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“Megan.” Simpson got to his feet, an unconvincing smile of sympathy curving his thin lips. “I’m truly sorry this has happened, but—”
“It hasn’t happened. Not yet. All the partners have to do is vote me in and tell the sheikh I’m more than capable of—”
“You’re a woman.”
That had stopped her. “Excuse me?”
Simpson gave a deep sigh. “It’s nothing personal. It’s not you per se. It’s only that—”
“That what?” She was still trying to sound civil. Not an easy thing when your wimp of a boss told you the job you’d been counting on, an assignment so sweet it had every other accountant in the office panting for it, wasn’t going to be yours after all. “Come on, Jerry. What has my being a woman to do with anything?”
“Actually,” her boss said, smoothly avoiding the question, “it’s for the best. I need you to handle a new client. Rod Barry, the big Hollywood director.”
“The Sheikh of Suliyam is the client I want.” Megan rose from her chair and put her hands on her hips. “He’s the client you promised me.”
“Barry’s a tough cookie. It’ll take special skills to work with him. You’re the only one I can count on to do the job. Do the great work I know you’ll do and you’re up for a partnership next year.” Simpson stuck out his hand. “Congratulations.”
If Megan had been born yesterday, maybe she’d have fallen for the whole routine, but twenty-eight years of living, a dual degree in economics and accounting, a master’s degree in finance and a hard-won slip of paper that said she was a Certified Public Accountant meant she was neither innocent, stupid, nor easily bought off.
And then there was that little remark about her being female.
Her boss was trying to bribe her into accepting her fate. Why? The truth was, he had the authority to take this job away from her. Why would he be trying to buy her off? There had to be a reason.
“Back up a little,” Megan said slowly. “You said I was a woman and that was a problem.”
“I didn’t say that. Not exactly. All I meant was—”
“Why is it a problem?”
Simpson folded his lips in so they all but disappeared. “Suliyam is a kingdom.”
“I’m fully aware of that. There’s a description of Suliyam’s structure in my proposal.”
“It has no constitution, no elected representatives—”
“Damn it, Jerry, that’s what a kingdom is! I spent three months doing the research.”
“Then you also know that its people live by traditions that might seem a bit, ah, old-fashioned to us.”
“Would you please get to the point?”
Simpson’s attempts to avoid the issue vanished. ‘‘You don’t want to handle the new account, then the best I can do is assign you to Frank Fisher as his assistant. He’ll go to Suliyam, you’ll stay here and execute the orders he sends.’’
‘‘No way am I going to play second fiddle to Fisher!’’
‘‘This discussion is over, Megan. You’re off the account. The sheikh wants it that way, and that’s the way it will be.’’
“The sheikh,” Megan said coldly, “is an idiot.”
Simpson had turned a deathly shade of white. He shot a look at her office door as if he expected to see the sheikh standing there with a sword in his hand.
“You see?” he hissed. “Aside from anything else, there’s one reason you’re not suitable for this assignment.”
Dumb, Megan told herself, dumb, dumb, dumb!
“You know I’d never say such a thing to him.”
“You’d never get the chance.” Simpson stuck out his jaw. “Or didn’t you notice, when you did your research, that women don’t have the same privileges there as they do here? They have no status in the sheikh’s world. Not as we understand it, anyway.”
