Claimed by the Desert Sheikh. Оливия Гейтс

waited.

      She raised her chin. “You can’t hurt her. She doesn’t deserve that. You can’t use your position or power against her.”

      Annoyance filled him. “You challenge my integrity?”

      “Among other things.”

      “I am Prince Qadir of El Deharia. No one questions me.”

      “Then this is going to be a bad day for you.”

      “I can have you deported.”

      “I don’t doubt that. Maggie is my friend and I don’t want you to hurt her.”

      She trembled. He could see it. Yet she didn’t back down. She faced him, knowing she could lose her job and be sent home in disgrace.

      His opinion of both women increased favorably. Victoria for being so willing to protect her friend and Maggie for inspiring such loyalty.

      He wondered if Nadim had ever noticed the firebrand lurking behind Victoria’s blue eyes. It was his cousin’s loss if he had not.

      Qadir walked around the desk and touched Victoria’s shoulder. “I will not hurt your friend. Maggie is doing me a favor. I have no intention of making her regret her decision to help. We have a business arrangement. Nothing more.”

      Victoria shook her head. “That’s what she said. It always starts out sounding so sensible, right up until someone gets hurt.”

      “But I don’t want to,” Maggie said, a distinct whine in her voice. “I don’t like shopping.”

      Qadir laughed. “You are the first woman to ever say so.”

      “I’m sure there are other women who don’t like to shop,” she muttered, wondering if she could fling herself out the limo’s rear door and survive the impact. She would probably end up with a few scars but they would be better than an afternoon spent shopping. She shuddered at the thought.

      “If you are to spend time with me, you need an appropriate wardrobe,” he told her. “You came prepared to work on cars, not date a prince.”

      She knew he was right. She didn’t have any clothes to wear to all the events he’d mentioned. She needed a decent wardrobe to be able to fit in. But shopping?

      “Can’t we use the Internet?”

      “No.”

      “We could send them my measurements. Wouldn’t that work?”

      “No.”

      “But there—”

      “No.”

      She slumped back in her seat. “This really sucks.”

      He laughed.

      They pulled up in front of the exclusive boutique where she and Victoria had come before. Maggie had a feeling they weren’t going to be checking out the consignment room.

      “Not here,” she told him. “It’s too expensive.”

      He turned to her. “Maggie, do you know how much I’m worth?”

      Not even a clue. “A lot?”

      “Exactly.”

      She eyed the store. She didn’t want to go in, but then she didn’t want to go to any store. “Okay, but they offer a palace discount. Make sure you use it.”

      He was still laughing when they walked inside.

      Last time she’d been here, she and Victoria had moved through the large boutique without being acknowledged by a single assistant. Now it seemed as if every employee descended.

      “Prince Qadir, you are here. How lovely to see you.”

      “Prince Qadir, as always you brighten our day.”

      “How may we help you?”

      “What can I show you?”

      Maggie slipped behind him for protection.

      Then a tall, elegant woman of indeterminate age glided toward him.

      “Prince Qadir,” she said in a low, cultured voice. “You honor us with your presence.”

      “Thank you, Ava.” He turned to Maggie. “This is Ava. She owns the store. She’ll be helping us today.”

      Ava smiled at Maggie and took her hand. “Welcome, my dear.”

      Maggie wanted to slink away. Ava was one of those perfect women who looked like she would never wear anything that didn’t match or had a stain or was sensible.

      “Maggie is very special to me,” Qadir said. “But not much of a shopper. She needs a complete wardrobe. One that prepares her for anything. However, I will warn you—she will resist this process. I’m counting on you to convince her all is necessary.”

      Ava smiled at Maggie. “My pleasure. Come, child. We have much to do. Let’s get started.”

      Maggie felt like the fly being led away by the spider. She wanted to yell back at Qadir not to leave her alone with this woman, but she knew he wouldn’t take her seriously. He thought this was funny. Which was just like a man. Someone should pinch and poke him while forcing him to wear stupid clothes. Then they’d see how much he liked it.

      Ava led her to a large dressing room where they both stood in front of the three-way mirror. Maggie looked and felt frumpy next to the other woman. She sighed.

      “What would you say your style is?” Ava asked.

      “I have no idea.”

      “Casual, I’m thinking. You’re not the sort of person to ever really enjoy wearing a dress.” She turned Maggie so she was facing the mirror sideways. “Hmm. You have a perfectly good figure, but those jeans do nothing for you. I have a couple of styles in mind that will make you look spectacular.”

      Maggie stared at her. “Jeans?”

      Ava smiled. “Very expensive designer jeans, child. With the right accessories, a beautiful blouse and jacket, jeans can be worn many places. A casual dinner, a luncheon. Nothing with the king, of course.”

      Ava walked around her. “While I would normally want to put one of Qadir’s young women in pretty dresses, that won’t do for you. You’ll just be uncomfortable. We’ll do pants as much as we can, then separates. You’re going to be stuck with dresses for evening wear, of course. There’s no getting around it.”

      Maggie thought of the ball gown she’d worn and how it had made her feel. “Sometimes a dress is okay.”

      “I’m glad you think so.”

      “I can really wear jeans?”

      Ava smiled. “I promise.”

      It was kind of funny how at that moment Ava transformed from a spider into someone really, really nice.

      Three hours and Maggie wasn’t sure how many outfits later, she found herself sitting in front of a mirror at a very upscale beauty salon. She knew the place had to be pricey because they’d offered her a latte, bottled water or cocktail before discussing her hair. No one had ever offered her a cocktail before cutting her hair. Of course the way her stomach was jumping, getting tipsy didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

      “Not too short,” Qadir said as he stood behind the chair, next to the stylist—a short man with a ponytail. “I like her hair long.”

      “I agree.” The stylist, whose name Maggie couldn’t remember, ran his hands through her hair. “She has a natural wave. I want to layer it so we can see the movement.”

      Maggie wrinkled her nose. “Does anyone care that I hate my natural wave?” It was one of the reasons she wore her hair as long as she did and always tied it back. To hide the natural wave.

      “Not