his ticket in.”
Jake mulled that over, wondering if it might be true. “So why is she marrying him?”
Annie’s mouth puckered. “I haven’t quite figured that out. If I do, I’ll let you know.”
“You do that.” With a shake of his head, Jake headed for his desk. Trace wasn’t in today, but Sol Greenway, Trace’s computer whiz kid, was pounding away on his keyboard at the desk in his glass-enclosed office.
Trace employed two other freelancers in the office. Ben Slocum, an ex-Navy SEAL, was off investigating a case, but Alex Justice, also a P.I., was working at the desk next to Jake’s.
“Hey, buddy, how’s it going?” Alex asked. He was a former navy pilot, a jet jockey who was a lot tougher than his blond-haired, blue-eyed appearance made him seem. “Heard you were taking a protection job for Sage Dumont. She is one hot lady.”
Jake grunted. “Why the hell is it everybody in the place knew S. E. Dumont was a woman but me?”
Alex grinned, a dimple appearing in his cheek. “Try watching TV sometime.” The guy was a real lady killer. Jake wondered if Sage would rather be working with Justice than with him.
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” he said. But he wasn’t the TV type. He’d far rather be outdoors.
He sat down in front of a stack of messages, calls that needed to be returned, and went to work. All the while, Sage Dumont hovered at the edge of his mind. Maybe it was time he found out some of the things about her everyone else already seemed to know.
Three
Sage had her personal assistant, Will Bailey, reschedule her afternoon appointments. She was buried in work, but the most important thing she had facing her right now was the upcoming deal with the Saudis. Today, Jake Cantrell had caught her unprepared, and that wasn’t going to happen again. She skipped lunch and had Will bring her a ham sandwich off the meal cart that circled the floors every day.
For most of the afternoon, she sat in front of her computer, poring over Middle East business protocols and reading every article she could find on the customs of Saudi Arabia. The more she read, the more she discovered she didn’t know. And the more disturbing she found the information.
She had always been independent. It was hard to imagine living under the oppressive restrictions a Saudi woman was forced to bear.
Sage reminded herself that these people were from another country, another part of the world, and she had to respect their values and lifestyle. They were here as Dumont family guests and she would treat them accordingly.
She finished reading one last article on the screen, feeling even more exhausted than she had before. She had half an hour before Cantrell was due to pick her up. Allowing herself a brief respite to recover a little of her energy, she closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair.
“Napping, Ms. Dumont?”
She shot upright in her chair, nearly launching herself across the desk. She blinked, her gritty eyes focusing on the imposing man standing in front of her.
“I was working. I—I must have nodded off.” Why was it he always caught her off guard? Damn the man for his timing, among other things.
“Maybe eating something will help.”
“I had a sandwich earlier off the cart,” she said a little defensively.
Cantrell looked at her as if sizing her up. “That’s not much. You ready to go?” He wasn’t wearing the suit he’d had on earlier, but a pair of faded jeans that hugged his long, powerful legs, and a dark blue T-shirt. The T-shirt stretched over a chest that was ridiculously wide and banded with muscle. She had to tear her gaze away.
“I need to make a quick trip to the washroom,” she said, “then we can leave.” There was a private bathroom in the office, one of the privileges of being a VP. Grabbing her purse, she darted inside, made a toilet stop, brushed her teeth, applied a little fresh lipstick. She straightened her ivory suit jacket as she walked back out the door.
Cantrell was waiting, taking up far more of her spacious office than most men did. She felt those blue eyes on her, assessing her in some way, and a little curl of heat settled low in her belly. She wondered what those perceptive eyes saw when he looked at her.
He followed her to the door, but it opened before she reached it, and her fiancé walked in. Immaculately dressed in an Italian designer suit, six feet tall and lean, with blond hair, hazel eyes and darkly tanned skin, Phillip looked as if he had just stepped off a Ralph Lauren billboard.
His gaze went to Cantrell, then returned to Sage. “I thought we were going to dinner.”
“I’m sorry, Phillip. Didn’t you get my message?” She sighed. “Ian hired Mr. Cantrell to help me learn the protocols before the Saudis arrive. We have to work on that tonight.”
“I see.”
“Phillip Stanton, this is Jake Cantrell.”
Phillip extended his hand. Jake shook it and stepped away, clasped his hands in front of him and splayed his legs, going into bodyguard mode. Phillip eyed him sharply. Sage caught a hint of disdain. Clearly, Phillip wasn’t happy that she would be working with Jake.
“Ian mentioned you,” he finally said to Cantrell. “He told me you would be providing protection for Sage while the sheik and his family are here.”
“That’s right.”
“Ian can be ridiculously protective.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just being smart.”
A muscle tightened in Phillip’s lean cheek. He was better-looking than Cantrell, Sage decided, but the bigger man was far more imposing. She tried not to draw a comparison, which Cantrell would surely lose. Phillip held an MBA from Princeton. He knew classical music, appreciated art and ballet. Things they enjoyed together. Cantrell was a marine who knew how to fire a gun.
Which, she noticed as he turned to the side, probably explained the lump in the waistband of his jeans beneath his T-shirt. Surely he didn’t think it was necessary to carry a weapon. She made a mental note to broach the subject as soon as they were alone.
“Are you sure you can’t put this off until tomorrow?” Phillip asked her, positioning himself between her and Jake.
“I wish I could. You know how important it is to me, Phillip.”
“Of course, darling.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, flashed a look at Jake. “Take care of her, Cantrell.”
Jake’s mouth edged up. “I plan to.”
There was something in the way he said it that made her feel like blushing. Phillip cast him a last hard glance and walked out of the office.
Sage waited long enough for Phillip to reach the elevator, hoping to avoid any more of the subtle tension swirling between the men. Then, slinging her leather bag over her shoulder, she started once more for the door.
“There’s a Chinese Express just down the block,” she said. “We can go there.”
“I’ve got a table for us at Bella’s Cusina. It’s only a few blocks farther.”
She glanced back at him. It was a power play, pure and simple, a move to let her know she might be a Dumont, but he was the one in charge.
“You won’t be on the job,” he reminded her.
“So you’re the boss tonight, is that it?”
“Exactly.”
She blew out a breath. What did it matter? It was only dinner. Besides, she had to admit there was a tiny part of her that liked when a man took charge.
It didn’t happen often. And it wouldn’t last long.
“Italian