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arrest. I was not to attend any more of the seminars. I would take no meetings, have no visitors. I was free to roam the suite between eight in the morning until six in the evening, then I was to stay in my bedroom. This would be my schedule for each remaining day of the conference.
    When I offered to leave and pay my way back to the States if only they would return my documents, Kane blushed before offering an apologetic no. I was, he amended, free to turn in my resignation and leave immediately, with my accommodations paid for by Stark International. If I did not wish to resign, I had to follow his instruction to the letter.
    "So," Kane stood, his arms folded across his chest. "Do you want your passport?"
    I didn't answer -- no need for me to wear my shame on my sleeve. After a few seconds passed, he accepted my silence, pivoted on one heel and marched like the ex-soldier he was to the door.
    Hearing the metallic click as the lock on the suite's entrance engaged, I looked at the clock and started to cry.
    I cried a little less on my second day confined to the suite, less still with each day that passed. By the morning of our scheduled flight home, I had completely run out of tears. The only faces I saw during that period belonged to the maids who came to clean the suites, the staff who delivered my meals, and the security team that allowed them into the room.
    Dry, empty and exhausted, I waited with my luggage in the suite. Kane came half an hour before it was time to leave the hotel. Two hours later, he still remained with me in the room, his attention discreetly focused on his iPad as he awaited orders from Stark.
    Another hour later, I finally found my voice. "What the hell is going on?"
    He didn't answer, the only acknowledgement of my question contained in the flick of his gaze once in my direction, hostility oozing from the corner of his eye. I didn't ask my question again. Not because he intimidated me. Hell, I wasn't even angry from the look he gave me. He was second in operations command at the company and he was babysitting the overweight, future-former secretary of his boss.
    I understood. Fuck, I even empathized with the guy. I kind of hated me at that moment, too. I certainly wished I could vanish into thin air and no longer be his problem -- or Stark's.
    At nine-thirty in the evening, more than six hours after our plane should have departed, Kane took a phone call, gave a few affirmatory grunts then gathered up his things.
    "Should I get my bags?" I asked, the question coming out as a squeak after the hours of absolute silence.
    "No, you should unpack."
    I nodded, not understanding, only knowing that if Stark was staying in Dubai, I didn't want to leave. Before Kane could reach the door, I risked one last question.
    "Should I stay in my room?"
    "Yes," Kane answered, quickly killing the embarrassing note of hopefulness my voice held.
    **********
    Something had to break, and it had to break soon. I was in my room, in the dark, the clock crowding in on one in the morning. I had taken a long, hot bath after Kane's departure to ease some of the tension from my body. Once dry, I had climbed into bed naked. I had run through the sedate night clothes I had packed and the idea of putting on one of the revealing items that had arrived a week ago in the black box hurt too much.
    Stark had no intention of ever seeing me in them and I would be the only person who knew I had gone to bed bare-assed.
    My prediction remained right on target until the second the clock's display winked to tell me I had passed yet another hour alone in Dubai. That's when I heard the outer door to the suite softly open and shut. Hearing the sound, I expected the steady, inexorable fall of Stark's shoes across the marble-tiled floor, muffled for seven steps as he crossed an area rug, then a few more audible steps until he reached the door to his room.
    I focused so earnestly on hearing that exact progression of sounds, I failed to recognize that his