by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
"I will not do business with the royal family of Tamir," he interrupted, all but snorting as he stepped away from her desk.
Her father frustrated her, and had for years. "Then why agree to the meeting in the first place? Why waste my time?"
He gave her a tight smile. "By the time I learned of the meeting, you had already accepted. To decline at that point would have been unwise. Humor the boy, be hospitable, but when all is said and done if he still wants to invest in the refinery, find something wrong with his offer." He patted her on the cheek as he passed. "You will think of a good reason to decline, I am sure."
Elena nodded, but she wasn't thinking of ways to get rid of Hassan, she was already thinking of arguments that might sway her father. If she could convince him that a partnership with Hassan would be good for Maloun as well as Rahman Oil, would he change his mind?
"Would you mind if I invite a few friends out to your ranch tonight?" he asked as he reached the doorway.
"Of course not," she said. "I only use it on the weekends, so no one will be there to disturb you." The ranch was a fairly new purchase, less than two years old and the result of the glaring knowledge that outside the business Elena had no life. Now she had a small ranch house an hour's drive from Evangeline, as well as three horses, and she employed an old couple that ran the place as they had for the people who'd owned the ranch before her. Since Wilson and May Carlton had their own cottage away from the main house, Elena had the place to herself when she went there to unwind on the weekends.
In the doorway, her father turned and smiled. "Khalid and Akram enjoy the fresh air away from the city, and Taysir has a special liking for your housekeeper's pound cake."
"I'll call May and make sure she has some made for this evening."
"Arif will be joining us. Do you remember Arif?"
Of course she did, Elena thought with a shudder. Three years ago her father had actually suggested that she and his friend Arif marry. He had not been pleased when she'd refused him outright. It had been, in fact, the biggest fight they'd ever had.
"We're going to play poker," he continued, "but you know we will not play for money."
"I know." She had given her father his own key to the ranch house, but he always stopped by or called when he wanted to use it. Not to be polite, she knew, but to make sure she would not be there. He did not mind allowing his Americanized daughter to run the business, since she was good at her job, but in the social circles that included his old-world friends she was a disgrace. When she'd been a year old he had given her care over to nannies with no instruction, and yet he sometimes expected her to be the daughter he would have had if she had been born and raised in Maloun. And he didn't seem to see the unfairness in that expectation.
"The new contracts should be ready to sign next week." He always liked to look over their contracts with new companies, have his lawyer approve them, and then give them his own seal of approval.
"Good. When?"
"Monday morning," she said. "They'll be ready by nine."
He nodded absently, and ignored Kitty as he breezed out of the office, leaving a trail of cigarette smoke in his path. After the elevator in the hallway whished open and closed, Kitty stopped pounding on her keyboard and lifted a smiling face to Elena.
"So?"
"He wants to use the ranch..."
"No, no," Kitty interrupted. "Last night. Did you finally get lucky?"
"Kitty!" Elena used her best "boss" voice. "I'm sure you have better things to do than to quiz me about my love life." Or lack thereof.
"That's a no," Kitty said, shaking her head in despair as she returned to her keyboard.
* * *
Hassan leaned into the three-sided phone booth, trying to cut off the dull roar of mall noise surrounding him. The phone rang twice, before Rashid answered. It was 7:00 p.m. in Tamir, but Hassan's elder brother had been waiting for this call. Since cellphones were notoriously unsecure, Rashid had suggested they communicate by pay phone rather than depend on international cell transmissions.
"How are you?" Rashid asked, his voice low and obviously concerned.
"I'm fine," Hassan said. "I've seen the plant. I haven't found any concrete information yet, but there are a large number of Malounians employed at the refinery. I'll be there again this afternoon. Rashid," he added sharply, "E. J. Rahman is a woman."
There was a pause, a second or two of complete silence. "A woman?"
"Yes. What wonderful intelligence I was given."
"There was no time..." Rashid began.
Hassan grinned, glancing around to see if anyone was paying attention to his phone call. No one seemed to care. "I know," he interrupted as Rashid made excuses for their poor intelligence. Hassan knew and understood the reasoning behind going into this mission almost blind. "She's not involved, I'm sure of it. I broke into her office to search..."
"You did what?" Rashid snapped. "You're not trained for that. You are there to collect information. Nothing more. If you find any concrete proof that the Brothers of Darkness are indeed using the Rahman refinery as a base, you call me and then you get out."
Hassan's smile faded. Nothing had changed. He would always be the second-born, the son you could never count on. The family black sheep. "I can hardly expect the Brothers to walk up to me and introduce themselves."
"Of course not," Rashid said, his voice calmer than it had been before. "Just be careful. Don't try to be a hero, Hassan."
"Don't worry."
He hung up a moment later, scooped his bag of purchases from the ground at his feet, and headed through the mall and out the wide door to his leased Ferrari. Before he went to Elena's office, he would swing by the car lot and make an exchange. The Ferrari was fast and sleek, but what he really wanted was a pickup truck.
Hassan's conversation with Rashid had disturbed him, but he calmed himself with thoughts of Rahman Oil's CEO. Her face, the way she laughed, she way she moved with grace and strength. Last night he had been tempted to tell Elena everything. He had felt an urge to tell her why he was here, to warn her that someone was using her refinery as a front for a terrorist organization. He'd also been tempted to tell her that in spite of everything, he wanted her in a way he had never wanted another woman.
It was the gun that stopped him, he supposed. The pistol in her desk drawer was out of character with the woman he thought he knew, an unpleasant surprise. No matter how much he wanted to, he could not absolutely rule out the possibility that Elena was somehow involved. In telling her why he was here he might put her, and himself, and the prince in mortal danger. Until he knew more, he could say nothing.
As Hassan flew out of the mall parking lot, his brother's words echoed in his head. Don't try to be a hero.
***
Again, Hassan surprised her. Yesterday he had taken an interest in the workings of the refinery. Today he took an interest in the people. With that charming smile on his face, he made an effort to speak to everyone. Not only that, he lent a hand whenever he could, and it soon became clear that he had participated in every job imaginable at a refinery. From production to maintenance to working the pumps at the dock, he handled everything like a pro.
Everyone liked Hassan, even if they obviously started out wanting not to. When he made it clear that he was willing to get his hands dirty, and that he didn't think himself too good to take on any job, they couldn't help but come around.
Her earlier presumption that Hassan wanted a piece of this refinery the way he might want a new toy he'd soon tire of had been as wrong as her other suppositions about the Tamiri prince.
They walked toward the cafeteria, an uninspired concrete block building that served good, plain food. It was too late for lunch, but since neither of them had stopped to eat a noon meal they planned to hit the vending machines with a vengeance.
"You have good people working for you," Hassan observed as he opened the door for her. There had been a time when she might have protested the macho move, but not today.
"I do," she agreed. The cool of the air-conditioning hit her full force, as the door closed behind Hassan. They both removed their hard hats and ran fingers through their flattened hair, briefly and unconsciously.
"Your plant manager, Umair Zahid, he has been with you a long time?"
"Forever." She smiled widely. "I wasn't always CEO, you know. Umair was always great. He never cut me any slack when I worked for him, and he doesn't resent the fact that he now works for me." They stepped into the small room where the vending machines stood, lined against the walls, and they both dumped their hard hats and started digging in their pockets for change. "He really knows what he's doing."
"I can tell."
"I don't know what I'd do without him."
They chose different machines and started feeding in coins. She went for juice and crackers, Hassan went for a soda and chips. He started at one side of the room, she started at the other, and they worked their way toward the middle. They both headed for the candy machine at the same time.
Their hips almost touched, and it was Hassan who stepped back and indicated, with a wave of his free hand, that she should go first. While she dropped in her coins, he stepped back and set his soda and chips on a small table. As Elena made her selection, she watched Hassan's reflection in the vending machine glass. He crossed his arms, spread his long legs, and watched her hard, in that intense way he had about him. A man in shapeless black coveralls shouldn't look this way, sexy and tempting and.. .gorgeous. Elena's heartbeat increased, her mouth went dry.
In all her life, she'd never met a man like this one. She'd never thought she would. He made her heart race with a glance, he surprised her, and he shared her passion for this dirty, difficult business. She tried to tell herself all that meant nothing. Nothing. He was a sheik, a prince, a member of a royal family. Eventually, he would return to the world he knew.
She worked for a living. The days were long, the pay excellent, but this was about as far from royalty as you could get. If he was a little bit fascinated with her, it was because in his world women didn't work for a living. And if they did, they certainly didn't dirty themselves doing a man's job. She was a novelty, nothing more.
When she turned back around, candy bar in hand, he grinned at her. It was the grin of a rogue, an easy smile that spoke of an easy life, a bucket of charm, and a way with women.
"You like your chocolate," he said.
"Every woman likes chocolate, pal," she said, forcing her heart back into a normal rhythm. Of course, the women outside Tamir that he knew well probably didn't eat at all. Models, she had read somewhere. Skinny, fat-lipped, fake-breasted models who probably didn't ingest anything but celery and bottled water.
"Not like you," he said, his smile fading as he walked toward her and the vending machine.
She skirted around him and sat at the table where he had left his drink and chips. She had few pleasures in life, and she wasn't about to let a man rob her of one by making her self-conscious.
With his own selection made, Hassan sat across the table from her and opened his drink. "So, where will we go tonight?" he asked lowly, even though there was no one else around. Even the larger cafeteria, just down the hall, was deserted at this time of the afternoon.
She started to tell him she had other plans, but didn't. Hassan would be gone before she knew it, Evangeline, Texas, and the first woman CEO he'd ever met quickly forgotten.
"How about a picnic on the bay," she suggested. "There's a nice park just down the road, and with the time change it doesn't get dark until late."
"On one condition," he said. "I bring the food."
"Works for me."
She had just started on her candy bar when the radio that was clipped on her belt came to life. She heard the words no one associated with a refinery ever wants to hear.
"We have a fire in the machine shop," Umair said in his distinctive deep voice. "I repeat, a fire in the machine shop."
Hassan was up and out of the room before she was. Elena scooped up both hard hats and followed him at a run. She wouldn't have thought he even knew where the machine shop was, but he ran straight for it. She struggled to keep up.
"Here!" she shouted. When he turned to look at her, she gestured with the hard hat. The last thing she needed was an injured visitor on her hands!
Still at a run he offered his hands. She tossed the hard hat and Hassan caught it, but he kept running, the required safety feature dangling from his hand.
There was already a small crowd gathered around the machine shop, which thankfully sat at the edge of the plant and away from the most flammable tanks and the working area where a fire would be disastrous.
The fire brigade had not yet arrived, but it would take a few minutes for those specially trained men to leave their posts and gather their gear from the refinery fire station. They'd better hurry. Black smoke poured from the open door to the windowless shop.
Umair clapped one of the younger men, a maintenance worker named Donnie, on the shoulder.
"It happened really fast," Donnie said breathlessly, stopping to cough twice. "Chet was welding on a piece of pipe, and somehow he arced into the parts cleaner."
"He was welding near the solvent basin?" Umair shouted, his grip on Donnie tightening visibly.
"It was just a quick little weld," Donnie said, paling. "He said it wouldn't take any time at all. But he arced into the solvent. It flashed up, and I think it must've ignited some oily rags. Something blew and threw me to the floor. I must've been out for a minute, because when I came to the flames were pretty high." He shook his head and looked around. "Where is Chet?" he asked.
Umair glanced at the crowd that milled safely outside the machine shop, studying the faces there. "He didn't come out with you?"
The kid looked toward the shop. "The smoke was really black. I didn't see or hear him when I came to, so I figured he was already out."
Everyone stared at the smoky doorway. Black smoke billowed through, roiling up and into the once clear air. The fire brigade would be here soon. Soon enough for Chet?
Hassan turned to Elena, tossed her his hard hat, and spun back around before she had any idea what he was thinking. One minute he was studying the smoky doorway like the others who had gathered there, the next he was running into the black smoke. Just before he disappeared, she saw him drop down, trying to stay beneath the worst of the noxious cloud.
Elena threw Hassan's hard hat onto the ground and ran toward the door. "Kamal!" she yelled. "Get out of there! Now!"
If he heard her, he ignored the demand. "Stupid, stupid man!" she muttered. Her eyes remained on the doorway. Fear wasn't something she dealt with on a regular basis, and it made her heart beat too fast, her mouth go dry. Her hands balled into small, tight fists. What if he didn't come out? Nothing was visible beyond the doorway. There was nothing but waves of heat and the black smoke that poured from the machine shop.
Umair joined her, sidling up beside her with his eyes remaining on the door. "How long do I wait before I send someone in after them?"
"No one else goes in until the fire brigade gets here." She heard them in the background, pulling out from the firehouse in full gear, ready and equipped to fight the fire. "I won't risk another life."
Unless it was her own. If Hassan didn't come out of there in the next ten seconds, she might very well run in after him. After all, she couldn't deal with the headache a dead sheik would bring. Her heart crawled into her throat. That was just half the reason. She couldn't deal with him going in there and not coming out. For a half second she didn't think like a CEO, she thought like a woman. Hassan hadn't kissed her yet, but she knew he would before he left. She wanted that kiss, even though she knew nothing could come of it. Oh, she was foolish to think of something so selfish and small at a time like this! But she couldn't stop. Besides, the world wouldn't be the same without that smile.
"Come on," she whispered beneath her breath.
As the fire brigade pulled their tru
ck up to the building, Hassan emerged from the smoke with an unconscious Chet dangling from his shoulder. They were both covered with soot and Chet's clothing was badly singed. They were barely five feet from the doorway when the building was rocked with another explosion, this one strong enough to shake the building and send flames shooting from the doorway and toward the sky.
Trained paramedics saw to Chet, while Hassan brushed them off and ambled toward Elena with a tired grin on his face. A few of the men congratulated and thanked Hassan as he passed, a couple of them even patted him on the back, but he never took his eyes from her.
If anyone else had done such a foolishly brave thing, she'd start yelling now, at the top of her lungs. By the time she was finished, the culprit would find himself without a job. But three things stopped her. For one, she was so damned grateful that Hassan was unhurt that she couldn't possibly yell at him. Second, he had probably saved Chet's life. That second explosion had come too soon for the fire brigade.
The third reason surprised her, a little. She had never given much credence to the expectations of the Arab men who worked with and for her. This was not the old world, and they had better not expect her to act as if it were. But in that world, for a man to be publicly scolded by a woman would be considered disgraceful. A woman who dared to disagree was shameful, but to be publicly castigated.. .she wouldn't do that to Hassan.
"Are you all right?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.
"Fine," he said, his voice rough from the smoke he had inhaled.
She glanced down. "Your boots are singed."
He followed her gaze. "So they are."
He had actually run through fire to reach Chet, a man he didn't even know.
There was no way she could leave. She and Hassan stood back and watched the fire brigade do their job. They had been well trained, and the fire was quickly brought under control. Chet was taken to the hospital, but it appeared that he would be fine. Donnie was treated, but didn't make a trip to the hospital.
It was an accident that never should have happened. Fortunately she didn't have to decide whether to fire Chet and Donnie or just write them up and give them a few days off with no pay. Umair handled those decisions. She expected the boys could look forward to a few days off, a note in their files, and a stern warning from the plant manager.