The corner of the Qasira’s lips twitched. Her friend snorted into his glass.

“I’m glad to hear it. If you’ll excuse me.”

The Qasira let go of the stranglehold she had on Lottie’s pulse, nodded to the Russian and stalked away. Lottie watched those proud shoulders carry off the last of her self-esteem.

“Shit.”

Antonin Petrov glared at her, swore and left her too. It was just Lottie and the man who had been at the Qasira’s side.

“Breathe,” he said cheerfully. “She has that effect on lots of people. You’ll be fine.”

Lottie groaned. “I sounded like an idiot.”

“I wasn’t going to say it.” He snagged her a champagne from a passing waiter and watched kindly while Lottie slugged it back in one draw. She clamped her lips over a very inelegant belch and wheezed bubbles out her eyeballs.

“Shit,” she mumbled again.

“You still have all your limbs. She went easy on you.” He held out his hand. “Call me Sami. I’ve known Niz since she was three. I can honestly say she didn’t hate you.”

Niz? That was cute. A tidbit for later. Lottie filed it away.

“ I recycle? ” she echoed. “What was I thinking? How does she do that to people?”

“You’re one of Malik’s latest? Arrived this morning?”

“Am I that obvious? I was” —Lottie felt the game reasserting itself— “I was so looking forward to meeting her. She’s been such an inspiration to me.”

Sami’s previously generous smile hardened a fraction but it stayed in place. Lottie wondered if she was losing her touch. Had the Qasira devoured it? Was there something in the air in Ain Zargiers? Had she left her talent back in London? Lottie dialed it up.

“I’m doing my business degree at Oxford.

We did a case study on her solar interests.

I had so many questions. I swear I’m not normally this stupid.

” She considered fluttering her eyelashes at Sami but then took in the cut of his linen suit, the sleek Italian loafers and the way the man stood with his hand so casually in his pocket.

She had a feeling she may have met an ally.

“Plus she’s so unbelievably hot. Do you think I’ll get a second chance? ”

“The Qasirim not your type?”

“MBAs don’t come cheap.”

Sami shrugged. Lottie didn’t imagine he knew anything about the struggle. He gave her a shrewd look. “The Qasira isn’t so cruel she doesn’t allow people second chances, but I wouldn’t mention your household recyclables any time soon.”

“I sort them,” she protested, and Sami chuckled. She swatted his arm, pleased to have found a friend so close to the princess so quick out of the blocks. It was about the only thing that made up for the humiliation of the last few moments.

Sami handed her a card. “If you crash and burn a second time, come drown your sorrows in the medina. I have a small club you might like. I even drag Niz away from her work to dine there sometimes. I absolutely never allow her to dismember anyone in my club, so consider it a safe place. You’ll be welcome. ”

The card was an expensive embossed thing, with handmade paper that felt textured under her fingers.

It had Sami’s Place written on one side and Here’s looking at you, kid on the other, with an address in Arabic.

She knew what it referenced immediately—an old black and white movie she’d watched a hundred times as a kid when she’d sheltered with Memeti whenever her mother was on a bender.

Memeti loved the movie for its 1940s feels and the Moroccan location—as close as the Ain Zargieri woman could get to home stuck in Bethnal Green—and Lottie loved it for the songs.

Casablanca.

Once again, her mouth ran ahead of her brain and she crooned the opening lines of the movie’s most famous song.

“ You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh—”

Sami’s grin was instant. “Oh honey, who are you? Now I’ll definitely see you at the club.” He walked away from her backwards, still smiling as he went. “Enjoy the party.”

It left Lottie standing alone in the middle of the room feeling so damn far off her game she was no longer sure how to play, and for the first time in a long time, seriously reevaluating her life choices.

Bili waved her over from their group. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed. “I haven’t seen you this shaken since Riga.”

Lottie craned her neck to see the Qasira over the crowd. “I need to talk to her again.”

“Obviously. Fuck it up, did you?”

“How—?”

“Look on your face, babes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you just met your match.”

That was enough to jumpstart Lottie’s ego back into action. “Please. I’m just planning my next move. That woman is so uptight she needs someone like me in her life.”

“Like you?”

“Some delightful spontaneity. A touch of cheeky disrespect. Some irresistibly chaotic mess. I’m exactly what she needs.”

“How convenient,” Bili said dryly. She looked unconvinced. “So what is your next move?”

Lottie wasn’t sure. “I’ll stick to the classics. A Cocktail Collision followed by a Wet Way In .”

“You’re going to spill your drink on her?”

“Then take her somewhere quiet to help her clean up. Works like a charm.”

“The Nightingale will be proud.”

Lottie ignored her sarcasm. In a venue like this she wasn’t sure she had too many other options.

It was only her first night in the country.

She’d had no time to plan. The Qasira had looked at her, through her, seen the sin on her soul and stalked magnificently away.

If for no other reason than to have those eyes on her again, Lottie had to try again.

There was a very strong chance she had met her match—and, fuck, what a match that could be.

Besides, the Nightingale could go to hell. Screw whatever the Circle’s mission had been in the first place.

Lottie had just found her own motivation for the job.

The pavilion fell silent as the Qasira stepped up to a small platform to officially declare the summit open. She welcomed all parties to Ain Zargiers, even casting a scrupulously polite gaze over Malik’s group. Lottie watched with Antonin Petrov on the edge of it. Malik yawned loudly.

One of the Saudis took his cue. “Where is the Q’sar? I didn’t come here to do business with a woman.” The grumble was just loud enough to carry through those nearest in the crowd. Lottie noticed the man wasn’t quite brave enough to ensure his shit-stirring made it to the Qasira’s ears.

“Idiot,” Petrov murmured.

Lottie looked at him.

“There is money here. I do business with whoever has the most.”

“And that’s not Malik?”

He gave a tiny snort. “Fossil fuels are in structural decline. Malik’s a fool if he can’t see it.”

“I didn’t pick you for a hippy,” Lottie whispered and slipped her hand back over his arm.

He shrugged. “I have a twelve-year-old daughter. Wants to be an environmental lawyer. For some reason I can’t argue with her.”

Lottie decided she liked him.

They turned their attention back to the Qasira’s speech.

“When my father first envisioned Ain Zargiers’ transition to renewable energy, it wasn’t merely about survival.

” The Qasira’s voice was rich and warm, effortlessly cutting through the murmurs.

“It was about leadership. It was about proving to the world that innovation and responsibility are not mutually exclusive, but instead represent opportunities. For the market and for humanity.”

Lottie blinked. The Qasira’s schtick was spot on. She had inspiration, challenge and potential mixed in exactly the right measures. She was good.

The Qasira paused for effect and met the eyes of key figures in the audience as though addressing them personally.

Even Malik seemed to straighten under her gaze.

“We are no longer defined by the oil beneath our feet, by the fuels we might dig from the ground to sell for others simply to burn. We are defined by what we can build.”

The Saudi grumbled again. “Fantasy. No one abandons resources like that.”

“Except when this woman renders your resources obsolete.” Lottie couldn’t help herself. A few steps away, Beauty gave her a swift glare.

Zynara continued her speech and Lottie lost herself in the sound of her voice, her casual authority and that magnetic, unshakable poise. She owned every atom of air in the room. Lottie couldn’t take her eyes off her.

The Saudi’s glass paused halfway to his lips. Across the room, Lottie saw similar reactions from the rest of Malik’s crowd. They might be sneering, but they were listening.

And the Qasira knew it. A slight smile played around her lips.

Her eyes fell on Petrov and the man tensed.

“Some of you may think the summit is a threat—that collaboration across borders and across technologies challenges old business models and forces change.” The smile flattened into a smirk. “You’re right. It does.”

Seconds later, that heavy gaze fell on Lottie—and once again, Lottie wasn’t ready for it. From her place on the podium, the Qasira swept her eyes up and down her body. Her head tipped back in a definite challenge. Her smirk turned feral.

Lottie felt her pulse take off again.

Without dropping Lottie’s eyes for a moment, the Qasira delivered her final line.

“Game on, wouldn’t you say?”

She smiled at the polite amusement that rippled from the crowd, turned, and left the podium.