She laughed. “I’m not exactly princess material. I grew up dreaming of racing cars, not horses. I’d rather work on a fussy transmission than go shopping.”
“Why aren’t you racing cars? Women do.”
“I don’t have the killer competitive instinct. I like to go fast. I mean, who doesn’t? But I’m not into winning at any cost. It’s a flaw.” She pointed at an ancient Sumerian bowl and wrinkled her nose. “That’s a whole new level of ugly.”
“It’s over four thousand years old.”
“Really? That doesn’t make it any more attractive. Seriously, would you want that in your living room?”
He’d never paid much attention to the ancient piece of pottery, but now he had to admit it wasn’t to his taste.
“It’s better here, where all can enjoy it.”
“Very diplomatic. Is that your prince training?”
“You are comfortable speaking your mind.”
Maggie sighed. “I know. It gets me into trouble. I’ll try to be quiet now.”
And she was, until they reached the garage. He opened the door and led her inside. Lights came on automatically.
There were only a dozen or so vehicles in this structure. Others were housed elsewhere. Maggie walked past the staff Volvo, his Lamborghini, two Porsches, the Land Rover and Hummer to the battered Rolls-Royce Phantom III at the far end.
“Oh, man, I never thought I’d see one of these up close,” Maggie breathed.
She ran her hands along the side of the car. “Poor girl, you’re not looking your best, are you? But I can fix that.” She turned to Qadir. “The first one of these was seen in October 1935 at the London Olympia Motor Show. They brought nine Phantoms, but only one of them had an engine in it.” She turned back to the car. “She’s a V-12, zero to sixty in sixteen-point-eight seconds. That’s pretty fast for this big a car. Especially considering how quiet the engine runs.”
Maggie circled the vehicle, touching it, breathing in, as if trying to make it a part of her. Her eyes were wide, her expression one of wonder. He’d seen that look on a woman’s face before, but usually only when giving expensive jewels or shopping trips to Paris and Milan.
“You have to let me do this,” she told him. “No one will love her more than I do.”
George Collins had been one of the best restorers and mechanics in the business. Had he passed on his greatness to his daughter or was she simply trading on his name?
Maggie opened the passenger door. “Rats,” she muttered, then looked at him. “They’ve chewed the hell out of the leather. But I know a guy who can work miracles.”
“How long would it take to restore her?” he asked.
She grinned. “How much money do you have?”
“An endless supply.”
“Must be nice.” She considered the question. “With express delivery and my contacts, six to eight weeks, assuming I can find what I need. I’ll want to fly in someone to do the upholstery and the painting. I’ll do everything else myself. I’m assuming I can get metal work done locally.”
“You can.”
She straightened and folded her arms over her chest. “Do we have a deal?”
Qadir had no problem working with women. He liked women. They were soft and appealing and they smelled good. But the Phantom was special.
“You can’t refuse me because I’m female,” Maggie told him. “That’s wrong. You know that’s wrong. El Deharia is forward and progressive.” She looked away, then turned back to face him. “My father is gone and I miss him every moment of every day. I need to do this for him. Because that’s what he would have wanted. No one is going to care more about doing this right than me, Prince Qadir. I give you my word.”
An impassioned plea. “But does your word have value?”
“I’ve killed a man for assuming less.”
He laughed at the unexpected response. “Very well, Ms. Collins. You may restore my car. The deal will be the same as the one I negotiated with your father. You have six weeks to restore her to her former glory.”
“Six weeks and an unlimited budget.”
“Exactly. Someone on my staff will show you to your room. While you are employed here, you will be my guest in the palace.”
“I need to collect my things from the hotel.”
“They will be brought here to you.”
“Of course they will,” she murmured. “If the sun is a little too bright, can you move it?”
“With the right motivation.” He eyed her. “I do not appear to intimidate you. Why is that?”
“You’re just some guy with a car and a checkbook, Prince Qadir.”
“In other words, a job.”
“A really great job, but a job. When this is done, I’ll go home to my real life and you’ll have the sweetest ride in El Deharia. We’ll both get what we want.”
Qadir smiled. “I always do.”
Maggie refused to think about how much per minute she was paying on her calling card as the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Jon, it’s me.”
“Did you get it?”
Maggie threw herself back on the massive bed in her large suite. A suite that was even bigger than the one at the hotel. “Of course. Was there any doubt?”
“He was expecting your dad.”
“I know, but I dazzled him with my charm.”
Jon laughed. “Maggie, you don’t have any charm. Did you bully him? I know you bullied him.”
“He’s a prince, which makes him immune to the whole bullying thing. Besides, I’m a nice person.”
“Mostly, but you’re also driven and determined. I know you.”
“Better than anyone,” she agreed, keeping her voice light despite the sudden tightness in her chest. Losing her dad had been the worst thing that had ever happened to her, but losing Jon had been nearly as bad. Jon had been her best friend, her first lover…pretty much everything.
“How’s the car?” he asked.
Maggie launched into ten minutes of praise complete with technical details. She paused only when she recognized Jon’s “uh-huhs” for what they were. Lack of interest.
“You’re writing an e-mail, aren’t you?” she demanded.
“No. Of course not. I’m mesmerized by, ah, the V-8 engine.”
“It’s a V-12 and I’ll stop talking about it now. I should let you get back to work.”
“I’m glad you got the job. Let me know how it goes. Or if you need anything.”
“I will. Say hi to Elaine.”
Jon didn’t answer.
Maggie sighed. “I mean it. Say hi to her. I’m happy for you, Jonny.”
“Maggie-”
“Don’t. We’re friends. That’s what we’re supposed to be. We both know that. I gotta run. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”
She hung up before he could say anything else.
Despite the late hour, she was too restless to go to bed. Jet lag, she thought, knowing the twelve-or fifteen-hour time difference had messed up her body clock.
She’d traded in her pantsuit for jeans and a T-shirt. After slipping her feet into a pair of flip-flops, she opened the French doors and stepped out into the cool night air.
Her rooms faced the ocean, which was pretty exciting. Back home she had great views of the mountains, but vast expanses of water was its own special treat.
“Don’t get used to living like this,” she reminded herself. She’d rented out her house for the next couple of months. It was the end of ski season in Aspen and rentals still went for a premium. But once the job was done, she would be returning to the small house where she’d grown up, with its creaky stairs and single bathroom.
She breathed in the smell of salt air. There were lights in the garden below and the sound of voices in the distance. From what she could tell, the balcony circled the entire palace. Curious and eager to explore, Maggie closed her door behind her and started walking.
She passed empty rooms and a lot of closed and curtained windows. One set of doors stood open. She caught a glimpse of three girls cuddling on the sofa with a man who looked a little like Qadir.