Chapter 3
“So, it’s your fault,” Tilda announced, nodding as if delivering the final ruling in a courtroom.
Ramzi stared at the round, determined woman seated in the leather chair across from his desk. “You’re telling me the reason Tabitha isn’t going to this wedding is because she’s still in love with her former fiancé?”
The idea hit him like a fist to the ribs.
Heat surged beneath his collar. Rage simmered just under the surface—dark, fast, and completely out of proportion. The thought of Tabitha—brilliant, beautiful, maddening Tabitha—still holding a candle for some idiot who’d cheated on her made him want to growl. To destroy something.
She deserved worship, not betrayal.
Ramzi didn’t understand how any man could’ve let her go. If he ever had her—really had her—he’d never stray. Hell, he hadn’t looked at another woman in months. His thoughts were consumed by Tabitha. Her voice. Her insight. Her mouth.
It was why he spent so much time in the Philadelphia office now. Not because it needed him—it was because she was here.
He’d even considered moving her to Uftar. Not just to the corporate headquarters, but into his inner circle. His palace staff. An office beside his.
More access. More time. More her.
But if she was still in love with someone else, that complicated things.
Still... he couldn’t picture Tabitha pining for five years. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t sentimental. She was sharp, logical. Strategic.
This could be an opportunity.
Ramzi made his decision.
“You’re right, Ms. Jones,” he said abruptly, standing with quiet command. “If Tabitha’s still in love with an idiot, I’d be more than willing to help her move on.”
“Excellent,” Tilda replied, setting her untouched scotch on the table between the chairs.
She pushed herself up from the deep cushions, adjusting her cardigan over her ample figure.
Before he could offer a hand, she was already upright and gathering her oversized purse.
“Then I’ll leave it to you to tell her the news. ”
“Tell me what news?”
The familiar voice froze him.
Ramzi turned. And there she was.
Tabitha stood just inside the doorway, looking like she’d been carved from cool marble—elegant, composed, and glaring absolute daggers. Her grey wool dress hugged every delicious curve, and the V at her neckline hinted at a softness that Ramzi had tried very hard not to think about.
Too often.
Grey washed her out. He made a mental note to have Bethany subtly steer her toward warmer tones. But her pallor now wasn’t from color choice.
It was from fury.
Her hazel eyes locked on him, then snapped to her mother. “Mother,” she hissed, crossing the room swiftly to take Tilda’s hands to steady her, “what have you done?”
“I’ve asked your boss to help you,” Tilda said matter-of-factly, pausing in the doorway to cast one last glance over her shoulder at Ramzi.
Sizing him up.
She gave a nod, like a general approving a war plan. “He never goes back on his word.”
Tabitha stiffened. “No. Ramzi is very honorable,” she said, her voice tight.
Ramzi nearly laughed. The look she shot him held enough fury to ignite his desk. But then she turned, and all rational thought left his brain.
Her hips swayed with that unintentional elegance he could never ignore.
That lush, feminine figure of hers made restraint an Olympic-level event.
And beneath all that beauty was a razor-sharp mind that could dissect supply chains, identify weaknesses in market strategy, and predict global impacts before most executives even realized a shift was coming.
He also caught the blush that stained her lovely cheeks.
It stopped him.
Unexpected. And telling.
Ramzi’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her disappearing figure. Had he been misreading her all this time? Had the one woman who managed to get under his skin actually been harboring feelings of her own?
He crossed to his desk and opened the bottom drawer. For a moment, he just stared at the small black velvet box resting in the back corner. Untouched. Forgotten, but not discarded.
He picked it up and flipped it open.
The diamond ring inside gleamed with quiet promise.
He’d bought it three years ago—six months after Tabitha had joined his team. Even then, he’d known. She was the one. But he’d held back. Waited. Because something in her eyes warned him that she wasn’t ready.
Now, he was beginning to understand.
If Tilda was right—and Tabitha’s ex had cheated on her—then there was no chance she was still in love with him. Tabitha didn’t cling to what wasn’t working. She didn’t tolerate disrespect or make excuses for betrayal.
She wasn’t weak.
She was razor-sharp. Fiercely loyal. And when someone broke her trust, they were cut from her life with surgical precision.
No, Tabitha wasn’t in love with some man back home.
Which meant something else was holding her back.
He closed the ring box and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
He knew everything about her.
She hated broccoli with an irrational passion but adored sushi and dirty martinis.
She would devour an entire bag of potato chips but let tortilla chips go stale.
She hated squirrels for reasons she refused to explain.
She despised cooking and would happily eat popcorn every night for dinner.
She loved to run but avoided weights like they were contagious.
And she worked longer hours than anyone else in the building—sometimes longer than him.
She could read body language better than most intelligence officers, and her negotiation skills were borderline lethal.
She had a sixth sense for spotting corruption in a company, and she wouldn’t touch an unethical business with a ten-foot pole.
It was why he paid her more than anyone else on his staff—and why he trusted her more than most people in his life.
Ramzi knew Tabitha.
Which meant Tilda had to be wrong.
Tabitha wasn’t hung up on some coward who couldn’t keep his pants zipped. That wasn’t her. But something was holding her back—and now, Ramzi was going to find out what.
Heading back to her hometown might give him the answers.
And that blush?
That blush was worth chasing.
“Time to explore,” he muttered under his breath, anticipation already stirring as he turned back toward his desk.
Then he pressed the button on the intercom. “Marwan. My office. Now.”
Plans needed to be made.
And he needed information.