Bad Sheikh's Surrogate Mistress

by Brooke, Jessica

  “No…I…she overdosed last night on heroin. She’s going to make it, but they’re going to have to keep her for a few more days, and I have no idea where we’re going to get the money to cover it. And some social services lady is going to make me leave home at least until Mom is out of the hospital, and maybe after that, unless Mom can get clean. I’m really scared, Felicia. They said you could take care of me, but…”

  Felicia held her hand over the mouthpiece and tried not to swear loudly enough for her sister to hear it. She’d lived through a couple of other bad hospitalizations with her mom when she had been in middle school, but Elena had been so little she wouldn’t remember them. Their dad had still been around then, so she hadn’t had to face the possibility of foster care, though he’d been a complete deadbeat when it came to working. Back then, there’d been a little from when her mother still had a job at Wal-Mart and then Home Depot, but her mother hadn’t been employed in over a year. This sounded like serious money, and Felicia had no idea how to cover it or any therapy or treatment her mom might need afterward.

  Steeling herself, she brought the phone back in range and tried to use her sunniest, Stepford voice. “Sweetie, listen to me. I’m going to figure this out. I’m going to find a way to get the money together for this and to get Mom real help, a real chance at rehab. I promise. Maybe…maybe you can come here.”

  “How? I don’t think trying to buy a lottery ticket and hoping for the best is going to do it. Felicia, it was really bad. I found her, and she was so cold. I thought I was too late!”

  She shook her head and bit her lip to keep from swearing again. “Honey, don’t worry. I have an idea, and you have to trust me on this. I can get the funds, and I can get you out here for a while.”

  “To Egypt?”

  “Um, actually a little farther out. Have you ever heard of Jardania?”

  Chapter Five

  Zahir passed the cell phone eagerly back and forth between his hands. The slim device still managed to feel heavy in his hands. In the hours since Ms. Ryan had stormed out of the dean’s office, he’d researched more about her and had his team research her school records. He already knew she had integrity and grit; even with the dean bearing down on her, she’d had the courage to call out his unjust behavior. And boy, would he have to work on getting a new dean for his alma mater as soon as possible.

  He couldn’t even explain what it was about her that had struck him at first. He’d seen her rushing across the campus and into the dean’s office ahead of him, but something about her fiercely determined green eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, drew him to her, and he wanted to push his hands through her soft, golden bob. Now, as he poured over her records and saw her string of As, as well as the portfolio of her ethereal and entrancing sculptures, he knew he had to have her. Her intellect and creativity would benefit his future child and add to the keen minds of the Ahmed lineage.

  He knew, deep in his bones, that she would bring the right traits to the Ahmed line.

  But it was more than that. He admired her spirit. Most people fawned over him, most would ask him how high they needed to jump to secure the money. But she’d stared at him and told him where to shove it. That feisty spirit wouldn’t just serve an heir well, but would also be perfect for the sheikha to rule by his side.

  Wait, you weren’t even offering that. Mother has her ball.

  And she hadn’t called. Other men in his position would apply pressure. He knew that the nearby sheikh of Oman had procured his wife through less-than-legal means. The rumor was he’d abducted her from a club in Manhattan, and, eventually, his sheikha had fallen for him. However, the very idea of forcing something like that on any woman turned his stomach. Yes, he enjoyed his fun, but he only enjoyed it when it was consensual. Besides, not to be immodest, but with his wealth and looks, he’d never had to beg anyone for consideration.

  Again, that brought him back to the conundrum of Ms. Felicia Ryan. She was so alluring in part because she wouldn’t bend easily to his will, but he only had a hope of being near her again if she took his offer. All of this left him glaring at his cell and waiting for her call.

  Logic was on his side, as bizarre as his request might seem to her. After all, ten million was an impossibly high amount for most people to give up. It was chump change to him, with the oil money the Ahmed dynasty controlled. He just had to be patient.

  A skill he rarely practiced.

  The phone finally dinged in his hand, and he wasted no time answering. “Zahir here. Talk to me.”

  “Ah, hello? I…this is Felicia, uh, Ms. Ryan. I was the girl in the office this morning. Wait, that’s stupid. I mean…Sheikh Ahmed gave me his number.”

  “This is the sheikh.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath, and he had to smile. Maybe he’d affected her more than he’d initially thought. “You can feel free to call me Zahir. In fact, I’d prefer that, Felicia.”

  Yes, he did make his voice come out more like a low rumble than usual. He liked to think of the young woman being overwhelmed on the other end, loved to imagine those pale cheeks flushing a deep scarlet.

  “My mother’s sick. I just found out. I don’t want to do this no matter how clinical you say it would be.”

  “I see. Well, good day, Ms. Ryan.”

  “Wait!” she shouted, desperation in her voice. “I just wanted you to know if I had another choice, I’d take it. She’s in the hospital, and I can’t cover the medical bills, and my little sister is back in the States with her, and she’s just fifteen. I’m desperate and I’ll do anything for them. Please, can you help me? If I take the deal, I mean?”

  His heart skipped a beat. While Zahir was glad that she was coming to him, and even faster than he could have hoped for before his three-day deadline, he’d never wish harm on anyone. The fact that her mother was so ill turned his stomach and made him furious at fate for doling out so much harshness to Felicia.

  “I’ll do whatever you need. I’ll pay to move her to the hospital of your choice and cover all the care, buy a damn wing if I need to.”

  “I…thank you. I’ll meet you wherever you need to arrange everything correctly. The one thing is, while my mom’s recovering, my sister Elena can’t be on her own.”

  “Then she’ll be as respected a guest at my palace as any head of state. Now, tomorrow meet me at Giza’s First Mall.”

  “We’re going shopping?”

  “No, but I think it’s best to discuss arrangements with a full stomach. Now give me all the hospital information you know, and my team will be on that immediately.”

  ***

  She hadn’t explained everything to Elena yet. In the last day, she’d been relieved enough just to know that Sheikh Ahmed—no, Zahir—had been true to his word. Her mother had been moved to a private room and had a spot reserved for her in the best residential drug treatment facility in Charleston, and her sister was already on a flight to Cairo.

  Together the three of them would fly out to Jardania. She wasn’t sure how soon, but they would settle those arrangements—and the whole baby thing—over dinner. She just wasn’t sure what else Zahir thought would come of this night. She needed the money, but she’d been serious. She wasn’t going to just sleep with anyone, no matter how much he offered. Whatever had to happen to produce the next Ahmed heir had to be clinical—artificial insemination or in vitro.

  She was sticking by that rule.

  Of course, that approach didn’t seem to be on Zahir’s mind, not when she walked up to La Maison Blanche, the restaurant whose address he’d texted her earlier that day. She’d worn a black pencil skirt and a blouse, aiming for something professional to try and keep some semblance of sanity in their meeting. However, she immediately felt underdressed. Even at only six o’clock in the evening, everyone coming in and out of the French restaurant was dressed to the nines, in tuxedos and cocktail dresses that shimmered under the lights. Not that Felicia would have had a choice in the matter. It wasn’t like she had formalwe
ar filling her closet. Just one of those dresses probably cost three thousand dollars.

  Desperately, she flattened her palms against her skirt. She didn’t have an iron at her dorm, and, even though she’d hung it up in the bathroom while she showered, hoping the steam would help, the skirt still didn’t lie perfectly smoothly.

  “God, I’m such an idiot.”

  “I don’t think so,” a low, sultry voice rumbled behind her. “Felicia, you look lovely.”

  Taking a deep breath, she turned and stared up into Zahir’s dark brown eyes, like warm pools of coffee she could drink in forever. Just being this near to him energized her in ways she couldn’t have imagined, and she let out a breath, reminding herself not to lose her level head to her emotions. This was all about her mom and sister, about giving up a year of her life and risking things with her body for them. This wasn’t about how gorgeous Zahir was or the scent of him—that turmeric and cinnamon—driving parts of her mad the second she smelled it.

  “I had no idea this place was so fancy. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  He held up a crooked arm for her. “You are the guest of a sheikh, of a head of state. Whatever you wear tonight will be the fashion statement of Cairo tomorrow.”

  “I highly doubt it. I look like I’m going in to apply for a temp job.”

  “Then temp-job trendy it shall be from now on, Felicia,” he chuckled, waiting patiently until she slipped her arm through his. “Now, come with me. I have a private table reserved, and the lamb is already supposed to be on the table, ready to devour. Waiting is completely overrated, don’t you think?”

  Her eyes widened, and she clamped her mouth shut before she said that he couldn’t do that. Of course he could. When you were the sheikh of an entire nation and worth more than Mark Zuckerberg with your oil fortune, you could probably do anything you wanted. How nice that must be for him.

  “Then, if you don’t mind my looking like a librarian, I’d love to come with you.”

  “My honor,” he said, leading her into the restaurant.

  Her eyes widened as she looked around her. The interior of the restaurant was nothing like she’d expected. She’d thought it’d be French provincial, something themed to look like a farmhouse or chalet in the south of France. If not that design, then maybe something still classic and intimidating with cherry wood and a baby grand piano in the corner playing standards from the forties. But everything about La Maison Blache screamed modern club, from the expansive white walls to the mid-century modern chairs, shaped almost like hollowed out eggshells. Then there was the bar to her left, with bright halogen underlighting as well as three LCD screens showing different swirling patterns that distracted they eye from the array of top shelf liquors. Overhead, huge chandeliers glittered. They were perfectly spherical and had a sixties aesthetic that would have looked right at home in Austin Powers or a classic James Bond film. The trippy display of modern and mid-century looks was nothing like any place she’d ever eaten before.

  As they passed through the main dining room, the crowd turned to watch them. Felicia couldn’t help but squirm under the scrutiny, feeling like nothing but an eyesore before the upper crust of Cairo. After all, she was too heavy, too plain, and her outfit was made for a job interview, not a night on the town.

  Beside her, Zahir stilled just long enough to lean down and whisper in her ear. “You don’t have to worry. In fact, never worry about how you seem to others. For the next year, you’re on my arm, and you’re the surrogate for the next sheikh or sheikha of Jardania. People will want to be you; they will stare daggers at you in envy. Let them.”

  Despite the oddity of the situation, Zahir’s words comforted her. As they made their way to the table in the corner, she found herself holding her chin higher, felt the confidence flowing through her. At least for tonight, someone thought she mattered, and it gave her the jolt of confidence she needed to face the states of the crowd around her. When they got to the table, shielded from the rest of the dining room by a strategically placed screen, Zahir surprised her by pulling a chair out for her.

  She frowned at him. “You don’t have to do that for me.”

  He offered her a smirk that heated her stomach, despite her desire to keep a level head. Blushing, she looked away as he spoke. “I don’t have people for everything, my artiste. Sometimes, I want to show my companion that I’m a gentleman.”

  She slid into the chair and took a bit of pleasure in the masculine scent of him as he hovered over her and pushed in her chair. Part of her, some small part that was beginning to accept the crazy changes in her circumstances, was thrilled to have his strong arms so close to her. Shaking her head, she tried to force herself to stay focused. They needed to figure out what the future held for her and Elena and needed to discuss all the terms of the—oh, lord—insemination and pregnancy.

  Come on, Felicia, stay sharp. This isn’t a date. This is the most screwed up business you’ve ever been involved in.

  “You like rack of lamb, I hope?” he asked, as he took his seat and served her the medium-rare chops himself.

  She grinned at him. “What would you do if I said that I don’t eat meat?”

  “Well, that would be the first thing to go. I need the baby to get all its nutrients. Whoever heard of a vegan infant?”

  She chuckled. “I said vegetarian but, oh please, I’m from West Virginia. We eat meat more than three meals a day, which probably isn’t good for you either, but I love me some sausage.” She blushed, realizing how that sounded out loud. “You know what I mean.”

  “I think I do,” he said, his voice a velvety chuckle that she could have fallen into forever. Then he placed some asparagus onto her plate next to the meat. “They say that asparagus is an aphrodisiac.”

  “I think they have to say that because it has such a bitter aftertaste. You have to make up stories about the amazing powers of so many foods,” she said, cutting a bite and putting it in her mouth. She couldn’t help moaning a bit with the taste, however. “Oh, wow, they put lot of butter on this. It does taste amazing.”

  “Everything here is beyond succulent; I’m glad you like it.”

  “Of course I do,” she said, cutting into her lamb. The meat was so soft that it practically melted once it touched her tongue, and she licked her lips as the juice trailed down her chin. “That’s even better.”

  Zahir pulled out his napkin and dabbed at her chin. He was so close then that she could feel his breath against her skin, warm and fresh. It would be so easy to kiss him, to let herself fall completely for his charms, but this was only business. It was what she had to do to save her family, and no matter what, she had to remember that.

  “I…you had a bit on your chin.”

  She nodded and pulled back a bit, grateful that the spell between them was broken. “Thank you. Now, seriously, what’s the plan here. I’m just the…” she hesitated and lowered her voice to a whisper as if what she was about to say were profane. Maybe it was. “I’m the surrogate, right? So you have a donor egg or something, someone who will be the actual mother?”

  Zahir quirked his head at her and sipped his wine. “Actually, I haven’t been dating anyone.”

  “You mean you’ve basically dated everyone. I can check up on tabloids, Zahir, and you’ve been very busy.”

  “Is that jealousy, my artiste?” he said, an amused grin playing over his face. “I thought this was a business arrangement.”

  “It is,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t come out too defensive.

  Zahir always put her off guard, and she never seemed to know how to keep her equilibrium with him. Maybe his charm affected everyone that way. It certainly left her weak in the knees and her mind scrabbling for purchase in reality.

  “Then you can’t chastise me for living quite a fabulous life.”

  “That’s one word for it. So which celebrity or princess is going to be the mother?”

  See, and I asked that without my voice shaking. As if this were a total
ly normal conversation and not bat-shit bonkers.

  Of course, maybe this was how many rulers decided on these things. She couldn’t see royalty or socialites wanting to carry children and ruin their figures if they could avoid it.

  “Honestly, my mother is planning a ball to determine the mother next month. I don’t want to hide my feelings or lie about them. I’ve known many women, but none have struck me yet as maternal enough, as worthy of the line.”

  “Then you’ll be consulting an embryo bank, I guess?”

  “I could do that, or I could host the ball, but I’ll be honest. I hope that part of the child’s DNA will be yours. I mean, it would all be clinical if you need it to be, and we’ll consult the best doctors. I’ve seen your grades and the art you’ve exhibited. I’m struck by you.”

  “I…I gathered that with the nickname,” she said, proud that she could remember English at this point. Was she really hearing this? What could anyone want with her crazy genetics? She was far from gorgeous, not like her former friend and roommate. She had addiction running in her family, the main reason she hadn’t so much as thought of touching the red wine on the table. There was no way she could be the mother of a future king or queen. She was the furthest thing from royal. “But you can’t be serious.”

  “You’re smart and honest. You speak your mind and have strength against tumult and injustice. You love your family and are unfailingly loyal, even if people don’t deserve it.”

  “I thought that Sienna and I were friends, that I was helping her. I thought wrong. Besides, I’d do anything for Elena. She’s my sister. Don’t you feel that way about your family?”

  “About my mother and my brother Jaheer, of course and always. I’d have done anything to help Father, and I mourn him still. Of course, there are other, less pleasant family members that I hope you never have to meet. I don’t feel as if I owe my cousin Akmul anything.”

  “Well, sometimes I’m mad at my mother, but I still do what I can to take care of her. It’s all blood, and it matters.”