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“I own controlling interest in a big company. I know who’s managing the world’s oil. I met Xaviera’s Prince Alex a few years back. When he married, I did my research.”
“Why would you care who he married?”
He sniffed a laugh. “Would you put your money in oil stocks if the region was unstable?”
“That has nothing to do with Alex getting married. Besides, that region’s always unstable.”
“Let’s call it controlled instability because of people like Prince Alex’s dad, King Ronaldo. As long as Ronaldo is happy, he’s strong. I needed to make sure Alex’s marriage didn’t rock the boat.”
She supposed that was true. “So you know that our country’s every bit as well ruled as Xaviera.”
“Your country nearly had a coup at the beginning of the year.”
“Nearly. King Mason was on top of things.”
He made a noncommittal sound.
“But, just for the sake of argument, let’s pretend he wasn’t. He is now.”
“True.”
“We’re going through something that could be described as a renaissance, and you could be part of that.”
“I’m rich. I don’t need to be part of anything.”
His phone rang. He slid it from his breast pocket. “Very few people have this number. So if someone’s calling it’s important.” He clicked the button to answer. “Hello?”
A pause.
“Maurice! Je m’excuse. Mon voyage a été coupé court...”
French again. Damn it. She knew two languages. The language of her country and English. It was becoming clear that she would have to fix that, if she wanted to run an international charity.
As he went on, holding a conversation in a language she didn’t speak, she looked at the luxurious interior of the car. She’d ridden in limos with the princess, of course, but this felt different. She wasn’t the scampering, scrambling employee of an important person, doing her job to make Eva’s life easier. She was the one talking to the important person.
She was more than getting her feet wet with this guy. He took her seriously.
She felt herself making her first shaky step into the life and work she really wanted. Though she loved being Princess Eva’s assistant, she had a degree in economics and a plan to change the world. When she was in high school, her pen pal Aasera had been one of six kids, living in Iraq. Her brothers had been educated, but she and her sisters were not. So she’d sneaked her brothers’ books. When they discovered, she’d begged them to teach her to read and write, and they did.
She had been brave, determined. She’d often said her country would be a different place if women were educated, and she’d intended to make that happen. But she’d been killed by a suicide bomber, and in her grief Kristen had vowed to make Aasera’s wish a reality.
Today, she was finally beginning to feel she could make that happen.
Dean hung up the phone. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine.”
The words were barely out of her mouth before his phone rang again.
He waved it at her. “Sorry. I have to answer.”
This time he spoke fluent Spanish. Not wanting to appear to be listening in, though she couldn’t since she also didn’t speak Spanish, she looked at the beauty of Paris outside the car windows. The curved arches. The ornate buildings. Happy people bundled in scarves and warm coats, sitting on the chairs of sidewalk cafes, in spite of the December cold.
She almost couldn’t believe she’d been courageous enough to take her own money and track down Dean Suminski, but here she was, in Paris, trying to influence him as an equal—or at least as someone who deserved his support. It filled her chest with pride and her stomach with butterflies, but after three years as Eva’s assistant, she was ready to move on.
Dean talked so long that the city gave way to a quieter area, and then the buildings became fewer and farther apart. Suddenly a private airstrip appeared. Eight or ten bright blue, gray and tan metal hangars gleamed in the morning sun. Around them were five jets that ranged from a sleek, slim, small one to a plane big enough to hold the entirety of Grennady’s parliament.
