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staff were too busy to pay attention to who might be entering the hotel. Behind reception, Liyah saw a row of photographs depicting the Chatsfield London’s staff. Something in her chest tightened as she caught the image of Lucilla Chatsfield staring back at her from within a frame.
One of the Chatsfield siblings Liyah admired and wished she could get to know, Lucilla was too far up the hotel’s ranks for that to ever be likely.
A noise from behind her dragged her attention to where maintenance was replacing a bulb in the giant chandelier that cast the saffron walls with an elegant glow. Ecru moldings and columns added a tasteful but subtly lavish touch and the faint but lingering smell of fresh paint indicated they’d had a recent tidying up.
Liyah’s sensible shoes made no noise as she crossed the black-and-white marble-tiled floor, heading directly for the elevator as she’d been instructed to do.
A man stepped in front of her. “May I help you find someone?”
His tone and expression were polite, but it had to be obvious to him that Liyah in her well-fitting but conservative black gabardine suit was not a guest at the Chatsfield.
“I have an appointment with Mrs. Miller.” As was her usual habit, Liyah was fifteen minutes early for her meeting with the senior housekeeper.
The man’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you must be the maid from Zeena Sahra.”
No. That had been her mother. “I am familiar with Zeena Sahran culture, but I was born in America.”
Liyah had been hired as a floor supervising chambermaid on the presidential level with special concierge services, just below the hotel’s penthouse suites. With hospitality as well as housekeeping duties, she would be working in tandem with the concierge team in a new initiative designed to increase customer satisfaction.
It would be a much more satisfying job for Liyah than the one her mother had held for almost three decades and Hena would have approved wholeheartedly.
“Yes, of course. The elevator is right this way.” The man started walking. “I will have to key your access to the basement level.”
“Thank you.”
Liyah was still a few minutes early when she knocked on the senior housekeeper’s office door.
“Enter,” came from within.
Mrs. Miller was a tall, thin woman who wore a more severe version of Liyah’s suit with a starched white blouse buttoned all the way up.
“I’m pleased you are here, Miss Amari, but I hope you’ve come prepared to begin work immediately,” she said after the pleasantries were out of the way.
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. Your concierge floor has been booked for the sheikh’s harem.” Mrs. Miller gave a disdainful sniff with the word harem.
“Excuse me? A sheikh from Zeena Sahra is coming to stay?” And he needed an entire floor for his harem?
No wonder they’d wanted to transfer her mother from the Chatsfield San Francisco.
“Yes, Sheikh bin Falah will be staying with us for two weeks. His fiancée will be joining him for the second one.”
Liyah schooled the shock from her features. “Sheikh al Zeena, or Sheikh bin Falah al Zeena, but he would not be referred to as Sheikh bin Falah. To do so would cause offence.”
Liyah wasn’t sure about correcting her boss, but she assumed this sort of knowledge was why she’d been hired.
At least now she understood the need for her expertise. Not just a tribal sheikh but the crown prince of Zeena Sahra was coming to stay at the Chatsfield London.
Probably the single most gorgeous man alive, he could easily be an international playboy with a string of supermodels hanging on his arm. However, he had a reputation for being buttoned-down and focused entirely on his duties as emir of Zeena Sahra.
“I see. I’ll make a note of it. I presume addressing him as Your Highness is acceptable.”
“It is, though from what I have read, since Zeena Sahra is an emirate, he prefers the title of emir.”
Mrs. Miller’s mouth pursed. “Why didn’t we know this?”
“It’s a small thing, really.”
“No,” Mrs. Miller said sharply. “There’s nothing small about this visit from the sheikh. Every detail must be seen to with absolute attention. If not, mistakes happen. Only last week someone wanted to send silk napkins to the Chatsfield Preitalle with the inscription ‘Princess Maddie.’ Can you believe it? For a royal wedding? This is why each detail must be perfect.”
“I will do my best.”
“Yes. In addition to your usual duties, for the duration of the sheikh’s visit, you will also personally oversee the housekeeping staff for his suite and the adjoining rooms for his security people.”
Nothing like being thrown in at the deep end, but Liyah didn’t mind. She thrived on a challenge.
Nevertheless, it was a good thing Liyah had gotten her degree in hospitality management. It didn’t hurt either that she’d cleaned rooms at the Chatsfield San Francisco every summer break through high school and college, not that her mother had encouraged Liyah to make her career there.
Quite the opposite, Hena had been adamant that her daughter not work for the Chatsfield. And now that she knew what she did, maybe Liyah understood that better.
After a somewhat harried orientation, during which staff members she met asked as many questions of Liyah about Zeena Sahra as she asked them about the Chatsfield London, she returned to her newly rented bedsit.
About the size of a college dorm room with an efficiency kitchen and miniscule bath tacked on, it was a far cry from the two-bedroom apartment with a balcony she’d shared with her mother in San Francisco. An apartment she’d been only too happy to move out of when she got the floor supervisory position with the Chatsfield London.
The job offer was a brilliant coincidence that Liyah’s mother would have called destiny. But then Hena Amari had had a romantic streak her daughter did not share.
Although her outlook on life was decidedly more pragmatic, once Liyah had seen the contents of her mother’s safety-deposit box and read Hena’s final letter, she’d known she had to come to England.
The new job had allowed her to do so without dipping too deeply into what was left from the proceeds of her mother’s life insurance policy. The money had been welcome if entirely unexpected. The policy had been one of the many profound shocks Liyah had found in that safety-deposit box.
Shocks that had ultimately ended with her working for the Chatsfield London.
The hotel had been looking specifically for someone with knowledge of Zeena Sahran culture and hospitality norms. Ironically, they had contacted the San Francisco property’s senior housekeeper, Stephanie Carter, in hopes of transferring Hena Amari.
With Hena’s sudden death, Stephanie, knowing about Liyah, had suggested her instead. Even though Liyah had not worked for the Chatsfield San Francisco since the summer before her last year of university, her education and experience had made her uniquely eligible for a newly created position.
The irony that a job with the hotel would make it possible for her daughter to fulfill Hena’s final wish was not lost on Liyah.
Liyah did not resent her mother’s silence on any front, but only superb emotional control had allowed her to take one stunning revelation after another without cracking.
On the outside.
The most stunning revelation of all had been that the extremely wealthy English hotelier Gene Chatsfield was Liyah’s biological father.
After years of seeing the exploits of his legitimate children in the tabloid press, Liyah found it