Sheikh's Fake Fiancee

by Jessica Brooke

  “What is it?”

  “May I?” he asked, gesturing to her neck.

  She nodded and lifted up her blond waves so that he could put the necklace on her. Jennifer shuddered a bit as she felt his hands so near her, as she smelled that turmeric teasing her nose. God, she’d even missed the spiciness of him.

  “So, what is it?” she asked, letting her hair down and leaning back into his embrace.

  “It means,” he said, “that I still remember that day on the bridge in Paris. I want us to always be together, to be truly married. You already have my great-grandmother’s ring on your finger.”

  She gasped and held up her left hand. “I had no idea it was an heirloom. You didn’t have to do that at first.”

  He kissed her cheek. “I wanted to, but now you have a memento from me,” he said, letting her go and crossing around to her front. Then Bahan made her tear up as he got to his knees. “Will you stay married to me, my wild one? Will you be by my side a year from now, or a dozen?”

  “For forever?” she asked, her voice cracking.

  “Yes, forever,” he said, standing back up to face her fully.

  Jennifer nodded and then gladly accepted his kiss, loving the feel of his tongue tangling with hers and reveling in the fact that this was just the beginning of such love, such tenderness.

  “So we have forever?” he asked again, as if even he hadn’t believed her.

  She could understand that. She had so much to make up for. Reaching up, she stroked his goatee and then kissed him long and hard. He was hers and she was his, and that was as it always would be, until the end of their lives and beyond.

  The End!

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  By: Jessica Brooke and Ella Brooke

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright 2015-2016 Jessica Brooke

  Chapter One

  “Zahir,” Clayton McDermott said, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m so glad you were able to make it all the way out here for the merger meeting. Frankly, I assumed that for something this by the book, you’d be sending Fairuza instead.”

  Sheikh Zahir Amun smiled tightly back at the manufacturing mogul. Yes, it was unlike him to travel for these things. He felt that Amun Petrol did best when he was in Dubai and overseeing everything with eagle eyes. Maybe he’d never heard of the art of delegation, at least not completely. While he trusted his sister with his life, Zahir was well aware of how oily and difficult Clayton could be to deal with. He was a man who was eternally wriggling out of deals and was as likely to pat you on the back as shiv you in it. Yet the Boston businessman had access to some of the best steel refineries in the States, and Amun desperately needed those resources to help update his oil pipes. Dealing with the devil was the best thing they could hope for, but Zahir still didn’t trust him.

  “We’re opening a new well outside of Al Ain, and there’s no one I trust more to put the fear of Allah in the workers than my sister. No one in our family appreciates being trifled with,” he said, and he let his grin ease closer to a snarl. Zahir wanted Clayton to understand that double-dealing was a poor choice when the Amun family’s reputation was on the line.

  “What a shame. She’s a lovely woman,” the other man said, breaking the handshake apart and smoothing back his bright blond hair. Clayton’s hair was overly processed and shiny, just like everything else about him, and Zahir was vaguely reminded of the American newscasters and their coiffed looks. Again, so much artifice when dealing with the other man.

  “Indeed.”

  Clayton nodded and sat back down on his side of the conference table. “No offense, my friend, but I’d rather she had come. There’s quite the party in Boston tonight. It’s something my old fraternity brothers are hosting, a masquerade ball, and I wanted to invite her to come with me after the signing as my honored guest.”

  Zahir’s jaw clenched before he worked it free. “I’m sure that Fairuza will be much aggrieved to hear she missed something like that. Do tell me where it is, though. Perhaps I’d find it an amusing way to pass the time after all these negotiations.”

  “Of course. It’s at Club Rouge downtown. The owner’s an old friend. You’ll love it. It’s one of the biggest bashes in Bean Town.”

  “I’m sure,” Zahir replied. He was glad that his sister hadn’t come.

  Fairuza was no fool, and Clayton’s reputation as a womanizer was well known. She’d have been bored to tears humoring him and whatever pathetic come-ons he managed at the party. If she stopped being bored, she might very well have kneed him in the groin and endangered all future business dealings. Zahir, however, preferred to make his trips a mix of business and pleasure. There were so many advantages to being a young, wealthy royal, and no matter how often or vigorously his sister teased him for it, Zahir intended to enjoy all of them.

  “Now that we’ve gotten through all the pleasantries…” Clayton fumbled. The other corporate titan may be self-absorbed, but even he seemed to understand when a meeting was floundering. Of course, implying he’d wanted to take Zahir’s sister out didn’t help. Perhaps there was still too much frat boy left in Clayton for him to have much common sense left. “I think you’ll find the contract is well and in order. I spoke additionally with my own advisors and lawyers, of course, pursuant to our last conversation.”

  “Oh I’ll bet,” Zahir said, taking the thick sheaf of papers and frowning as he thumbed through them.

  Technically this tête-à-tête was a preamble to the official meeting with their lawyers and secretaries present. It was a show of good faith so that neither of them would feel ambushed when their legal teams were present. However, as Zahir read through them, he realized that some of the stipulations he’d wanted had been dropped, and Clayton had certainly rethought his own points. Angered, Zahir shoved the papers back across the desk. It was a struggle to remind himself to keep his voice down.

  “Are you serious? Do you really expect to try sneaking in completely new terms?”

  “I wasn’t sneaking. I let you reread them and your attorney would have in a few minutes. I just was thinking that this whole merger is about what you need. You want access to the pipes and other steel that my company can provide you. What exactly am I getting out of this?”

  “Ten percent stock options, and a hefty paycheck for the immediate pipe order we’re going to be filling as an entity,” he said, his voice still low and menacing.

  Clayton chuckled, and Zahir wondered if he’d perfected that laugh in a mirror somewhere before this meeting, trying to get every action and tactic down pat. As if any of that would snow him. “Well, that’s the deal I want. I get thirty percent of controlling interest out of this merger or I walk.”

  “That would be insane. The oil side is worth billions more, and I’m not about to let you get that much of a toehold in my organization. There’s no telling what you’d do, how many other partners on the board you’d try and buyout. Suddenly, I’d find myself out on my ass in Dubai. You really thought that if Fairuza were here as my second she’d let this bullshit slide? You want any deals, it’s ten percent or I walk right now.”

  The other man shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “If that’s how you feel, but I know your whole infrastructure is in dire need of repair. You acquiring me is easier than finding and contracting out all the work you need, and half the all-American firms around here aren’t interested in overseas work with the Middle East anymore.”

  “They’re interested in money. You’re hardly the only game in town, McDermott,” Zahir reminded him.

  “No, but I’m the best and the fastest and continued delays mean dropped profits. Do as you will, but I want my thirty. Otherwise, I hope to see you at Rou
ge. Have a good day, Zahir.”

  He stomped out then, before he could do something that would get him kicked out of the country.

  ***

  “Brother, brother, as much as I am with you about how terrible Clayton McDermott is and how little I trusted him to begin with, I also don’t need to be shouted at or hear every curse word you know across five languages,” Fairuza said, her voice a calming anchor in the middle of the storm roiling within him.

  “The asshole totally re-inked the deal. Does he think I’m delusional or high in some way? Only a fool would sign that. I’m not that desperate.”

  “No, I don’t suppose we are yet, but we had another oil leak on the outskirts of the UAE. One of our oldest wells is coming across at the seams. We do need his steel. His company is the fastest and the best, and if we could have come to accords on the merger, we’d be exporting to our own competitors their hardware for drilling.”

  “We can replace.”

  “I don’t want to be slow,” she said. “We save this merger even in the next month or so, and we’ll be able to stay competitive with Hussein Oil, but they’re gaining on us fast and our bad press and faulty equipment is why.”

  He wanted to chuck his cell phone against the wall, but it wouldn’t help his situation. Besides, it wouldn’t feel at all like throttling Clayton McDermott would have.

  “Then you suggest I just go back to the negotiation table with that rat bastard? I have no interest in it, and he’s clearly not budging. He’s heard the press as much as we’ve been fielding it.”

  Fairuza sighed on the other end. “There’s always more than one way to skin a cat, as the Americans say. They’re direct and vulgar, but they’re not wrong. We do have to renegotiate with him.”

  “And we’ve been at this for months, and he pulls out such a ridiculous and crazy counteroffer.”

  “Then you negotiate after you have the right dirt on him. Clayton has a reputation but I bet he’s about as cavalier in his business dealings as he is with his women and everything else. We just need to find an employee we can hire away, who can be our best information source. Dig for a few weeks or so, come back to the table, and have everything about him we need. If he doesn’t comply, then we just release whatever unflattering information we get about him from the helpful ex-employee to every blogger and paper on the planet.”

  “That’s actually…it’s sneakier than I’d like.”

  “He’s a snake. You come to the snake pit ready to play,” she pointed out, her tone cold and efficient. It was this side of his sister that was the reason why half the board called her Ice Queen behind her back. But even Zahir had to admit she had a point. They needed to outmaneuver Clayton at his own game.

  “Yes, but where do we find such an employee?”

  “I’ll start going through recent fires on Monday.”

  Chapter Two

  Addison Morgan was late for work again.

  But it wasn’t her fault. The redhead pushed a strand of her long hair back up into its clip and tapped her foot impatiently on the linoleum under her at the coffee shop. Her job was always to get her boss’s coffee. That was a difficult task on the best of days. Clayton McDermott thought he was the biggest hotshot CEO out there. Considering the way other women in the office fawned over him and seemed to swoon just when he walked in the door, maybe the ego was earned. He’d never been her cup of tea, too blond and tanned. Besides, what was with that chin dimple? It looked more like a butt than a chin sometimes. However, he did control the boardroom and the women of the office overall, and that made him cocky.

  It also encouraged him to play bizarre games with his staff. For her, it meant that he had about five coffee orders he loved to give her but he never told her which he was feeling in the mood for that day. He just let her know he had five favorites and either praised her or groused and sent her out for another run if she messed up. It made her nervous every morning, but it was just the type of power games that McDermott wanted to play. She must be better at it than his last secretary because he’d kept her around for eight months now. Most of her friends at the office had warned her from day one not to unpack her stuff as he usually went through secretaries as fast as he did Kleenex.

  Today, she was hoping he wanted a cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso. That was what he was getting, if the lady in front of her would finish paying with the change from her coin purse.

  There were at least eight other people behind Addison, and they were all frustrated because the elderly lady was eating up prime time at the coffee shop. It was seventy thirty and usually she’d be halfway through her walk back to the office. Mr. McDermott started at eight sharp and she’d be so screwed.

  “Ma’am?” she asked, trying to force her frustration away. Maybe that was all the money the older woman had for today, and if she could help her, than at least everyone would win, even the people in line behind her. “Ma’am, I can get that for you, maybe?”

  The women turned and straightened her thick, Coke-bottle glasses on her face. “I almost have this. I saved up my spare change and I like to get rid of it out of the bottom of my purse once a month. Weighs it down, you know.”

  Scratch that. This lady had chosen the busiest time to buy coffee at a major metro shop just because she hated pennies.

  Are you freaking kidding me?

  The older lady turned back to the cashier and started picking out her pennies again, one by one. Addison wanted to bang her head against the high counter beside her. This was going to take a while, and it would be a miracle if she had a job after.

  ***

  God her feet hurt.

  She’d run the full five blocks back to the office in heels, or done the best job she could. That was another stipulation that Mr. McDermott imposed. All his female employees had to wear a certain amount of makeup and heels over two inches tall. She was sure when she got home tonight that her feet would be bleeding, but she’d desperately wanted to make up for the disastrous line at the coffee shop. She was already ten minutes late and terrified that he was going to yell at her or fire her. She needed this job. It was the best she could get straight out of college, and she now was responsible for over fifty thousand dollars in student loans.

  Rushing out of the elevator, she almost tripped but righted herself before smashing onto the carpet. As she walked at a brisk pace to Mr. McDermott’s office, her friend, Cécile, pulled her aside.

  Kind brown eyes evaluated her, even as Cécile pulled a brush out of her desk and started combing Addison’s thick red curls back up into the bun she’d had it swept in that morning. Under the best circumstances, her hair tended to have a mind of its own, but a run from Second Avenue had left it in disarray. Mr. McDermott wouldn’t like that. God, there was a manual the size of a phone book out there somewhere, she was sure, of all the things that Mr. McDermott didn’t like.

  “Honey, you’re a mess. What happened? It’s almost 8:15!”

  She nodded and swallowed hard. Addison set the takeout carton on the desk. The other staff could grab their labeled drinks. She had to deliver the cappuccino to Mr. McDermott and hope it wasn’t stone cold or anything else embarrassing. Maybe he’d just reduce her salary for the lateness. Maybe she wouldn’t really be the latest secretary with her head on the chopping block.

  Sure, and I might sprout wings and fly out of this office right now.

  “It was the worst line ever. Is he mad? Did he say anything? Wait, maybe he got into a traffic jam!”

  Cécile shook her head and moved on to straightening Addison’s blouse. “No, you know him. He’s on time no matter what. I…good luck. Try and tell him you twisted your ankle. He might possibly buy an injury.”

  “Great, I’ll try and hold on to that,” she said, hobbling anyway to the door.

  Cécile mistook her actual pain for faking. “See, that’s good. Walk like that and he might not fire you. Once, a girl passed out at her desk so she was late delivering his lunch. Since she had a 103-degree fever and had
to be taken to the ER, he just sent her back to the mail department.”

  “See, that’s a bright spot,” Addison said, wincing inside.

  She’d never been silver tongued—the type like her twin brother, who could talk his way out of any situation. If she were a better liar or smarter or quicker on her feet, then maybe she’d save herself.

  Maybe.

  Arriving at his door, she knocked on it.

  “Mr. McDermott, it’s Addison. I have your coffee.”

  “Finally. Did you go to fucking Colombia to get the beans and fresh grind them, too?” he demanded as he opened the door and shouted at her in front of the whole office.

  It was so quiet that Addison imagined she could almost hear everyone’s heartbeats in the room as they gaped at her. A flush colored her cheeks, and she fought down the urge to cry. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Besides, the whole office would gossip about that for the rest of her life.

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  He glared down at her, his blue eyes blazing. “Well don’t be sorry. Just come in here. I have some things I’ll need you to polish before e-mailing contacts anyway. Get in here now, Morgan.”

  “Yes sir,” she said, giving Cécile one last look over her shoulder before he shut the door behind them.

  She reached up and tried to hand him the coffee then, but her ankle twisted under her and the blisters on her feet made her wince so badly that she stumbled, spilling the liquid all over his shirt. The only blessing was that she’d been so late that the cappuccino was barely warm. Addison’s eyes grew wide with horror as the brown, sugary mess spread over her boss’s expensive suit.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to trip.”

  Mr. McDermott didn’t yell at her this time. Instead, when he got quiet, she knew she was in for a world of trouble. She’d seen him do that once at a meeting before sending a senior partner at the firm packing a few minutes later.