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‘I won’t.’
‘While you are here, you will have nothing to do with the Qurhah campaign.’
‘But—’
‘No buts, Leila. I’m telling you no—and I mean it. It will only complicate matters. People working on the account might feel inhibited dealing with you—a woman who just happens to be a princess of the principality. Their creativity could be inhibited and that is something I won’t tolerate.’ He subjected her to a steady look, glad of the large and inhibiting space between them. ‘Is that clear?’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do say so. And—barring some sort of emergency—you will not come to my office again unless you are invited to do so. While you are here at Zeitgeist, you will receive no deferential treatment—not from me, nor from anyone else. You are simply one of the four hundred people I employ. Got that?’
‘I think I’m getting the general idea, Gabe.’
Gabe couldn’t fail to notice the sardonic note in her voice, just as he couldn’t fail to notice the small smile of triumph she was trying to bite back, having got her way as he had guessed all along she would. And maybe he should just try to be more accepting about the way things had turned out. Alastair McDavid was no fool—and he’d said that Leila had an extraordinarily good eye and that her photos were pretty near perfect. Her talent was in no doubt—and, since her work had been submitted anonymously, nobody could accuse him of nepotism.
But Gabe was feeling uncomfortable on all kinds of levels. For the first time ever his personal life had entered the workplace and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. Despite years of occasional temptation and countless invitations, he’d never dated an employee or a client before. He had seen for himself the dangers inherent in that. There had never been some hapless female sobbing her eyes out in the women’s washroom because of something he’d done. He’d never been subjected to awkward silences when he walked into boardroom meetings, or one of the Zeitgeist dining rooms.
The less people knew about him, the better, and he had worked hard to keep it that way. He was never anything less than professional with his workforce, even though he joined in with ‘dress-down Friday’ every week and drank champagne in the basement bar next door whenever a new deal was signed. People called him Gabe and, although he was friendly with everyone from the janitor to the company directors, he maintained that crucial personal distance.
But Leila was different.
She looked different.
She sounded different.
She was distracting—not just to him but to any other man with a pulse, it seemed. He had driven her to work this morning—her first morning—and witnessed the almost comical reaction of one of his directors. The man had been so busy staring at her that he had almost driven his car straight into a wall.
Her endless legs had been encased in denim as she’d climbed out of Gabe’s low sports car, with one thick, ebony plait dangling down over one shoulder. In her blue shirt and jeans, she was dressed no differently from any of his other employees, yet she had an indefinable head-turning quality which marked her out from everyone else. Was that because she’d been brought up as a princess? Because she had royal blood from an ancient dynasty pulsing through her veins, which gave her an innate and almost haughty bearing? When he looked at her, didn’t he feel a thrill of something like pride to think that such a woman as this was carrying his child? Hadn’t he lain there in bed last night just watching her while she slept, thinking how tender she could be, and didn’t he sometimes find himself wanting to kiss her for absolutely no reason?
Yet he knew those kinds of thoughts were fraught with danger. They tempted him into blotting out the bitter truth. They ran the risk of allowing himself to believe that he was capable of the same emotions as other men. And he was not.
He frowned, still having difficulty getting his head round the fact that she was sitting in his office as if she had every right to be there. ‘Anything you want to ask me?’ he questioned, picking up a pencil and drawing an explosion of small stars on the ‘ideas’ notepad he always kept open on his desk.
‘Do people know I’m pregnant?’
He looked up and narrowed his eyes. ‘Why would they?’
‘Of course. Why would they?’ she repeated, and he thought he heard a trace of indignation in her voice. ‘Heaven forbid that you might have told somebody.’
‘You think that this is something I should boast about, Leila? That an obviously unplanned pregnancy has resulted in an old-fashioned shotgun marriage? It hasn’t exactly sent my reputation shooting up into the stratosphere.’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘Up until now, I’d always done a fairly good job of exhibiting forethought and control.’
