by Linzi Basset
Now that he was onto her, it was only a matter of time until he put two and two together.
It might even be fun, playing a little cat and mouse game with her.
Hank Deville, the HR manager, walked in after a brief knock. He had been a pleasant addition to the clinic. He was an older man, slightly portly but with a personality that drew everyone to him, young and old alike.
“Morning Ethan, Paige,” he greeted them with a friendly smile as he handed the requested file to Ethan.
“Paige, would you mind waiting in Gloria’s office for a moment, please? There’s something I wish to discuss with Hank.” Ethan noticed the flash of concern in her eyes but chose to ignore it.
“Of course.”
Paige walked out of the office with trembling knees. She racked her brain for anything she might have done wrong to justify discontent with her work performance but could find none.
Her mother had always teased her about being a perfectionist. As a young girl, she used to spend days preparing for recitals, competing in sports, always double checking her homework. That hasn’t changed. It was who Paige Scott had been all her life and still was, at the age of thirty-one.
“I’m not prying but I’ve been dying to ask you something,” Gloria said in a hushed voice. She dug a magazine out of her drawer and paged through it. Gloria was in her early forties and was a crazed fashionista. “I read an article this weekend about the Ford Model Agency and saw this picture. Come over here, Paige,” Gloria urged her when she didn’t move.
Paige froze. She’d hoped that her past life would never come back to haunt her, but like with everything in life, nothing was guaranteed.
She forced her limbs to move and went to stand next to Gloria, staring at the picture of a curvy, dark-haired, young model in a skimpy, white bikini.
“I wasn’t sure because your hair is always tied back, you never wear makeup and the big frame glasses hides your face. This woman is a lot younger, but then I read the article and they mentioned one particular model who had shot to supermodel status at a very young age thirteen years ago. They mentioned her name. It is you, isn’t it? This picture?”
Paige was tempted to lie, but anyone who compared her side by side with the picture would notice the likeness, even with the age difference. Her hair color and eyes gave her away. It was an unusual mix of charcoal gray and green swirling together.
“It was years ago but yes, it’s me,” she admitted as she sat down. She tried to stem the flow of memories that came rushing back. Now wasn’t the time to rehash her past.
She was born and raised in a small mining town of Kathu in South Africa. She had hated Kathu and the ‘thirstland’ desert surrounding it. It was a very dry, arid and thirsty savannah region with dune areas that resembled a true desert for much of the year. If it didn’t rain, it was worse. Lately, it had become one of the fastest growing cities in the Northern Cape region because of the mines but back then, it had consisted of a couple of thousand people only.
When a scout for the Ford Model Agency had seen her in Cape Town, where she’d been vacationing with her family on her eighteenth birthday, and had offered her a modeling contract, she hadn’t hesitated. She’d grasped the opportunity with both hands.
Her father’s acrid words had been burned into her mind since the day she’d told them she was leaving.
“If you leave here today to chase after glamor and glitter in that Sodom and Gomorrah, know this, Paige Scott, you are no longer part of this family.”
“Dad, please try to understand. This town is stifling me! There’s no future for me here,” she cried brokenly.
“There are just as many opportunities in Cape Town, my girl,” her mother had tried to sway her as well.
“But none like this! It’s out there, Mom, in the real world. I’ll never have another chance such as this. Please, I beg you, Daddy, let me go.” She began crying as she begged her parents for understanding.
Her father was immovable. “We gave you a good upbringing, Paige. You’re the one throwing it away for money and fame. Go. But it won’t be with my blessing and once you leave, you are no longer welcome in this house.”
Paige had left and hadn’t seen her parents since. Thirteen years. She had managed to slip a few calls past her father to talk to her mother now and then. She’d hoped that he would mellow over the years, but he still resented her for deserting them.
The only family member who visited her often was her brother, Sean, a year younger than her. Not that she’d seen or heard from him over the past two months, she suddenly recalled. Gloria’s voice yanked her from her musings.
“Why did you stop modeling? You’re only, what? In your late twenties, early thirties? Still young and beautiful to make a killing in the fashion industry,” Gloria said. Her eyes sparkled with interest.
Paige shrugged. “A model has a limited shelf life. When I first started modeling, it was exciting and I loved every moment of it. As I grew older, I quickly realized it wouldn’t last forever and I needed to plan for my future. I took night classes and got a degree in management eight years ago.”
“But you have been working in the medical health care sector for the past five years already; which means you quit too early. If I remember correctly, you made it to top management position at the Mayfair Medical Group in Los Angeles, in the four years you were there. What made you move to Washington?” Gloria kept prodding.
Paige stared at her, wondering how much to tell her. Gloria might be curious, but she wasn’t a gossip.
“I got tired of the limelight. My every move was scrutinized and criticized, not just by the public, but the agency as well,” Paige opted for part truth and hoped Gloria would let it go.
“But—”
The door to Ethan’s office opened. He interrupted Gloria’s probing.
“Paige,” he invited her into the office with a nod. She jumped up, eager to escape Gloria.
“Hank and I looked at your file. I also went through your appraisal and I’m impressed with your performance here. I’d like to make you an offer,” Ethan intoned in his usual deep voice.
“An offer? I don’t understand.” Paige frowned. Had there been any open positions at the clinic, she would’ve known about it.
“I’ve been overseeing the general management of the clinic personally. It has become a burden which I need to absolve myself of; especially as I want to dedicate more time to R&D.”
“Are you saying you’re not going to practice as an internist anymore?” Paige frowned. It would be a pity. Ethan was one of the best doctors she’d ever come across. He was empathetic toward his patients on a personal level, not just professionally.
Her gaze was hijacked by his thick eyelashes that fanned over his eyes, drawing her gaze to his distinct cheekbones and angular jaw, covered in a neat stubble. His cropped dark hair combined with his sun-browned skin made him look devilishly handsome. She shifted in her seat. No matter how often she looked at him, he always took her breath away. His eyes, the color of tarnished gold, turned a rich brown topaz as he pondered over her question.
His shoulders lifted in a shrug and she swallowed at the rippling muscles under his shirt which were straining over his broad chest.
“Less, yes. I want to add value for the people who need more than what we currently provide. It’s where my real passion lies.”
Paige shifted in the chair as his kindness to humanity once again suffused her heart with a warm fuzzy feeling.
“I’d like to offer you the position of clinic manager, Paige,” Ethan said.
He watched her lips form an enticing, “Oh,” while her eyes widened—his narrowed. He’d seen that expression before and not so long ago, for that matter. Some of the subs at Club Devil’s Cove wore masks, wigs and even color contacts. Her eyes were the real thing, especially when filled with emotion. He knew then where he’d seen them before. The last time, the charcoal gray depths had been enhanced by thick black eyeliner, mascara and subtle smoky-co
lored eyeshadow.
Paige Scott had won him at the opening treasure hunt of Club Devil’s Cove. It was a night he was not likely to forget for a long time—especially as he never got to fuck her.
Chapter Two
“I hate this place. I never wanted to come here,” Jaxon railed against the man towering over him.
As an eight-year-old boy he’d been suitably impressed when they had arrived at the palace, which was situated high atop the hill overlooking the city of Riyadh. Its many pointed towers gave it the look of an eccentric crown. He’d been in awe of the white stone walls glistening in the summer sun, with the gray stone roof amidst the gold domes capping them. It was as big as five soccer fields. There was an army of servants to maintain the palace and surrounding grounds.
But the only places Jaxon enjoyed in this godforsaken palace, were the stables and gardens meant only for the royal family. It was where he spent most of his time when he wasn’t being tutored. But the high stone walls, topped with iron spikes that were guarded day and night had become his prison.
“I am sick and tired of the same tirade every day, boy. You will cease immediately,” Prince Khalid ordered.
Khalid’s face mottled crimson, his eyes bulged in anger. Jaxon stared at Khalid’s tree trunk sized neck that strained with distended veins. His words spat with the ferocity of machine gun fire, spraying spit over Jaxon’s young face.
Without wiping his face, Jaxon leaned closer, perfectly composed and uttered an open challenge, “You can’t make me.”
Khalid’s fuse fizzed like fireworks, about to blow. The eyes, square jaw and the arrogant tilt of the young boy’s face reminded Khalid of the boy’s father, Ethan Brodie—the bastard who had the audacity to come to his country and demand—demand—from him, the Prince, to hand over the boy.
The reminder caused him to explode with fury. His expletives echoed through the massive dining room. Jaxon remained as still as a cadaver but with hidden wariness, unblinking against Khalid’s onslaught.
Khalid raised his fist and he felt his arm tremble at the barely concealed smirk on the boy’s face, challenging him to unleash his violence upon him.
It had been seven years and not once has this bastard’s son shown signs of fear toward him. Over the years his resistance has intensified, and it had become a battle of wills that Khalid had every intention of winning. To date, he’d restrained himself from hitting Jaxon, but this time the memory of Ethan Brodie obliterated his self-control.
His fist came down but only grazed the side of the boy’s temple as he quickly ducked out of the way. He danced on the balls of his feet, his shoulders rolling and his hands balled into fists in preparation to defend himself. Khalid was taken aback. Although he was bigger than the boy, he was overweight and unfit. Jaxon was tall for his age and strongly muscled from spending so much time with the horses. Khalid frowned. No, he couldn’t have become this strong from only working with the horses. Someone has been training the boy in combat skills.
“Who dared disobey me!” He thundered as he turned to Delia, Jaxon’s mother and Khalid’s wife. She shrunk under his fury and trembled visibly. She’d been eating quietly, keeping her eyes lowered from the scene unfolding in front of her.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she cried, her eyes darting to Jaxon who was staring at her with obvious disgust.
Delia never defended him. The little boy who once adored his mother was long gone. He’d come to question the story she’d spun at the time about his father signing away all rights to him. That he didn’t want Jaxon in his life anymore.
Jaxon been heartbroken. At the beginning, Prince Khalid had preyed on his confusion, his hurt. He’d learned to accept the change in their lives. It had quickly turned sour when Jaxon began questioning why Delia wouldn’t allow him to phone his father, to ask him why he’d abandoned him. The older he got, the more he questioned his father just walking away from him. Delia and Prince Khalid had not considered the strong bond that already existed between the father and son. It was deeply ingrained in the young boy’s heart and soul and he couldn’t just accept his father abandoning him.
Jaxon had tried running away numerous times in the first two years, until Khalid had placed him under surveillance.
“You will tell me, boy! Who has been teaching you to fight?” Khalid demanded as he went to stand behind Delia, his hands on her shoulders.
She whimpered as he increased the pressure until his fingers dug painfully into her flesh. She cried out in pain.
“Please, Jaxon,” she pleaded with him.
Jaxon’s gaze didn’t stray from Khalid. Delia was struck by how much he resembled Ethan. The dark hair, which he kept styled in the same army style cut, that Ethan used to favor. His striking black eyes under curved eyebrows and a full mouth was drawn straight in anger. It was more than the looks that made her stare at him. For the first time, she noticed that he had the same inner strength and integrity as his father. Just like Ethan, he refused to be intimidated or threatened.
“You, Prince Khalid, are a coward. When I was younger, it bothered me that you hit my mother, but things have changed.”
His eyes shifted to Delia and what she saw there broke her composure. The tears that trickled down her cheeks weren’t from the pain Khalid was inflicting, but of loss. She’d never expected to be treated like a possession―women in Saudi Arabia were treated as second-degree citizens―they had no rights. Along the way she’d lost her spirit to fight. She couldn’t blame Jaxon for not respecting her anymore.
“My mother, as they say, made her own bed and now she has to lie in it. Hurting her isn’t going to weaken me, Khalid Saud. She doesn’t care about me or what you do to me. You are nothing to me and one day I will find a way to get away from here and find my father.”
Khalid couldn’t withhold the shudder at the young boy’s words. The hatred and determination in his gaze was a volatile combination. A promise of intent. He cursed the fact that he couldn’t have children and had counted on this boy to become his successor. He’d believed Jaxon was young enough to be molded and trained under his hand, but he’d discounted the impact Ethan Brodie had had on Jaxon’s life by the time he’d married Delia.
He resented Delia for becoming a meek female over the period of time. She’d lost the spunk that had drawn him to her in the first place. Even hitting her into submission had become boring and now, it served no purpose as Jaxon didn’t care about her wellbeing either.
“You disrespectful little shit. For that, you will be locked in your room for a week without any food,” Khalid snarled when he realized his intimidation had no effect on Jaxon.
Jaxon snorted. His gaze turned to Delia.
“And thanks for remembering my birthday, Mother. In case you were wondering why I’ve finally had enough of you pretending to love and care for me.”
“Jaxon, oh my god! When . . . yesterday. I’m so sorry.” Delia felt like the earth was swallowing her whole as the light in his eyes turned to pity.
“Are you, mother? I don’t believe you. It’s the second year in a row you’ve forgotten. Maybe you were the one who never wanted me, not Dad.”
Delia was broken as she watched her son walk out of the room. Her shoulders slumped. She’d never wanted children but once Jaxon had been born, she had tried to be a good mother and she had been—while still married to Ethan. He had given them a good life, no matter how hard he’d had to work for it.
She glanced around the room, her eyes glimmering as she took in the luxurious opulence. Money spoke in many languages. To her, it had mattered a lot. She wanted beautiful things. When Khalid came along, she thought her dreams had come true. She’d been naïve as far as Khalid was concerned.
“Let’s go to my office, wife,” Khalid ordered and left the room, confident that she would follow on his heels.
She obediently followed in his footsteps. Like always she was struck by the beauty surrounding her. The palace had architecture like no other in the country. The rei
gning king, some two centuries ago, had brought in an architect from Italy. His exotic ideas had inspired awe in the populous city. Parts of the roof had gold domed towers, which could be seen from miles away. Delia skirted past the front door leading to the open porch and ostentatiously detailed pillars painted in brilliant white. Her heels―it was the only concession Khalid allowed her, to wear modern clothes inside the palace walls―clicked on the marble floor as she hurried to his office. There were no doors on the ground floor; only arches that made the high ceiling appear even more impressive.
“I warned you to get that man out of the boy’s head, wife,” Khalid snapped the moment she closed the door behind her. He stood staring out of the wall of windows facing the barren desert that bordered the palace walls.
“That is easier said than done, Khalid. Don’t you think I haven’t tried over the years?” Delia defended herself, wringing her hands when he turned to stare at her.
“Try harder. I am tired of listening to him whine about that bastard. I want him to accept his future in this country. What has brought this sudden rebellion to the surface?”
“You have to understand that he worshipped his father, Khalid. He was his hero.”
“His father is dead, Delia.”
Delia sighed and sat down in the chair in front of his large marble desk.
“Telling him that won’t make him believe it, my husband.”
“Imbecile! Ethan Brodie is dead. He died three years ago when he had the audacity to slip into my country and demand to see his son.”
Delia stared at Khalid with horror in her eyes. “What are you talking about? You never told me this!”
“Why would I? You need not concern yourself with my affairs, woman.”
“Your affairs? He was my ex-husband and Jaxon’s father. Of course—”
Khalid pressed his face into hers and sneered, “And he ceased to exist when you married me; we both decided that—for you and for your son. Or, is my memory failing me?”
Delia shook her head. Her mind was desperately trying to grasp what Khalid was saying.
