by Rosie Pike
"It's an early start tomorrow, so the cars will arrive here at seven – does that work for you?"
"You're the boss," Tariq replied, his tongue slightly stuck out in concentration as he worked the white rag across the toe of his Chelsea boots to build up a shine.
Chloe was completely at a loss as to how to react – nothing in her training had prepared her for a client who was quite as laidback as Prince Tariq. In a way, it was almost easier to deal with grumpy Russian oligarchs demanding that she install a painting by an obscure Dutch Master in the hotel suite during their stay; or the time not long after she’d first joined the Kingsland Group that a Greek shipping magnate had asked her if they could host his birthday party on an authentic pirate ship in the middle of the River Thames.
She managed both of those requests without a problem, difficult as they'd been to handle, and she was used to her clients being difficult. This, however, was different – Tariq was perfectly reasonable, and it was messing with her head. It would have been easier for her mind to process exactly the opposite scenario – if Prince Tariq was abusive, annoying or unpleasant, then she'd have been able to rationalize the situation and just get on with her job.
Unfortunately, at least for Chloe, the daughter of a family that had been put through so much torment at the hands of Tariq's father and the state that he represented – the man sat diligently polishing his shoes in front of her was nothing like that. The Prince Tariq Chloe found sitting in front of her was a handsome, charming and utterly likeable man – and that was much more difficult to deal with.
"Okay then. Perfect." Chloe made a note in her binder, ticking off that piece of business. "Will one of your people at the embassy be able to tell me about any dietary requests?"
"There aren't any," Tariq replied confidently, throwing Chloe off course.
"None at all?" she asked, surprised. It was highly unusual for a group that large not to contain at least one, especially these days…
"Jack's wife," Tariq began counting on his fingers, "is a vegetarian – but she can't make it tomorrow. Tom doesn't eat lamb, but given that it's a breakfast meeting, I think it's pretty unlikely you'll be serving any of that. Miranda, the deputy CEO, she doesn't drink – but I've seen the menu you suggested and there are plenty of alternatives. Oh, and the owner, Charles, might make an appearance – but he's on a strict intermittent fasting diet. Bit of a health nut, you know?"
Chloe just looked at him, shocked – the last thing she'd expected he'd be able to do was list of the names and eating habits of his guests. Apparently she failed to prevent the look of surprise reaching her face, because Tariq picked up on it.
"Surprised? You shouldn't be."
"Oh… Why's that?" Chloe replied, because this was definitely unusual.
"Three reasons – Saudi Intelligence briefed me on all sorts of things before I left home, I've got a good memory, and I've done more preparation for these meetings than I've done for anything in my life." He ticked them off on his fingers as he went through.
"Clearly," Chloe joked. "Any chance you can get me a hook up with Saudi Intelligence? That kind of connection could be pretty useful in the concierge industry!"
Tariq picked up the boot he'd been polishing, finally finished. "Unfortunately, I think that's one of the few privileges I can't share around. Anyway, think this is getting close?" He put the shoe in front of her face, and Chloe realized with surprise that she could almost see her reflection in it. She wouldn't want to put on her makeup in it, but it wasn't bad at all. In fact – it was probably the shiniest shoe she'd ever seen.
"That's… Amazing!" she replied, genuinely impressed, or at least about as impressed as she'd ever been at the condition of a pair of men's shoes.
"Pretty nerdy, right?" Tariq joked self-deprecatingly. "But I guess we can only do what we can with the skills that we've been given. And for me, I guess that was polishing shoes… Thank God I was born into the family I was, else I would have been doing it for a living in Waterloo Station!"
"Well, with skills like that, you'd probably make a pretty decent living…"
As they went through the remainder of the binder, Chloe found herself continually shocked at Tariq's grasp of the minor details it contained – including the contents of the goody bags she was proposing giving the wives of the top executives Tariq was to be meeting.
"I'm not sure about the Armani dress, but I think the Tiffany necklace is beautiful. Just make sure you give a different one to each of them, okay?"
"No problem," Chloe replied. "Why?"
"The last thing I want is for them to turn up to some event together later on and all wear the same damn piece of jewelry. I'll be back here next year, no doubt, and it will be a lot easier if I don't have to deal with their husbands’ stress…"
"You got it," Chloe replied. "Any budget?"
"Spend as much as you need," Tariq replied dismissively. "It doesn't matter."
When she finally left the meeting exhausted, hours later, Tariq had finished the entire row of black and brown leather shoes, bringing them all to the same condition as the boot he'd shoved in Chloe's face. Bringing them to the kind of shine that he was looked physically exhausting, but Chloe was more than happy with it – she hadn't ignored the way his biceps and shoulders had flexed and tensed under the thin material of his white shirt.
More than that, though, she was beginning to get a handle on the man himself, and the picture her mind was painting was terrifying – not because Tariq himself was in any way scary, but because she could no longer deny the way that she was responding to this handsome, charming, caring, intelligent, and most of all – forbidden – young prince.
7
The horrendous, screeching alarm that Chloe needed to wake herself up did its job, and at precisely 5:31 a.m., she grudgingly clawed her way out of her cozy, warm double bed and threw herself into a hot shower to blast away the cobwebs of sleep.
"And you, too, can have the JML Cobweb Blaster for a limited time only at just £79.99. And wait, there's more – you get three free attachments, a pipe to reach those spots that you normally can't get at…" echoed the harsh, blaring voice of the television salesman.
Chloe stumbled back over to the offending television with her towel caught around her legs, flicking the channels on the remote in frustration as she realized she'd woken up too early for breakfast television. If there was one thing she hated about this job, it was the often unreasonable hours. It wasn't so much getting up at half five in the morning that was the problem, it was the inconsistency – the next day she might have the morning off, and the day after that be getting up at 6 a.m. It was a nightmare trying to build up a workable sleep pattern. The one bonus was that usually she got to watch her favorite morning chat show – but as so often happened, she was too early for that, too.
Instead, infomercials.
She quickly blow-dried her brown hair and tied it in a neat but unspectacular ponytail, applied just enough make up to accentuate her best features, but not enough to truly make any kind of statement.
She continued the same pattern with her choice of clothing – a dark pencil skirt, plain white shirt and slim cut, dark jacket. Nothing ostentatious, nothing too bold – just smart and attractive, but an outfit that allowed her to either blend deftly into the background or mingle, unnoticed, with the rich and famous.
* * *
"YOU LOOK LOVELY, Chloe. Ready for the big day?"
The unexpected voice startled Chloe, catching her halfway through the act of stuffing a banana she'd grabbed out of the bowl in her suite down her throat.
"Oh –." She chewed desperately, forcing the glutinous mashed fruit down her throat as swiftly she could. "My apologies, Prince Tariq, I had no idea you'd already be up." Typical, Chloe, making a fool of yourself…
As usual, the Prince was dressed like he was either heading for a day of filming on the set of the next James Bond film, or to a modelling shoot, this time in a grey single-breasted Savile Row suit.
Chloe felt as though her outfit was being put to shame, and even though the sensible half of her knew that blending into the background was her job – the selfish part of her wanted nothing more than to rush straight back upstairs and throw on a slinky cocktail dress.
"No – I'm sorry," the Prince winked, "I didn't mean to catch you in the middle of your breakfast. I'm an early riser."
Of course you are.
"I thought I was, too – apparently we have different expectations for what that means…"
"It's an old habit. Anyway, please don't feel that you have to call me by my title all the time – at least when it's just us two around." Tariq gestured around the hotel lobby, reassuring Chloe that they were indeed the only people up at this ungodly hour other than the two members of hotel staff quietly manning the check-in desks.
"Thank you, Tariq." Chloe hesitated before saying his name and smiled shyly up at him – and it was up, because even with her heels on, and her Norwegian ancestry, the handsome Prince towered over her.
"It's nothing." He smiled warmly. "It's great when you're a kid, but after a while you get tired of everyone having to treat you like you're the best thing since sliced bread."
Chloe’s face must have betrayed some hint of disbelief because Tariq hastened to qualify his statement.
"Trust me!" He grinned self-deprecatingly. "I know it sounds like a first-world problem – well, it is – but think about it. If everyone around you is besotted with you from the day you're born, how are you supposed to know who to truly trust, and who's just out to get something from you?"
"I suppose so," Chloe murmured, thinking it over as Tariq lightly grabbed her upper arm. She looked up, startled, as an electric buzz tingled up to her shoulder and onwards into her body from the brief unexpected contact. "What –."
Tariq pulled her in closer, as though to confide with her in confidence. "That's why I keep Khalid around. You've seen him?"
"I have…" Chloe said guardedly.
"And what do you think of him?" Tariq asked, an intrigued look on his face.
"I –." Chloe began, unsure of how to answer. Again, Tariq was putting her in a position that she hadn't ever faced as an assistant concierge – assaulting her with personal questions or topics of conversation that crossed the boundary of what she thought either acceptable or sensible in an employer-client relationship. And yet…
And yet, Chloe felt almost compelled to answer, drawn in by this strange, attractive, intriguing and irresistible young man.
"Don't worry, this is between you and I." Tariq smiled encouragingly. "I know he can be one scary guy."
As much as she would have answered almost any question this man could ask truthfully, Chloe took some solace in the knowledge that, on this topic at least, she didn't have much to say. So she told him.
"Honestly, Tariq," just calling the Prince by his first name gave Chloe a kind of thrill, partly as a result of the thrill of consciously rejecting the years of training with the Kingsland Group, and partly because she sensed that his asking her to call him by his first name was far more than simply dispensing with a formality, "I haven't really had much contact with him. But…"
"But?" Tariq prodded gently.
"Well, as I said – I’ve barely spent any time with him. But he looks like, well, a brute doesn't he?"
"A brute?" Tariq grinned. "I suppose he does."
"He just has this tense, nervous energy about him. I mean, you do as well, but his is different somehow, it has a sensation of pent-up frustration and aggression about it."
"And mine? Do I have that as well?"
"No." Chloe laughed, pushing him away and breaking the solemn moment of confidence they'd just shared. The body underneath the palm of her hand felt warm, firm and powerful, and she let her fingers rest on his chest just a few seconds longer than was strictly speaking necessary, before the brief contact broke.
At precisely that moment, with the two of them luckily separated, Tariq's three companions filed down the stairs, each in their full, formal military uniforms: Abdul in Army green, Omar in luxurious Air Force blues, and Khalid in the stark black uniform of the Saudi Interior Ministry.
"I told you… Just look at him," Chloe murmured under her breath, provoking a swiftly muffled smile from Tariq.
"Morning, gentlemen," Tariq greeted the late comers, shaking the hand of each in turn. "So good of you to join us…"
"Ah, it was a long flight, Tariq." Omar grinned. "Cut us some slack, will you?"
"Did you fly over here commercial?" Tariq asked, a wry smile playing at his lips. "Because you certainly can on the way back…"
"Oh, don't be like that, Tariq. Anyway, enough chatting – shouldn't we be on our way?"
Tariq raised an eyebrow, and Chloe had to rein in a smile at the clearly friendly relationship between Omar and the Prince, remembering that whatever had just changed in their personal relationship, she nevertheless had to maintain an entirely professional demeanor in this arena.
"Let's go. Game faces on."
8
Tariq whistled as the elevator's doors opened, revealing London's early-morning skyline in front of them, sunshine glinting off the elaborate, unique and intriguing designs of East London's many skyscrapers.
"Incredible choice, Chloe."
The compliment shouldn't have meant anything to her, especially since she had been doing this kind of job for a long time – but nevertheless, it did, leaving a warm glow in Chloe's belly.
"Thank you, Prince Tariq," she replied, seemingly demurely, though flashing him a wicked grin the moment his companions’ backs were turned.
"What meeting is this?" Khalid barked at Chloe, without any of the refined airs and graces of his more cultured colleagues.
"Please, Khalid," Tariq replied, turning to his colleague with a look that spoke of equal parts dismay and distaste. "Haven’t you taken the time to review the briefing documents you were provided with?"
Khalid had the good grace, at least, to look embarrassed when admitting that he had not in fact looked over the papers, even enough to know who exactly they were meeting that day.
"Then please refrain from taking out your own failures on our dear Miss Rouhani, will you?" Tariq asked, his tone of voice indicating that either Khalid did so, or he would be on the next flight home to meet a none too pleasant end.
Much as Chloe enjoyed seeing the unpleasant man taken down a peg or two, she did worry when seeing the look of suppressed rage on his face at his treatment at the hands of his superior. Nothing good, she thought, could come of that.
To soothe the man's ego, Chloe quickly butted in with the information he wanted. "You'll be meeting with Bodytech Corporation over breakfast this morning. I'm afraid I haven't been given the information on precisely what the company does. It all looks a bit secretive…" She was shocked at the venomous look she received in response to her kindness, and resolved quickly never to volunteer any information to the man that she didn't absolutely have to.
It didn't appear as though Tariq had noticed, or perhaps if he had, then he'd chosen to ignore her treatment for the time being. He rejoined the conversation with no indication that he'd noticed the mood between Chloe and Khalid change. "It's a body armor company."
"Body armor?" Khalid scoffed. "Why do our soldiers need that? That should go to the Interior Ministry, if anyone – we're the ones fighting the terrorists every day."
"What makes you think," Tariq began mildly, "that it won't?"
"You know as well as I do, brother, that everything goes to the Air Force first, and then the Army, and we at the Ministry are left fighting like rats over scraps," Khalid muttered with vitriol in his voice and his bruiser’s face scrunched up with outrage.
"And you know as well as I do, brother, that what you're saying simply isn't the case. After all, didn't the King only last week add another $2 billion to your budget?"
Khalid didn't reply, just stood with his hands scrunched into his pockets, a towering ball
of quivering rage.
"Anyway, Khalid, no one said that the Army would be the only branch to receive this new body armor. My father's plan is that all the kingdom's security forces are adequately protected in these dangerous times."
Seeing that his point clearly wasn't getting across to the angry young man, Tariq sighed and gave up, rolling his eyes at Chloe as he turned back to her. "You were wondering why the meeting was so secretive? Why I asked for it to be in a place like this, in complete confidence?"
"I suppose so…" Chloe said equivocally, not wanting to be drawn into the middle of a fight between Khalid and her client, and sensing that the angry bruiser wouldn't want her to know.
"They've invented a new type of Kevlar. I'm told the fibers are packed far closer together, so the material is almost impenetrable to bullets. But much more usefully, at least for us, is the protection it gives against shrapnel."
"What's that?" Chloe asked quizzically.
"Shrapnel? It's a projectile to get swept up in the explosive force of a bomb. The terrorists tend to pack their suicide vests and car bombs with nails and ball bearings which fire out at unimaginable speeds, cutting through anything they come across, and the body armor that we've been using so far has been ripped to shreds by it."
"How come?" Chloe asked, forgetting that she had intended not to show too much interest, but unable to do so now that Tariq had broached the unarguably intriguing conversation.
"I'm no scientist," Tariq joked, "but I'll tell you what I can. As far as I know, the Kevlar essentially sacrifices itself to stop a bullet, but because of that, it's far less useful when there are multiple impacts. Luckily, when it's just a matter of stopping two or three bullets, the vests can handle it without a problem."
"Oh…" Chloe said, not really following Tariq's train of thought.
"The problem comes when you have a hundred ball bearings hitting the vest all at once. The first fifty probably won't make it through, but as they keep coming, eventually the material gives way."
