Page 98 of Bred By the Sheikh

That was probably healthy.

I took a canapé from a passing tray before turning my attention back to the room.

For the next hour, I watched the gala operate around the strategy we’d spent all week discussing.

A server quietly replaced a guest’s chair with one that gave her more room without interrupting the conversation.

A staff member intercepted a family looking uncertain near the ballroom entrance and guided them before they had to ask.

At another table, a guest reached for water and found the glass already filled.

When Tariq finally reached me, he stopped at my side without touching.

“You’ve been watching the staff.”

“I’ve been working.”

“At my gala?”

“I’m very dedicated.”

His attention moved slowly over my dress.

I felt the look everywhere.

“You chose this one too.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You should keep choosing your own clothes.”

“That sounds suspiciously like permission.”

“It was admiration.”

“That was better.”

His mouth tilted.

A photographer called toward him from several feet away.

My shoulders tightened before I could stop them.

Tariq noticed.

He didn’t take my arm or pull me into position.

He simply shifted slightly so his body blocked the easiest angle.

“You don’t have to be photographed with me.”

I met his eyes.

“I know.”

“If you want to leave this part of the room, I’ll have someone take you wherever you prefer.”

“I don’t want to leave.”