by Holly Rayner
TWO
Osman
“Please don’t go.”
Osman grinned at the woman in bed next to him. He leaned in and kissed her deeply. Then he backed away.
“I have to, baby. I’ve got a meeting this afternoon that I really can’t get out of.”
He was lying.
He always lied. Why shouldn’t he? Osman was a sheikh. People addressed him as Your Highness. He could do whatever the hell he wanted. Besides, he didn’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings. Let her think that he was going to call. Let her bask in the joy of having bragging rights after sleeping with that most eligible of bachelors, Osman Al-Haddeni. Osman knew how lucky she was. The girl would figure it out after she got over the brush-off he was about to send her way.
Bouncing himself off of the ornate, king-size bed, Osman slid back into his T-shirt and designer jeans. He had never worn anything less than the best quality. His shoes were made of the finest Italian leather, and walking in them was like walking on heaven’s clouds. He’d experienced such a vision once, while hiking in the Swiss Alps, though even that wasn’t enough to maintain the faith his mother had tried to force on him.
Osman had gone to a few different schools in Europe, where he had been exposed to many different ways of thinking. It was in France when he first read about the idea of Atheism, and while he wasn’t quite ready to believe in nothing, he had rejected his family’s religion upon his return to Al-Merindha. This had deeply upset his mother, but his father had still insisted on a Western education. Osman was a man of the world, but only the very best of it. He was a hedonist. He enjoyed all that the world had to offer—good booze, good women, and a comfortable place to sleep. No one knew how to live better than he did.
Slipping into his shoes, he bent down to the pouting woman on the bed, kissing her forehead lightly.
Her pout deepened. “When will I see you again?” she asked, her voice sultry.
He was almost tempted to jump right back in bed with her, but he checked himself. No need to drag it out. She had been pleasant enough, but honestly, the conversation had been as dull as an old brass penny.
He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ll call you.”
“I’ve asked about you, Osman Al-Haddeni. They say you never call,” she said, sinking deeper into the sheets with her arms crossed.
Osman smirked. “Then why did you come to bed with me?”
“Because I thought I could be the one who changed your mind about that, but you have to give me more than just one night.”
Osman considered that. He considered the way her bleach-blond hair fell over her shoulders, framed her perfect oval face with deep brown eyes; eyes that were begging him to take her on as a regular. That was just something he couldn’t do. Osman liked his women kind of like he liked his sushi: a wide selection that he could choose from at any time.
He leaned down one more time and kissed her cheek, a light, airy breath of a kiss. “Never make the mistake of thinking you can change a man,” he whispered against her skin.
She shivered, which Osman barely noticed on his way out of the decadent hotel room. She could enjoy the full breakfast he had called in while she was still asleep. Let it never be said that he didn’t take care of his paramours after the fact—even if he didn’t call them again. He rested secure in the knowledge that she would enjoy an elegant meal in a stunning hotel room overlooking the ocean. How long it took to get over him was up to her.
Osman observed the glittering crystal chandeliers dangling from the ceiling as the glass elevator lowered several stories back to the first floor. He pulled out his cellphone and tapped a few keys, putting it up to his ear.
“Adil, please bring the car up. I’ll be at the door momentarily.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Adil replied, ending the call immediately.
Quick and to the point, just like Osman liked it. Osman was always so happy with Adil’s services. It was a shame his security team couldn’t have been more like him.
Osman frowned, thinking about the group of over-muscled, overbearing men he had previously hired as his security team. Of course, he didn’t need one. He was one of those people who was rich enough to live exactly as he wanted, but distant enough from the throne so as not to be considered a risk—politically speaking, at least. Everyone knew Osman was just a playboy. Sometimes he liked to think of himself as the Batman of Al-Merindha, minus all the crime fighting and plastic suits. At least, it had been much easier to think that way before his father had died, and he had had to take on responsibilities that he had not terribly enjoyed.
Adil pulled up with the car just as Osman approached the sliding front doors of the decadent hotel. He walked confidently to his car, knowing the door would be opened for him to slide in without hesitation.
Osman sank into the cool leather of the backseat, pulling his phone out once more as Adil took his place in the driver’s seat.
“Where to, sir?” Adil asked.
“I’ve been invited for brunch at Faraj’s this morning. Let’s head over there now,” he said, opening up a poker app on his phone as Adil wound his way through the glittering city.
Although it was later in the morning, the city was just starting to wake up, and Osman rolled down his window slightly to catch the scent of baking bread and fresh coffee being brewed. It was one of his favorite combinations, and he breathed deeply as Adil made his way to Faraj’s apartment.
A few minutes later, the car pulled to a stop in front of a towering building, the color of rose gold.
“Here we are, sir,” Adil said, setting the car in park and hopping out to open the Sheikh’s door.
Osman closed the poker app after winning another round and stepped lightly from the car as he made his way toward the building.
“I’ll be a couple of hours, Adil,” Osman said over his shoulder.
“Very good, sir. Call whenever you are ready.”
Osman nodded to the doorman, who held the door open ready for him. Osman was well-recognized around town, and a regular at this particular apartment building, so there was no need to check in with anyone. He came and went generally as he pleased. He expected no less.
He entered the elevator and tapped the number of his friend’s penthouse apartment, swallowing as his ears popped again and again, rising high into the sky. Finally, the elevator stopped at the top, and Osman pressed the entry button to be let in. He was instantly granted access.
Faraj’s penthouse was the pinnacle of style. His furniture was imported from the finest makers, his walls coated with modern art. The whole apartment was encircled with floor to ceiling windows, giving the sensation of being on top of the world. Osman never tired of the view, towering over the city with the ocean shimmering in the background.
Faraj was sitting at the bar, mixing some kind of alcoholic drink. He grinned upon seeing Osman.
“Osman! You made it, my friend!”
Osman strolled over to the bar to join his friend, who gave him a welcoming handshake. “Thanks for the invite,” Osman said, fixing himself a drink; Faraj had been a friend of his since graduate school in Austria, and Osman felt comfortable making himself at home. “Anyone else joining us?”
Faraj grinned. “We shall see. It’s Sunday morning, after all. Lots of hangovers to nurse.”
Osman laughed, taking his drink and sitting down on one of the sofas overlooking the sea. Faraj joined him, plopping down on another welcoming cushion.
“So, what’s new with you, Osman? Judging by your appearance I’d say you enjoyed some company last night,” Faraj said, sipping his drink.
Osman laughed. “Is it that obvious? I thought I brushed out all the wrinkles in my shirt,” he said, taking another swipe at it for good measure.
Faraj chuckled. “A man doesn’t wear a night of passion on his clothing, Osman. You appear relaxed and at peace with the world, and not at all hungover. Since women seem to be the best cure for anything that ails you, I ca
n use my excellent deductive reasoning skills and come to the conclusion that you were with a beautiful lady last night. So, will this one last longer than a week?”
Osman took a sip, stalling.
The silence was all the answer Faraj needed. He sighed, though it was clearly in jest. “Oh Osman, when will you ever settle down and find a nice girl, eh?”
Osman smirked. “Whenever you find one, so that I can steal her from under your nose,” he replied, and Faraj snorted.
“I’d like to see you try!”
At that moment a man dressed in a black suit entered the room, standing to attention at the door.
Faraj turned and greeted him warmly. “Ah, Hanif, welcome.”
The man gave a small bow. “Reporting for duty, sir,” he said in a clipped accent.
Faraj nodded and turned back to his friend. “Whatever happened to your security squad anyway, Osman? You outdid all of us by hiring an entire team, yet here I see you are alone, completely unprotected!”
Osman frowned, gazing out at the city below. “There was something wrong with my team, Faraj. I can’t totally explain it. Some of the staff complained that they were being bullied, and some of my mother’s jewelry suddenly went missing. I don’t know who the culprit was, but I know all of my domestic staff very well. I don’t believe that any of them would steal from my home.”
Faraj frowned in turn, his eyebrows knit in concern for his friend. “That’s terrible. Do you have security cameras around the house, something you could use for proof?”
Osman scoffed. “I’m not going to put cameras in my home, Faraj, are you nuts? Hackers could easily gain access to the footage and watch me doing…things,” he said, trying not to think of some of the illicit activities he had got up to in the various hallways of his mansion.
Faraj smirked. “All right, so no cameras, and no burly bullies escorting you about. Have you thought about using a different company?” he asked, nodding to a group of servers as they entered, carrying steaming plates full of food.
Osman’s stomach rumbled as the staff set up tables in front of the two young men so that they wouldn’t have to lose their perfect view. He took a bite and swallowed before answering his friend’s question.
“You’re going to think I’m nuts,” he said, hesitating, “but I’m interviewing a woman to be my bodyguard. I’m just waiting to confirm her arrival for the interview.”
If Faraj’s eyebrows could have shot any higher, they’d have landed on top of his head. He burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, and kept laughing until Osman playfully punched his shoulder.
“Shut up! It’s an amazing idea! I get a trained warrior with none of the usual ego and testosterone. A woman won’t be jealous of my lifestyle. Besides, who else has a female bodyguard? I’ll be the only one; a trendsetter.”
Faraj wiped tears from his eyes, casting a glance back at his own bodyguard with a silent expression that said can you believe this guy? The guard unsuccessfully repressed a smirk.
When Faraj finally calmed down, he focused back in on Osman, who was silently waiting for him to finish this display.
“So you’re determined, then, to set yourself apart?”
“I am,” Osman said, not amused by his friend’s show of disrespect.
Faraj sobered slightly, reading his friend’s mood. “Don’t frown so, Osman. You know I support you. I’m sure this bodyguard will be an exceptional addition to your team.”
“Thanks,” Osman replied, his tone terse, though he was already getting over his pique. Of course he had had his own misgivings when he’d first thought of the idea. It was only when he’d been approached by a man named Connor Bates that he had been convinced that female guards were all the rage in America right now.
The rest of their meal was enjoyed amiably, with Faraj providing all the latest gossip from the clubs while Osman sat back and laughed. He gave his friend a hearty handshake as he left later, slightly buzzed and feeling like a nice long nap.
He called Adil and slid back into his air-conditioned car as the day began to heat up in earnest.
“Where to, sir?” Adil asked.
“Home, Adil. I’m ready to get some rest.”
“Very good,” Adil said. As they drove on, he added, “Good news, Your Highness! The security guard Mr. Bates recommended will be here tomorrow for her interview.”
“Excellent. When can we expect her?”
“She should be in by late afternoon. Would you like me to pick her up from the airport, sir?”
Osman thought for a minute. He was a man who was often told what he wanted to hear because he was wealthy. With the disaster that was his last group of guards, he wanted to really see what this woman was like for himself.
“No,” he said, and Adil glanced back briefly in surprise.
“Sir?” he said.
Osman grinned. “I think I’ll pick her up myself. Remind me of her name, Adil?”
“Beth Coolidge, sir. From Pennsylvania.”
Such a strange, foreign name. Osman was determined to find out just exactly what kind of person Beth Coolidge was.