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“There is a golden canister in the kitchen. It carries the royal tea of Dashan. Make a pot and join me.”
It was, of course, not an invitation she could refuse. It was an order. And their talk would be led by him.
This was not a tête-à-tête so much as a function of her job.
It was, however, the first time she’d been called from her bed to make drinks and chat.
She boiled the water and measured leaves into a glass pot that was beside the golden canister.
After hunting around for a few minutes, she found a tray beneath the stove. She lifted it out and laid two cups in the centre, then placed the teapot on it and moved back into the living area of the enormous suite. “I couldn’t see milk or sugar.”
“I take neither.”
He’d moved to a lounge near the large windows. Olivia spun the pot three times, unconsciously reminding herself of her mother Meredith, and then poured a measure into o
ne of the fine bone china cups. When she handed it to him, she noticed how incongruous the tiny cup looked in his big, broad hands.
“Be seated.”
She lifted a teacup and took the seat opposite him. The view of Vegas sparkled beneath them, like something out of a modern fairy story. How many dreams were being made in the patchwork of light beneath them? How many were being broken?
Olivia didn’t speak. After all, Zamir was in charge. This was not the time to begin babbling.
“You are not from America,” he said after a long stretch of silence.
“No.”
“England?”
“Australia,” she corrected. “A small wine-growing district in the West.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “You have been here long?”
“No.”
That did surprise him. “And yet you are highly regarded by the man who owns the agency. He recommended you over all his other staff.”
Olivia felt pleasure curl her toes. She was not given to false modesty. She shrugged her slim shoulders. “I’m good at what I do.”
He studied her in detail and again her obvious physical attributes punctuated the worry that fogged him constantly at that time. He supposed she had a lot of clients who enjoyed having such a beautiful woman at their beck and call. Had she ever been asked to give more of herself than her job technically required? Had she ever been expected to indulge all of her clients’ desires?
“Do you train for something like this?”
“No, not as such,” she smiled and sipped her tea. It was delicious. Herbal and fruity, with a refreshing aftertaste. “Lots of different skills come into play.”
“Such as?” He prompted.
“Patience. Lateral thinking. Charm.” She flicked her eyes to his face. Olivia found it hard to believe this man truly wanted to hear about her professional background. He was quiet, as though her words were reverberating around his handsome head. But he didn’t speak.
After almost a minute, she said gently, “If there’s nothing else, sir …”
His expression was instantly displeased. “I would like you to remain until I dismiss you. Understood?”
Her heart turned over in her chest. He was not the first client to treat her like dirt on his shoe, but for some reason, his domineering tone cut her to the quick.
“Yes, sir,” and though she didn’t salute, the offence in her voice was obvious.
He heard it; he understood, and he cared far more than he ought. His explanation was the closest he’d come to apology in a long time. “My business here is not pleasant. I find I cannot put it from my mind. I want you to help me.” And there was a tone of pleading in his voice. “Do you have any brothers?”
