Page 69 of Earned Husband

Deja shot me an apologetic smile but put a healthy few feet between us as the photographers descended. I nodded and hung back, sticking mostly to the sidelines as I followed them in.

The second Deja switched on her public persona, I saw it, watching her transform into a vision of effortless grace and confidence. She moved through the crowd greeting buyers, investors, influencers, designers, and journalists like she’d known them forever.

She switched seamlessly between English, Arabic, and French, laughing, shaking hands, and answering questions without skipping a beat. Not for the first time, I was in complete awe of her.

It was immediately clear that she belonged here, commanding rooms just like this in a way that wasn’t completely unfamiliar. I’d spent my entire adult life watching Jane command boardrooms in this way, cutting even titans of industry down to size when the situation called for it.

Deja was the same, so completely certain of herself that it was like she’d been born for exactly the role she was in.

“Colin?”

At the sound of my name, I turned to find myself facing a sharply dressed man who extended his hand toward me. “Tim. I met you with Alex Westwood a couple months ago.”

Smiling politely, I took his outstretched hand and shook it, wracking my brain for any memory of a Tim. “Of course. The Rencole deal. How are you?”

Surprise flickered across his features, like he couldn’t believe I’d remembered, but frankly, neither could I. “Well, I’m in Cairo, so I’d say it’s going pretty well. I didn’t expect to run into you here, though.”

Fuck.

My brain sprinted for an excuse, but the truth wasn’t an option. It had been made very clear to me that there was a strict order in which people were to learn about my impending marriage as well as the merger, and Tim Who Did Business with Alex was not on the approved-to-find-out-yet list.

“I’m actually here on holiday,” I lied smoothly. “I ran into Khaled Saad on the golf course back in Chicago and he very kindly invited me to the launch.”

The man nodded, obviously buying the story. “That’s a stroke of luck. These events are always so hard to get into. The tickets are impossible to get.”

“I’ve certainly enjoyed the hospitality. No half measures for this family.”

He laughed. To my relief, another acquaintance claimed his attention, and as soon as he was gone, Deja slipped in quietly beside me. “I heard everything. That was a good save.”

I glanced down at her, unable to keep from smiling at least a little bit now that she was back by my side. “Thanks. You think he bought it? I’m not used to keeping secrets like this.”

She smiled. “Oh, he definitely bought it. If you’re really feeling like you’re out of your element, you’re doing a fantastic job at faking it.”

Someone called her name and she sighed but squared her shoulders, visibly preparing herself to get back to work. “I’ll find you later?”

“I certainly hope so,” I said with a smile.

She disappeared back into the crowd. I stayed where I was, slightly out of the way and observing rather than throwing myself right into the thick of things. With Deja out of sight, I turned to watch her father instead. Basel made deals over glasses of local wine instead of in a boardroom, a force of nature for sure, and also a prime example of how to elevate networking to an art form.

Watching him made me wonder if this was the future he’d envisioned for me when he encouraged me to take Thayer’s business international. Boardrooms and contracts, I was comfortable with, but I genuinely didn’t know if I could play the game this way.

Eventually, the lights dimmed and Layla appeared onstage, drawing my attention away from her husband’s apparent ability to make millions even at a perfume launch. A round of warm applause went up across the room. Deja joined her mother moments later, radiant beneath the spotlights while towering screens behind them unveiled the new seasonal collection.

Layla motioned Deja toward the microphone and she started in, speaking beautifully and passionately about the flowers they’d used and weaving in stories about harvest seasons. I almost forgot to breathe as I listened to her, feeling like I was back on Alex’s yacht and the rest of the world had simply stopped existing.

Everything outside of her and her passion suddenly seemed less important, like the only thing that really mattered was why they’d formulated this range the way they had. Basel eventually stepped forward to close the presentation. Unfortunately, as he took her place, I remembered to breathe again and inhaled.

The tickle began during his opening remarks and I pinched my nose, willing the sneeze away. I tried to think about anything else, praying that the meds were stronger than my body’s allergic reactions. My eyes started watering and my lungs hit the eject button.

The sneeze echoed through the venue like a starting pistol being fired, so loud and violent that it shocked even Basel into silence. An elderly woman beside me sharply clicked her tongue, launching into what I assumed was a lengthy reprimand, but since it was in Arabic, I couldn’t be sure.

“I’m sorry,” I said to her softly. “At least I covered my mouth.”

She muttered something else with unmistakable disapproval, then reached over, grabbed my shoulders with surprising strength, and physically straightened my posture. “There. That’s better.”

“Thank you?” I managed despite the shock of having a stranger cuss at me in a different language for sneezing, then slouching.

I turned back to the stage. Deja had both hands pressed over her mouth, her eyes sparkling and her shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. Just great.