Maggie winced as heat burned her cheeks. She stepped into view. “I didn’t mean to listen in. I was taking a walk and then you were talking. I was really quiet. How did you know I was here?”

Qadir nodded toward the plate-glass window that reflected the balcony. “I saw you approaching. It does not matter. My quarrel with the king is common knowledge. It is an argument my brothers and I share with him.”

“Still, I wasn’t eavesdropping on purpose.”

“You seem intent on repeating that fact.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m rude.”

“But I have already hired you. What does it matter what I think?”

“Because you’re my boss. You could fire me tomorrow.”

“True, but per our contract, you would still get paid.”

She fought against the need to roll her eyes. “While the money is important, so is doing a good job. I don’t want to leave until the car is finished. It’s a matter of pride.”

Maybe being über-rich and a sheik meant he wouldn’t understand that. Maggie doubted Qadir had ever had to work for anything.

“Will your father really find you a wife?” she asked.

“He will try. Ultimately the choice is mine. I can refuse to marry her.”

“Why would he think anyone would agree to an arranged marriage?”

Qadir leaned against the railing. “The woman in question will be marrying into a royal family. We trace our bloodline back more than a thousand years. For some, the dictates of history and rank matter far more than any matters of the heart.”

A thousand years? Maggie couldn’t imagine that. But then she’d grown up under relatively modest circumstances in a fairly typical medium-size town. Over the past few years movie stars showed up every winter to ski, but she didn’t have any contact with them. Nor did she want any. She preferred regular people to the rich and famous. And to princes. Even one as handsome as the man in front of her.