“What kind of temple?” I hear myself asking, and I want to take the words back immediately.
But it’s too late. He sees the shift in my expression and presses forward.
“We’re not sure yet. That’s why I need you. The site has been largely unexplored. There are some surface indicators, architectural fragments, pottery shards. But nothing conclusive. Not yet.”
My mind is racing. Jumayah. Henry had been obsessed with that region. My mentor, the man who taught me the best ofwhat I know about Middle Eastern archaeology, spent the last years of his life trying to prove his theory about the temple complexes there. He’d died before he could get funding for his own excavation.
“My mentor worked in that area,” I say quietly. “Henry Coulter.”
“I know. I’ve read his papers. They’re part of why I bought the site.”
I stare at him. “You bought it?”
“The land, yes. It’s privately owned now, which means we can move faster than if we had to work through government channels. I’ve already secured the permits.”
He’s done his homework. And he knows exactly what bait to dangle in front of me.
“The project would be fully funded,” he continues. “State-of-the-art equipment, a small team of specialists, and full autonomy over the excavation process. You’d be the lead archaeologist. Your decisions would be final.”
“And what doyouget out of it?”
“I get to uncover my grandmother’s history. She was from Jumayah. She died three years ago, and…” He pauses, and for just a moment, the polished businessman façade cracks. “I want to understand where she came from. What her stories meant.”
It’s the first human thing he’s said, and it catches me off guard.
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a folded paper, sliding it across the coffee table.
“This is my offer.”
I pick it up and unfold it. My eyes go straight to the number at the bottom.
I read it twice to make sure I’m seeing it correctly.
It’s more money than I’ve made in the past three years combined. It would be enough for Ella’s college fund. For a down payment on this cottage—which I know is available for sale, but that I’m tens of thousands away from getting together. It would be enough for real security.
“That’s for six months of work,” he says. “We’d provide accommodation, food, all expenses. You’d just need to?—”
“I can’t,” I say, even though every fiber of my being is screaming at me to reconsider. “I have a daughter. She’s fourteen months old. I can’t just leave her for six months.”
He blinks, surprise flashing across her face. “Oh. You can’t leave her with your husband?”
I stare at him.Did he seriously just say that?
“I don’t have a husband,” I say slowly, doing my best to not get offended. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t leave my young child for six months. Not for anything in the world.”
From the blank expression on his face, I can tell he doesn’t have children. Or at least Ihopehe doesn’t, because God save any kids born to a man who thinks it’s perfectly suitable to leave them behind for half a year.
He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Bring her with you.” He says it like it’s the simplest solution in the world.
I blink. “What?”
“Bring your daughter. And whoever watches her. I’ll cover their expenses too. Accommodation, food, travel. Whatever you need.”
“You want me to bring a baby—who will soon be a toddler and walking everywhere—to an archaeological dig site in the desert?”
“I want you on this project,” he says firmly. “And if that means accommodating a child, then that’s what we’ll do.”
I stare at him, searching for the catch. Men like this don’t make concessions. They don’t bend their plans around other people’s needs.
