by Maren Smith
Eyebrows arching as if he could hear my inner thoughts, Azid smirked and handed me his phone. “Call that Jax dude. I’ll wait for you inside.”
Five minutes later, my fate was sealed. In a week’s time, I’d be aboard a private jet, headed for the island of Osei. To meet my father. The King of Osei.
Chapter Two
Norah
I stared at the man shaking his assets on the stage and rolled my eyes, drumming my fingers on the sticky table. First impressions? This place was more or less a dive, albeit a popular one. Unfortunately, I was going to need a bit more than just that one thought for my review. A freaking master’s degree in journalism, and this was the kind of story I got stuck with on a regular basis. A belated human-interest column on a male dance club that had already been open for five years. And they wanted me to go on a Thursday night, no less. Sure, this weekend was a busy one in the city, but what made the club so special that it needed to be covered this weekend? They had already waited this long.
I’d give it one hour, and one drink. And the drink, as well as the cover charge, was going on my expense account. Like I would ever spend my hard-earned money to come watch guys jiggle their junk at desperate soccer moms.
I cut across the room, walking by the stage and ignoring the baby-faced blond dancer wiggling his hips suggestively as I headed to the bar. I ordered a Long Island Iced Tea, because, hey, if they forced me to be here and they were paying, I might as well make it worth my time. And just like clockwork, I had to show my ID. Again. Like no one had ever heard of anime. I’d spent my last two years in high school as a Japanese exchange student. I liked the style; so, sue me.
Sipping my drink, I made my way back to my table in the corner, I found myself actually pleasantly surprised. As far as Long Islands go, the drink was excellent. One of the best I’d had. I pulled a small notebook out of the pocket of my jacket and made a note for my review.
The music changed, and I glanced at the stage with disinterest as a new dancer strolled out and took his place. He was a popular one, judging by the hoots and hollers of the crowd of ladies now surging to surround the stage.
This guy was smoking hot—the tall, dark, and handsome variety—and I recognized him instantly from the ads out front. I think I might even have seen him in a commercial or two on late night TV. Staring at him in person was no hardship, that was for sure, but I was still uncomfortable. Luckily, he turned his body toward the large group of women across from me, and I was free to ogle his sculpted ass without his watching me in turn. That worked better for me and, I suppose, this was better than the pre-K T-ball game they had me cover last night.
Less noise. Much nicer view.
My phone vibrated on the table, and I scowled at it. My boyfriend, Brian, had a jealous side. And an angry side. Really, he was just an insecure asshole. I knew I could do better, even though he liked to tell me I couldn’t. Really, who had time to date around?
And the texts just kept coming through, one after another.
Where are you?
When are you coming home?
Who are you with?
I scowled, drinking faster. Work was work, but I needed to get home before Brian lost his mind, or worse yet, showed up here.
Determined to get enough for a five-hundred-word column, I turned my attention back to the stage—not that doing so was any kind of hardship. The dancer was doing a unique booty dance as he slowly turned in a circle, working the room from all angles. I glanced down at my phone as he faced me, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I was here for a story, not to throw money away or beg for male attention.
I could feel his eyes burning into me, and I forced myself not to look up. I didn’t need to. His dark olive skin glistened under the lights, and those muscles were burned into the recesses of my brain, at least for tonight. I all but held my breath while he stared. When I felt him shift, I finished off my drink and tossed a few bills on the table to cover a tip.
My phone buzzed again and I stood, taking one last long stare at his departing backside as he strolled off the stage. I had enough for a decent column. For my own sanity now, I think, it was time to get home.
* * *
“Norah, baby, I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again.”
I glared up at Brian from my spot on the floor and gingerly touched the skin around my eye with two fingers. To his credit, he did look appalled; to my credit, it was one wild fist to the eye too late for that.
When I was sure no skin had been broken, I leapt to my feet with my fists out in front of me. “Get out!”
The second round of apologies began, but I didn’t care. I had heard it all before. The only difference between all those times and tonight was this was the first time he’d actually hit me.
“Baby, c’mon, don’t be like that. You know I love you. You didn’t answer my texts and I freaked. I’m sorry, baby. Let’s forget all about it. I’ll order in some Chinese, and we can have a picnic on the patio and stay in tonight. I just need you all to myself.”
“Not this time, Brian. Leave now, or I’m calling the cops.”
His face changed instantly at the threat and he stepped toward me with a menacing scowl. “Who do you think you are?”
He made no move to leave as I slid my phone out of my pocket and began to dial. I understood. He didn’t think I’d really do it. We’d been here before.
My eye was swelling, making the numbers on the small cellular more difficult to read by the minute. I stared him square in the eye, with a defiant look on my face and pushed the send button.
Brian’s face changed from an expression of menace to rage to disgust in a split second. I flinched, but managed not to duck when his fist made contact with the wall behind me. This was my home, and I wasn’t going to be bullied in it. Not tonight. Not anymore.
“You stupid worthless bitch. Just remember, when I walk out that door, you’re all alone. Nobody else wants you, and they never will. How could they, especially once they find out about your”—he looked me up and down as if I were disgusting, sneering—“issues? You’re a nothing, a nobody. You don’t matter.”
It was the same pathetic line he always used, and it usually got me. Tonight, by some miracle, I was able to see the desperately spewed words for the lies they were.
“I matter to me.” The operator had answered and was speaking on the other end of the line. My eyes met his, and he turned and stomped out, slamming the door behind him. I followed him and quickly locked it before giving my attention back to the 911 operator.
“Sorry, ma’am. I thought there was an intruder in my home. False alarm.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. If he stayed another second, he would have been intruding.
My hands started shaking, then. So did my legs. Clutching my phone in my hand just in case he decided to come back, I retreated back into the bedroom and grabbed Ms. Beatrix off the bed. Ms. Beatrix was my bunny, handmade by my grandmother back before I was born; she was made of white cloth, with button eyes, smiling stitched mouth, floppy ears, and a blue Alice-in-Wonderland dress and apron, the likes of which I used to wish I could wear all the time, back before I fell in love with schoolgirl uniforms. Sinking down onto the edge of the bed, I hugged her to my chest until the worst of the shaking had stopped. Quiet, accepting, Ms. Beatrix soothed me, giving me the strength I needed to go back out into the living room and pick up off the floor that slip of paper that had started our fight in the first place.
It was a job offer. Not just any offer, but the offer of a lifetime. A chance for a fresh start, a new Norah, and the kind of adventure I’d be stupid not to take it.
But more than all of that, it was proof. Proof that I mattered. Proof that I was worth something and that someone did, in fact, want me in any capacity. Brian couldn’t handle that, but Ms. Beatrix could.
I hugged my bunny tighter, the words on the paper blurring before my eyes. Dammit. Well, he’d got me a good one, but at least I was making sure the first time he’d hit me would also be th
e last. If I took this job, I would be putting thousands of miles between us and Brian, and at the moment, neither Ms. Beatrix nor I could think of anything sweeter.
The skin around my eye throbbing, I walked into the kitchen and snagged a bag of peas from the freezer. “Fuck you, Brian,” I said as I put it on my face.
Normally not one to approve of bad language, Ms. Beatrix quietly cheered me on as I, while I could still see out of that eye, used the letter and my phone to make the call that would change my life.
Chapter Three
Mazi
I stepped onto the plane with Jax, my father’s personal assistant right on my heel, and stopped so fast the poor man knocked into me. Tall, reed-thin, the white of his short curly hair in sharp contrast with his dark skin and impeccable blue business suit, Jax struck me as the sort who didn’t often knock into anyone. He immediately fell all over himself with apologies, none of which I heard. Never mind the fact that my so-called ‘father’s’ private jet was actually more like a luxury hotel room on wings. What startled me more was finding that woman from the club last week—her violet hair done up in a business bun, her schoolgirl outfit today hot pink instead of blue, and still paying more attention to her phone than to me—was already here, seated in one of two white leather recline-able flight chairs near the bar.
Looking up from her phone at last, a spark of recognition flashed through her beautiful eyes when she saw me. We both looked to Jax, waiting for some sort of explanation or introduction.
“My apologies,” he said, adjusting the glasses on his nose. “If you are amenable, Miss Norah Baxter would like to join us on our flight. There was a minor problem with her security clearance and, although the problem was eventually cleared, it made her unable to get on her flight last night.”
So, her name was Norah, I mused, taking a good long look. She was still a schoolgirl, in a white blouse and pink jumper dress, with white tights and shiny pink shoes with butterflies on the shoelaces. A white sweater lay folded in her lap, and a duffel bag the same shade of pink as her skirt lay tucked up under her seat behind her feet. In the bright lights of the plane, I put her age somewhere around twenty-five. She dressed like she was twelve and it was an alluring combination—all those grownup curves packaged in an outfit that should have made her taboo.
“I don’t mind at all,” I said, smiling as I locked my gaze on her eyes and this time kept them there. I had the entire rest of our flight to commit her curves to memory, and it would be a long one. So while her overall look definitely put me in the mood to play ‘big, bad Daddy’ to a not-so-little ‘little girl,’ the last thing I wanted was to come across as a perv straight out of the gate. I went to her, hand extended. “Mazi,” I introduced myself. “And the more the merrier, I always say. Besides, nothing eases a long flight faster than lovely company.”
All right, maybe that was a little bit corny, especially coming from me, but Norah seemed to like it. Her hesitant smile as she shook my hand was totally worth my half-second fall into pretentious douchebaggery.
Her smile had been the one thing I hadn’t gotten a chance to see at the club. That was probably for the best, since I have a feeling it would have knocked me right off the stage. And her mouth... She had the most kissable heart-shaped lips that I’d ever fought myself not to stare at. Once her eyes reflected it, I was willing to bet that smile could have lit up a room, but she wasn’t ready to give me that view just yet. She took her hand back long before I was ready to let her go and her violet eyes, although lovely, remained hooded and unsure.
Challenge accepted, I thought, and although there were plenty of places to sit—two sets of double flight chairs with a table between them, a long white couch that took up the entire length of the jet from the door that a flight attendant had just exited the cockpit to close, all the way to the bathroom and the stateroom in the very back, and the bar right behind Norah with another short couch directly behind that—I planted myself in the empty seat directly beside her. Ours really would be a long flight, but I was confident that by the time we got to Osei, she’ll have lowered at least some of that guard to let me in. I wasn’t at all hard on the eyes. Plus, I could be charming when I wanted to be.
With her, I definitely wanted to be.
I didn’t realize Jax had followed me until I looked up from her to find him hovering over us, not quite wringing his hands but definitely looking pained about something. His eyes shifted to the empty chairs across the table from us, to the long white couch, to the short couch behind the bar, and back to me again. Apparently, there was a rule somewhere about royalty becoming too chummy with regular folk and it was killing him that I didn’t immediately get up and find a more distant place to sit.
Well, I wasn’t royalty yet and, frankly, I didn’t much care to be.
Don’t out me, man, I ordered with my eyes.
Although pained, my father’s assistant dutifully accepted the message. He tipped his head in a nod of a bow and pretended to clear his throat. “Right, well then. Miss Baxter has accepted a position with our government. She will be staying at the palace and working closely with the king. Pr—uh, Mr. Mazi Tucker will be vacationing as a guest of the king until further notice. As you both come from the same city, I’m sure you’ll find you have lots in common.”
His grimace at the end there made me think he wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of a prince having anything in common with an employee, but he wisely stayed silent on the matter.
I, however, was thrilled. Common ground made it easier to find ways to strike up conversation with the intriguing woman sitting in the chair beside mine. “Thank you, Jax. I’m sure we will. Could you get us a drink, please? A beer for me, and...” I hesitated, hoping I guessed correctly—it had been so dark inside the bar that night. “A Long Island Iced Tea for the lady?”
Norah smiled, but opened her mouth as if to decline. Just then, the plane rumbled into motion and we both jumped.
Eyes widening, she grabbed both armrests.
So did I, for that matter.
“Yes,” she gasped. “Why not? Perfect.” Snapping her mouth shut, she looked down the narrow length of the jet toward the closed cockpit door, then out the nearest window where I could see the tarmac moving beneath us, and then down at her hand. It wasn’t until she looked at me next that I realized I hadn’t just grabbed the armrest that divided our seats, I’d grabbed her hand too.
We both laughed a little awkwardly, and I reluctantly let go of her. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she demurred.
“Not a fan of planes?” Having never even seen the inside of a plane before today, I tried my best to keep my unease to myself. Especially since she looked nervous enough for both of us.
The plane bumped. It wasn’t going fast yet, but she gasped again and this time, it was she who grabbed my hand. She rolled her lips, casting a now openly worried glance out the window. She tried to smile for my benefit, but I could tell she was embarrassed. “Not really, no.”
“First time for me,” I confessed, hoping to make her feel better.
The plane really bumped this time, jostling both of us as well as the glasses secured under the bar where Jax was fixing our drinks.
“First time for the pilot, too,” I quipped.
She barked a startled laugh, her violet eyes full of gratitude. Instead of pulling my hand out of hers, I let her squeeze my fingers and shut her eyes tight when the plane turned onto the runway and lined up for takeoff. “Oh, my God, where’s that drink?” she groaned, then laughed again, embarrassed.
That was when I saw the faint yellow bruise barely visible on her upper eyelid. It was all around the outside of her eye, well-covered with a thick layer of makeup. The lighting at the club had been bad, but I was dead certain she hadn’t had a black eye a week ago.
My free hand clenched into a fist, and my jaw tightened. My stomach also sank straight through the chair I was on, because that was the moment the pilot chose to rush the jet down the
runway. One more bounce and suddenly the tires lifted off the ground, my insides dropped through both my seat and the floor, and we were airborne.
Whoever had hit her, he was damn lucky not only that I didn’t know who he was, but also that I was on my way to a foreign country. Otherwise, I’d happily have hunted him down to return the black eye favor.
Like I was entitled to go all caveman over a woman I’d only just met after glimpsing her across a darkened strip-club floor, a part of me thought. Only Hallmark movies had premises that screwed up—minus the strip club, of course. I’d have rolled my eyes at myself if only I weren’t concentrating so hard on not losing my shit over just now unexpectedly leaving my stomach on the tarmac.
“Jesus,” I half laughed, pretty sure I was about to out myself as either a pansy or a coward. I cleared my throat. “All righty, then.”
Jax brought the drinks as soon as we stopped climbing and the jet leveled out, serving me first. “Your—”
He caught himself when I looked at him.
“Mazi,” he amended. Clearing his throat now too, he then handed Norah her iced tea. “Excuse me, I’ll see what I can do about encouraging the pilot to get his act together.”
Jax walked off toward the cockpit, pausing only once to grab the wall as we shuddered through a brief bout of turbulence. Grinning, I turned back to Norah, a ready joke on my lips, which I never got to say. Norah was knocking her drink back. Three long gulps and only the ice was left in her glass.
“Whoa,” I said, my hand automatically reaching for it, but it was too late. The glass was empty, which in and of itself would have been funny, if only she didn’t look quite so unnerved. Her face was pale, unsmiling, and her eyes were huge.
“I need my bag,” she gasped, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “Where’s my bag? I need my bag.”
It was under her seat. Putting her empty glass into the sink in the bar behind us, I bent to retrieve her bag and she immediately hugged it. Douchebaggery, flirting, even jokes took an instant backseat.