif, not between Irene Taylor, the American nanny, and the Emir of Makhtar. The banter was in the past, anyway. It was when Sharif had wanted to seduce her, and when she’d nearly given him the chance.

      “I was not aware you had any children, Your Highness,” she said coldly.

      A half smile twisted the edges of Sharif’s lips. She had the feeling he knew exactly how she’d felt forced to choke back her real reaction. He’d probably set up this meeting in public for exactly those reasons, damn him.

      “I have a younger sister,” he said.

      Her lips parted. She tried to keep her expression impassive as she said, “Tell me about the position,” as coolly as if she had already had five job offers today and fifty thousand dollars in the bank.

      He lifted a dark eyebrow. “I would be pleased to give you further details, Miss Taylor. Shall we talk outside?”

      She nodded. Rising to her feet, she followed him out of the villa, to the very same terrace where they’d first danced. It already seemed so long ago.

      The blue skies and warm autumn sun had evaporated. Winter, too long held at bay, had finally arrived full force into northern Italy. The lowering sky was gray, and mist covered the tips of the distant hills across the lake. A cold blast of wind made her shiver in her comfy pink hooded sweatshirt and old jeans.

      Irene looked pointedly at the bodyguards who’d followed them outside. With a sigh, Sharif gave them a glance, and they backed up to the villa wall, out of earshot.

      “Why are you asking me to work for you?” she hissed. “What kind of trick is this?”

      “No trick.” He tilted his head, his eyes dark. “I’ve recently had reason to sack my sister’s current companion.”

      “What happened? Let me guess. You fired her for talking back? If that’s the case, there’s no point hiring me. You know that I—”

      “She showed up here last night. In my bed.”

      Her cheeks went pink. “Oh,” she said faintly. “Delivery service. How nice for you.”

      “No,” he said sharply. “I don’t sleep with employees. I threw her out. Now my sister needs a trustworthy companion until her wedding three months from now.”

      “Wedding? How old is your sister?”

      “Nineteen.”

      Someone else getting married so young. It made Irene feel suddenly ancient at twenty-three. “Why would you choose me?”

      Sharif’s dark eyes met hers.

      “Because I feel I can trust you to look out for my sister,” he said quietly. “And I know I won’t find you unexpectedly naked in my bed.”

      He sounded so sure of that. He didn’t know what turning down his offer last night had cost her. Irene shivered in her thin cotton hoodie, looking out at the gray lake. She thought of what was waiting for her in Colorado. What was waiting for her in Paris.

      “When is the wedding exactly?” she said.

      “Late February.”

      “And the salary?”

      “Ah.” He relaxed, tilting his head as he gave a shrug. “For a trustworthy person of this nature, you understand, no price would be too great.”

      “How great is great?”

      “Name your price.”

      Name your price? That was something people said in movies, not in real life. “You can’t be serious.”

      “Try me.”

      Irene licked her lips. Recklessly, she thought of a huge amount, more than a whole year’s salary working for her previous families in either New York City or Paris. She opened her mouth to ask for that amount.

      Then she snapped it shut.

      She mustn’t be hasty. She’d read in a book once that women never valued themselves highly enough—that they were afraid to negotiate salaries out of a fear of being turned down, or even more ridiculously, of not being liked. Well, she didn’t care if Sharif liked her, did she? And he was making it plain she had him over a barrel. If there was ever a time to value herself highly, it was now.

      She thought of what it would cost to send her mother to the best rehab facility in Denver. The cost of moving to a brand-new apartment in a brand-new city, of paying rent for the next five years so her sister could go to community college and never again be tempted to go looking for some sugar daddy in a bar. Irene thought of the cost of making sure none of them would ever have to go back to that sad little house by the railroad tracks again. A new life not just for Irene, but for her mother and older sister.

      So she took that first number and exploded it, like turning a single-story building into a skyscraper. Taking her heart in her hands, she kept her face expressionless and looked him straight in the eyes. “A hundred thousand dollars.”

      “Agreed,” he said, before she’d even finished the last word.

      Oh, no! She’d blown it! The fact that he’d agreed so quickly meant she hadn’t asked for nearly enough!

      “Per month,” she added quickly.

      He gave her an amused smile. “Naturally.”

      “Fine,” she said, wishing she’d had the guts to ask for more.

      “Fine. I will have my people pack your things.”

      “Thanks, but I prefer to pack my own stuff. I already did it in any case.”

      “Of course you did. Independent and responsible as you are.” He smiled again, and his dark eyes seemed to caress her face, causing an answering spark of awareness to light like a match inside her. Match? That match had been lit from the moment he’d found her standing alone at the moonlit lake that first night. It had turned into a simmering fire that was waiting at any moment to explode.

      She wouldn’t let it. She’d already passed the test, hadn’t she? She’d resisted her attraction to him and for the sake of the three hundred thousand dollars, more money than she’d ever seen in her lifetime or would ever expect to see again, she would resist it again.

      Fortunately, she knew he wouldn’t pursue her romantically again. Obviously, he’d been just trying to amuse himself with a bit of slumming during his friend’s wedding weekend, but they were returning to real life now. To his home country.

      Holy cow. Sharif was Emir of Makhtar. He’d made her forget. Once they were in Makhtar, though, she’d likely never see him in the palace, not until the day he paid her. Likely not even then. Paying the help? He had people to handle that sort of thing.

      “So when do we leave?” she asked awkwardly.

      He smiled. “As soon as we say our goodbyes and get the suitcases in the car.”

      Two hours later, they were boarding his enormous private jet.

      “So what did Mrs. Falconeri say when you told her you were coming to work for me?” Sharif asked as they crossed the tarmac.

      Irene blushed. “I, um, never told her.”

      He gave a low laugh that was way too knowing. She changed the subject. “What’s it like? Your home?”

      “An oasis on the Persian Gulf. Sparkling new city, palm trees, a bright blue sky, warm, friendly people.”

      She looked at him skeptically. “I already agreed to the job. You don’t have to sell the place like a tourist-board representative. I want to know what it’s really like.”

      Sharif stopped, looking at her. “It’s the