Sheikh's Fake Fiancee (5 page)

As her face came into view on the computer screen, he offered her his most professional and charming grin. Of course, she was the last person on Earth he could charm. Maybe she’d been inoculated by all his schemes and quick talk as a teenager. Still, he wanted to request this chance to stay a bit longer in New York. Now that he had found Jennifer, the last thing he wanted was to lose his princess.

“Mother, how are you?” he asked, frowning.

Something wasn’t right.

His mother looked impeccable. The Donna Karen dress was finely pressed and her makeup had been applied with only the artistry that Anwar, her attendant, could provide. But a shadow hung over her eyes, dark circles that told him she hadn’t slept nearly as well as she wanted him to believe.

“I’m fine.”

“But?” he asked, knowing there was something else under that iceberg’s tip.

“Your father’s health is declining. Dr. Hassan says his heart is failing faster than they anticipated.”

“Dear Allah,” he said. “Fareed and I can have the jet powered up and ready to come to Yemen in a few hours.”

“I’d appreciate that, but you know what bothers me most, my son?”

“That time grows so short?” he asked.

“No, that you aren’t married. The doctors know his heart has taken a turn for the worse, but he could still live another six months or a year in this weakened state, and you have not done anything to fulfill the laws and customs of our people.”

“I think they’re antiquated,” he huffed.

His mother narrowed her eyes back at him. “You have no idea what you speak of. The marriage clause has been the rule of our lands for centuries. Your ancestors devised it for very specific reasons, and if you think they were being foolish to do so, then you clearly haven’t considered their ramifications.”

“The ramifications,” he said, raking a hand through his hair, “are that I’m under pressure to marry anyone, someone I might not even give a flying fuck about, because of ancient rules that say without a legal chance for an official heir, the power will go to someone else, to the next married-and-ready-to-produce male member of my family.”

“And I refuse to let Haddid have that honor,” she hissed. “Your cousin hasn’t earned it. I see you bring one girl after another home, sometimes more than one. I am mortified by the headlines of various tabloids. You’ve played this dangerous game too long. Your father’s health is failing and our branch of the family may yet lose the throne of Yemen. You need a wife, Bahan, and you need one
now
.”

“So will you have one waiting when I get off the plane? Perhaps that girl with the personality of wallpaper who is the sheikha of Lebanon?”

“She wouldn’t be a bad choice. We always have to think about the best political alliances.”

“Believe me,” he said, ignoring the bit of spittle that flew from his lips, “I’ve been taught my whole life about how important it is to think about the ramifications of every action I take. I didn’t want the woman I love to be about that. I didn’t want my wife to be no more than the next political test I have to pass or the next alliance I have to woo. What kind of a life is that?”

“That’s the life of a sheikh,” she said. “It’s the life you’ve been born to. I know that if Fareed were the oldest, he’d accept responsibility with no question. You’re almost thirty-five and yet you’ve dallied and dallied and dallied. Now we might lose
everything
. Do you know what that would do to us?”

“Mother, I’m sure that Haddid will still let us live in the palace and you can buy your jewelry and Birkin bags forever.”

“No, I mean to your father. He’s served this country for decades and he doesn’t deserve to die knowing that his legacy could be undone by any whim of Haddid’s.”

He winced. Mother had struck a serious nerve there. His cousin wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn’t smart and he was definitely prone to knee-jerk reactions. Haddid was the last person Yemen needed as a ruler.

“I understand. Fareed and I will be home tonight, and we’ll find a suitable woman then,” he said, his voice as hollow as his limbs as he ended the video call.

“So I caught the tail end of quite the fight,” his brother said as he entered the room, stroking his beard. Unlike Bahan, his younger brother had a long beard, much more in the traditional style. Bahan figured he mostly kept it because he loved to stroke the damn thing as if it were a cat. “Were you and Mother at it yet again?”

“Father’s ill,” he pointed out. “Dr. Hassan says his heart’s getting far worse. We need to get home.”

Fareed nodded and swallowed hard. “And you need to marry any available female you can find. That much I know.”

“Mother wants that girl from Lebanon.”

“She has a unibrow and some nasty psoriasis. Not exactly your sort, old chap,” Fareed said, grimacing.

“Well, I need an answer and I need it fast.”

“Then marry that girl you’ve been seeing since you slipped out to The Wild Orchid. What’s her name? The one who scurried out of here in record time after brunch.”

“Jennifer…um, I don’t know her last name.”

“Might need to work on that,” his brother said. “Of course, if she does marry you, it would be ‘Munir.’”

“I doubt she wants to be the sheikha of a faraway land she hadn’t heard of until about two days ago, and it’s a bit early to propose.”

“Not if Father dies and we’re out of a kingdom,” he said, stroking that damn beard again. “Besides, the law technically says you need to be married at the time of the old ruler’s death and that the union must last at least one year. It doesn’t say
anything
about you needing to stay together any longer than that. If she’s nervous about the idea, treat it as a business arrangement. Everyone can always use extra money, but if Father is so sick, then you just stayed married as long as you have to in order to screw Cousin Haddid out of any claims. That’s all. Besides, she’s far more delightful—at least she was at brunch—than Lady Unibrow over in Lebanon.”

“You shouldn’t call her that,” Bahan objected. “It’s rude.”

His brother shuddered again. “But you wouldn’t want to wake up next to that every day forever since you couldn’t just dissolve that union on account of ugly. That would lead to war.”

“I…well no. I’m not sure that the sheikha of Lebanon and I are exactly compatible.”

“She’s more someone who might fit with the Swamp Thing or Frankenstein,” his brother quipped. “I’m serious. Go and call your American, set up a date, and explain the situation. The worst thing that happens it that for a year or two, she has loud sex with you that I can hear in my part of the suite, damn it, and ends up with some thank-you money at the end. It could be a far worse deal. I mean, it could be better. I
am
the more attractive brother.”

“You wish.”

“Oh I am,” Fareed added, winking back at him. “Just call Jennifer. If you explain all of it, she might understand. It’s that or learn to love unibrows.”

“You have a point.”

“I usually do,” his brother said as he backed out of the study. “You call her and I’ll ready the jet, alright?”

“Fine,” he said, waiting until his brother was gone. Picking up his cell, he dialed her number and was surprised when a different voice than he expected answered. It seemed vaguely familiar, however. Could it be Rose? “Hello? I was looking for Jennifer…uh…Jennifer,” he floundered, wishing like hell he had her last name. How foolish would he sound proposing, even for political reasons, to a woman whose last name he didn’t know? “Is she there?”

“She’s with the ER doctor right now.”

His heart stopped. He knew that Sydney had looked sicker than just overly tired or coming down with the flu. “Where are you?”

“New York-Presbyterian.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

“The traffic’s been a nightmare.”

“I’m not driving,” he said, heading to find his brother and call up the chopper. He had a hospital to get to.

Chapter Five

“Today is going to be sister bonding day,” Jennifer said, smiling brightly at her sister as she entered the apartment. Maybe her sister wouldn’t make too big a deal about her semi-walk of shame if Jen started in on all the plans she had for them. “Wait, why are you curled up with Gammy’s blanket and my heating pad? Also, you’re really pale. Do you think we should go to the doctor? There’s a walk-in clinic down the block that’s open on Sundays and…”

Sydney shook her head and then winced a little. “I think it’s just my time of the month a little early. It’s like Aunt Flo realized she hadn’t kicked my ass enough in the last few years, so she’s making up for it today. It’s fine, but I don’t think I’m going to make it to Macy’s to do the shopping for Mom. Can we just chill here and rewatch Christmas specials?”

“I wish I had Garfield on DVD here. He is the best.”

“Exactly,” Sydney said, trying to sit up and then wincing when she did that. “God, that hurts.”

Jennifer frowned and rushed ahead to her sister to feel her forehead. “You feel like you’re scalding. I think we need to go to the doctor now.”

“No!” her sister shouted, surprising Jennifer by bursting into tears. “I’m always sick and we always have to do stuff when you’re worried about me. I know my sugar’s been up but I’ve been doing everything everyone asks me to do, okay? I just…can’t I just have a normal December day like anyone else? The last thing I want to do is ruin our day by sitting for six hours in some shitty waiting room where everyone has the flu. I mean, really, for just some stuff that can be solved with Midol, do you want to be hacked on by half of Manhattan.”

“We need to go,” she said, about to lift her stubborn sister off the couch when her phone rang. She wanted to scream in frustration when she pulled it out and saw it was her company’s number. “I…Jennifer Wilde here, how can I help you?”

“This is Khan, and you better get your ass here now. The Z-Box account had some preliminary thoughts on your initial pitch and you need to be in the office in an hour, Wilde, or you can look for another one.”

She blinked, not sure she’d heard her boss right, all while the swirling storm of insecurity tore through her gut. “I…what?”

“You heard me. Get to the offices in an hour or don’t ever bother coming in,” he said, clicking off after that.

“Wow, you need to go,” her sister said, her voice still coming out small and breathy. “I could hear him shouting over the line.”

“I can get another job.”

“Not in this economy!” Sydney shouted. To be fair, her sister was right. “Go in and I’ll be okay.”

“I’m calling my neighbor Mrs. Katz over just to sit with you. She might smell a bit like mothballs but at least she’s nice.”

“Sure, just do what you have to. I’ll just be mainlining the Advil and watching ABC Family,” her sister replied, leaning back on the sofa. “Really, I’m fine.”

Then why do you look so yellow?

***

Jennifer made it with only five minutes to spare. She had accidentally mismatched her skirt and top so one was navy and the other was black, but she’d at least made it. Hell, she was even panting as she rushed out of the elevator and made a beeline down the main corridor to the conference room. Sitting there already was Michael Huntington, the junior partner on the account, grinning at her as she entered like the damn Cheshire cat. Beside him was Rose, looking up at her already with wide, worried eyes. At the front of this small gaggle of people was Mr. Kahn, and his pacing wasn’t doing anything to keep his blood pressure down. His skin was so purple that he looked like an eggplant.

“Miss Wilde, how nice of you to join us this afternoon.”

“I…well it is Sunday,” she offered lamely before scurrying into the seat closest to Rose. I…what’s going on?”

“Nothing that big,” Michael said breezily. “Well, it’s not that big a deal unless you wanted Zedmore Electronics to be furious with us and threaten to take their account to another firm. If you thought that was a big deal, then someone who ran our campaign would be in trouble. Oh wait,” he said, turning that gameshow-host smile on her. “That would be you, wouldn’t it?”

She looked down at her hands and said nothing. Normally, she wouldn’t let an ass like Michael get away with talking to her like that, but with Mr. Kahn there, she could hardly make a fuss. At that moment, anywhere had to be better than here, this small meeting where nothing was going right. She assumed Rose, as her assistant, was here to be yelled at as well.

“But it was a preliminary pitch of a general direction. We weren’t necessarily going that way. I was working on a longer pitch and promotional campaign for them. I’ve been putting in fourteen-hour days for this for months.”

“Work smarter, not harder, babe,” Michael chimed.

Mr. Kahn shot him a death glare and Michael finally stopped his damn gloating. “But the general angle you pitched was something akin to appealing to the same young men who drink Mountain Dew and eat Cheetos by the bucket. They didn’t think you really appreciated the diverse spectrum of gamers and men—young and old—that they were trying to appeal to.”

“I can rework even what I’ve started for the longer promotional campaign. I can. Just give me a week or two, and I can send something with much more depth to Zedmore. I was partway there already.”

“I don’t think that’s wise. It’s only because Darren and I go way back and we’ve had them for clients so long that they’re staying at all,” Mr. Kahn said, even as he rubbed agitatedly at his bald head. “That’s why I think starting from now on that you and Rose both will be
support staff
only to Michael as he readies the account. I trust him to use these next two months to really wow everyone. If he needs, say, a stapler, he can ask you ladies for that.”

“I’m being demoted?”

“I’d say so. You’re lucky I’m not firing you, Miss Wilde. You have talent and great instincts on so many things, but be grateful I’ve kept you as still on creative staff. I was tempted to let you go or let you be a coffee getter like Rose here.”

Her friend flinched and Jennifer reached out under the table to squeeze Rose’s hand. That wasn’t exactly how she thought of her friend and assistant, and it hadn’t been for a long time. Rose had great ideas and pizazz of her own. Things she brought to late-night brainstorming sessions all the time.