Ana’s mind wandered, despite the gauzy scent of flowers and the spacious, elegant surroundings. She found herself back at the same question, despite having rationalized it a million times: What am I doing?
Whatever it was, it needed to be the right thing. If she’d traveled four thousand miles with her toddler and best friend only for this to go up in flames, then maybe she’d just give up on life. Failed marriage, failed relationship, failed restaurant. Maybe life was giving her a hint.
The bedroom she’d been assigned was larger than her former apartment in LA. There was a sitting area next to a walk-in closet. A four-poster bed was the prominent center piece, and an elaborate wardrobe carved out of acacia had miniature elephant heads for adornment. Every single aspect of this place was thoughtful, decorative, beautiful.
She should be enjoying it fully, but all she could do was think about Mirage, her failed restaurant. Wonder if the LA food scene would welcome her back with open arms. If any of her old clients would trust her again. If investors would just laugh her out of the game. If food critics would be harsher this time, or maybe, blessedly, more lenient.
This time change had nothing on her anxiety-related insomnia. She’d adapted in a heartbeat, only because she was barely sleeping anymore.
Linh went down surprisingly easy and was snoozing with a stuffed whale in her arms within minutes. Ana called the number she’d been given for the nanny the palace had arranged for her, then as a backup rigged up the baby monitor and clipped the speaker to the loop of her jean shorts. She was back in the kitchen moments later. Charlie had already removed some ingredients from an industrial stainless-steel refrigerator.
“Found tofu and what may or may not be chard,” he said without looking at her. He rustled through the fridge again. “And I think this is ketchup.”
“Okay. That’s a good start.” She sighed, flits of possible menus streaking through her mind. She could make magic happen with tofu and ketchup and a few other things. “Let’s see what else there is.”
She and Charlie rummaged through all the cabinets and fridges in the kitchen. After a thorough search, she had enough to get a test kitchen going. And that’s what she needed more than anything. Get the stove cooking. See how things tasted on this side of the world.
“Okay. Give me thirty?” She lifted a brow at Charlie. He’d know what this was about. She needed her time and space to think. To create. To adjust.
“Sure thing. I’ll probably go take a nap myself.” He wiped his hands on a towel, then squeezed her shoulder on his way out. Once the door clanged shut behind him, she got to work.
A drizzle of sunflower oil followed by all those bright greens in a sauté pan. She sliced up some garlic, added that to the mix. While the aromas were mingling, she flitted toward the tofu. Better marinate that. She whipped up a quick ketchup-infused marinade, then returned to the greens. They’d make an excellent filling…like for fatayer. Tiny spinach pies. She grabbed for the flour and got to work creating a dough.
Ana worked without a sense of time. That was when all her purest creations came out…and when the most stress relief occurred. When she glanced up and saw a tall man approaching her counter, she gasped and stepped back.
“Jeez. You scared me!” She blinked rapidly, wanting to push the hair out of her eyes but not with dough-covered hands. She tossed her head. The hair moved only slightly, yet it afforded her a clearer view of the surprise visitor.
Tall, dark, and handsome, with hooded eyes and short, neatly cropped black hair. But those onyx eyes couldn’t hide his suspicion. He looked like maybe he was considering calling someone to report her.
“Is breakfast ready?”
She straightened her back. She didn’t like his tone or the insinuation behind the tone. She wasn’t his mommy. She was an esteemed chef.
“Uh, no. And it won’t be, not from me at least. I’m not in charge of today’s breakfast.” She turned back to her dough, feeling her cheeks heat up while his intense gaze continued. He stepped closer.
“Then do you mind if I eat what you’re making?”
She huffed, sending him a flat look. “Look, dude, I am working.”
A slow grin crossed his face, and that was the first inkling she got that this guy might be messing with her. “I don’t care. I want it.”
She pursed her lips, studying him for a moment. He was too good looking, and that sent her off kilter. The palace had too many people in it. Who even was this guy? He needed to go back to the sexy man cave he’d come from.
“No. You can’t. This is my test kitchen, and I’d appreciate it if you left.” She cut the dough and folded it in, willing the evidence of embarrassment to disappear from her face.
His heels scuffed softly on the tiled floor as he walked the length of the work station. An unnervingly long silence stretched between them. When his dark eyes traveled up her body, it felt like both an admonishment and a caress.
“Leave? This is my palace.” His lips quirked into a strange smile. “If I wanted, I could have you leave immediately.”
Grab your copy of The Sheikh’s Christmas Fling (Christmas with the Yard Sheikhs Book One) from www.LeslieNorthBooks.com