Page 198 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

“I’m not sure I should take either the help or the drink if you’ve got an ulterior motive.”

He laughed. “Mymotiveis to ply you with champagne and good conversation over the course of the next hour, until you’re willing to give me some tips—good,discreettips—to help me win the Sheikh’s business. And,” he added, cutting her off, “I’ll have the added advantage of time with a beautiful and intelligent companion—”

“Don’t ruin your chances before you begin,” Val said archly. Her cheeks were flaming hot, but her insides felt pleasantly warm. How long had it been since a man had flirted with her, in any capacity? It felt…nice. And there was an odd edge of kindness shaping Desmond’s countenance that she couldn’t identify; she only knew it was there, and she could feel it, drawing her to him despite herself.

Val took a step closer, offered him her hand, and his lips tipped up.

“Need a boost?”

“Please.”

In one breathless moment his hand was on the small of her back, burning through her clothes again, and she was up on the barstool. Had he lifted her? Had she floated? She had no idea. He was still standing, his head hovering well above hers.

She pressed her knees together, tugging to make sure the lace at the top of her stockings remained hidden; he caught the gesture and she saw something in his eyes kindle.

He was closer to her now, or was that her imagination? Val took a breath, giving herself a minute to look around at their opulent surroundings, trying to focus on anything but his face. There had been a time, years ago, when beauty had moved her. Her husband had been an expert when it came to scenes like this one: glamorous surroundings, a handsome face, a solicitous hand on her lower back. But it had all been a front, a smoke screen to nothingness.

She didn’t know what was behind the curtain with Desmond Tesfay. All she knew was that she had no intention of lifting it.

“Tell me how I’m really doing,” he murmured.

He’s closer!

She pushed the thought away with some effort and cleared her throat. “With the Sheikh?” her voice sounded unnaturally high.

“Yes.” He reached behind her and produced a tall glass of water, which he handed to her. She took a grateful sip. “I need something that will help me seal the deal.”

“I can’t divulge anything about my clients—”

“Yes, you can.” His dark eyes were glittering. “Or you can tell me what I must absolutely avoid. Come on, Miss Montgomery. You’ve seen my office, my setup, and heard a summary of my pitch.”

Yes, she had. And it was good—very good. What she’d seen of his campaign revealed the painstaking detail of his research into the region as well as the Sheikh. It had made her admire him more, really. The way his eyes had lit up—he had a vision for the region that was more than sparkly gadgets and flashy flight attendants.

“It was good,” she said with sincerity. Desmond straightened a little when she said that, and she was touched, despite herself. Her feedback mattered to him, and that showed a humility that was sorely lacking in the men she’d been interacting with over the past ten years. “You’re very young to have achieved so much,” she added.

He laughed out loud. “How old do you think I am? You’re talking as if you should be nannyingme.”

“Heaven forbid.”

Desmond was leaning in closer now, with a different sort of intensity than the flirtation he’d started with, but this version made her pulse race just as quickly. “I just meant…the scope of Tesfay International is impressive.”

Desmond leaned back, focusing his eyes on some glittering object some distance away from them. “I suppose.”

“Have you been in the Gulf long?”

He shook his dark head. “This is a bit of an expansion move.” His expression was suddenly wary and she wasn’t sure what had prompted that. “We’ve mostly been in the European market up until now.”

“We’ve?”

“My father. It’s his company, really.Washis company.” Desmond’s voice was growing crisper by the moment. “Hence the youth of which you so charmingly spoke—I’m a nepo baby.”

“And he sent you here?”

“He’s dead, sweetheart,” Desmond said, his voice drawing out the words to something long and almost lazy. He’d tilted his head back so that his face was momentarily in shadow, and she was unable to see his expression as clearly as she had before.

Val felt mortification wash over her at her own tactlessness. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have pried.” Val paused to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, then stilled the nervous movement; there was no hair there, of course. The amount of gel and edge control she used on a daily basis would have defeated even the most errant curl.

“No need to apologize. You weren’t to know.” His words were carefully enunciated, as if he’d rehearsed the lines many times but was still uncertain as to how to deliver them.

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