LUCA - Her Ruthless Don (Ruthless and Obsessed Duet, Book 1): 50 Loving States, New York, Pt. 2 (Ruthless Tycoons 3)
Page 33
Five minutes later, he is still shaking his head as he says, “I truly cannot believe you girls did this for me.”
“Dude, stop. You’ve done, like, everything for us,” Sasha answers, shaking her head. “I don’t see why you’re acting like this is such a big deal.”
“Happy Ramadan!” Kasha cheers.
And this time her exclamation sets us all to laughing. All four of us.
I think maybe Zahir is beginning to get us. We’re not blood sisters, but we are family and we show up for each other, even for the things we don’t understand. I doubt we get everything right and Kasha’s inability to do anything with gravity definitely hinders us from achieving the hallowed effect we were going for with the pre-dawn meal.
But Zahir’s eyes shine as we eat by candlelight. And before the meal is through, he asks the girls if we can have this breakfast together for the rest of Ramadan.
The twins, like me before Jahwar, are stupid bad at mornings. Sasha usually climbs out of bed a mere fifteen minutes before she’s due downstairs for their Mercedes sedan ride to school. Kasha, sometimes ten. And last weekend when I knocked on their bedroom door a little after noon, they asked for ten more minutes. Then whined for a good twenty about it when I told them no, they had to get up if we wanted to get to Connecticut on time for brunch at Sylvie’s and Holt’s—and what turned out to be a joyful “we’re pregnant!” announcement.
But that Ramadan morning the twins both agree to a regular pre-dawn breakfast before the question is out of Zahir’s mouth.
We feel like a family. And this is what will hurt most of all when it falls apart.
Chapter 52
“Hi! Hi! Don’t be mad at me.” I say nearly three weeks into Ramadan when Zahir steps off the elevator onto our floor shortly after six o’clock to find the twins and me waiting for him outside the Otis doors.
“Prin, girls, what are you—?” he starts to ask, and I can tell he’s in no mood to be derailed from his original destination.
He’s been taking meetings during the daylight hours of his fasting month, but by the end of an entire business day without food, he’s usually through. And with the time until sunset getting later and later as summer creeps in, I’ve learned the “get snapped at” way not to come between him and the nap he takes until one of his staff tells him it’s time for his prayers and sunset dinner.
Slightly behind Zahir, Erick, one of the American guards he’d taken on, after most of his elite guard was sent back to Jahwar to honor Ramadan, shook his head quickly at us in code for, “Dude, don’t poke the bear.”
But I have to poke the bear. “I’ve been calling you for, like, half an hour. Why didn’t you call me back?”
“I was in an important meeting—” he starts to explain.
But then I cut him off with, “You know what? Never mind. Superfast, because you have got to get into your suite. I know your business is your business, and I am your personal life, but I was talking to my cousin Kyra about this song the twins and I are working on. It’s been driving me crazy because I just can’t nail the second verse. But she writes country music and you know, she’s married to Colin Fairgood…”
“Wow, you don’t know who Colin Fairgood is?” Kasha says when his expression blanks. “That is crazy! He’s, like, the biggest name in country.”
Zahir shakes his head at her. “What does that have to do with—”
“You’re right, it doesn’t matter,” I quickly agree, waving my hands. “But she mentioned that Colin is producing Roxxy Roxx’s new album, like right now. And I’m, like, ‘wait, Roxxy Roxx is in your house? Like, right now? You’re shitting me!’ Sorry for cursing, but that’s what I said. And then I’m like, ‘can you put her on the phone?’ And she does and, oh my God, Roxxy totally gives me her brother-in-law’s number. And after I explain your situation to him in my best law school voice, he’s all like, ‘grumble-grumble I don’t like being cold-called, but I happen to be in New York at the moment, and my wife will be upset if she hears I didn’t agree to meet with a friend of her sister’s, so, ugh, where are you staying? I’ll come over right now.’ I tell him, and then I immediately start calling you, so you can get here, but as we established you were in a meeting…”
“A very important meeting with a New York senator,” Zahir adds.
“….and you weren’t picking up. And senator, yeah, that makes total sense, but now Roxxy Roxx’s brother-in-law is here. Right now. In your suite and the Jahwar guards won’t let us hang out in there with him alone…”
“Even though he’s totally married to Roxxy Roxx’s identical twin sister,” Sasha points out.
“Yeah, you don’t get hotter than that,” Kasha adds.
Zahir just regards us, his expression tired and hungry, “What is this about? Who are these people, and why should they mean anything to me?”
Kasha widens her eyes at him. “Seriously? Okay, I get not keeping up with American music…sorta…not really—but the Roxxy Roxx secret twin sister reveal story was everywhere!”
I’ve been working hard on my cultural sensitivity, but even I’m surprised at Zahir’s ignorance of this particular topic. “Yeah, how do you not know her sister turned out to be Layla Sinclair?”
Zahir finally stops looking confused. “Sinclair? You mean as in Sinclair Steel? That Sinclair?”
“Yes! The only steel magnate I’ve ever heard of is here in your suite, waiting to talk to you.”
“And you should get in there,” Sasha says. “I don’t want to say he’s totally grumpy, but he makes me look like sunshine and rainbows and I don’t think he likes to be kept waiting.”
“Happy Ramadan!” Kasha cheers.
Zahir pauses, a tired smile spreading across his face. “Habibti,” he says, cupping my face in both his large hands with that tender look I am really starting to out-and-out adore. “You did this for me?”
I nod, and I get the feeling the look in my eyes is as tender as his.
“And he doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Sasha points out again, breaking up the moment.
But instead of releasing me to go back to the suite for our pre-sundown dinner, he takes me by the hand. “Come…” he says, and though I have never sat in on a non-IP or non-music business meeting in my life, he walks into the suite with me. Like there’s no other place I should be but by his side.
Sasha’s right about Nathan making her look like sunshine and rainbows. He is super brusque and, and unlike Zahir, cuts people off without a second thought.
“Fine,” he says when Zahir inquires after his wife and children and their health. “But let’s talk about your project. I want to be on the road to the airport as soon as rush hour ends.”
Zahir adjust smoothly enough and explains that his kingdom’s oil pipe infrastructure, which dates back to the 70s, needs a complete overhaul, much like the work Sinclair Steel did for Drummond Oil when it changed hands…but at ten times the scale.
I don’t follow much of the conversation, but I soon realize why Nathan hadn’t been on Zahir’s shortlist of steel companies he would meet with while here in the States. As arrogant as the steel magnate appears, his company has never worked on a project outside the Americas and Asia.
And I feel bad, because though it is the third week of Ramadan and Zahir must feel even grumpier than Nathan with fatigue and hunger thrown in. But he’s obviously taking this meeting I accidentally arranged, just to indulge me.
“No, my company wouldn’t be able to handle a project that big,” Nathan finally concludes. We don’t have enough manufactured steel on hand. Have you checked with Calhoun Metals?”
“I have met with Mr. Buck Calhoun Jr., but he is not interested in taking on work outside of the UAE,” Zahir answers, even though we both know the real reason that deal didn’t work out.
To my surprise, Nathan grins at Zahir’s answer. “In that case, we can play ball, Zaman. My friend, Lex Rustanov, doesn’t like competing against other Texans for projects because it makes his
wife’s job harder—she’s running for Senate this year, and they’re already batting around her name for president in a few more years. But if Calhoun’s already passed, I think Lex’d be more than interested in a co-venture.”
I have no idea who Lex Rustanov is or why Zahir’s face suddenly lights up with more than polite interest. But the conversation at once becomes livelier and despite still not having eaten, Zahir sweeps me up in his arms and swings me around as soon as Nathan leaves to get back on the road.
The handshake he’d just given Nathan may very well have solved all his pipeline and mall reconstruction problems. Nathan’s friend Lex, as it turns out, is some beyond rich Russian oligarch. Such a huge name in steel manufacturing and oil pipeline construction that Zahir’s people still hadn’t managed to get a meeting with him, though they started the process months ago. But thanks to my random cousin connection, Zahir is now not only scheduled to meet with him over the phone, but with Nathan’s help, will secure him as a project partner.
Or, as Zahir puts it to the twins when we gather for his post-late-night dinner dessert, “This Vanzant lady called your sister and screamed at her for taking her job and doing it so much better than she ever has.”
During Ramadan, I’ve been making a special effort at night. Climbing on top and taking care of Zahir until he releases with little effort. But that night, when I tell him to “Lay back, baby” he shakes his head, his eyes crinkling as he says, “No, habibti, though my religion is not yours, you have taken such good care of me this holy month that tonight, I must thank you.”
Then his voice hardens with a command…for me to sit on his mouth.
And despite some weight loss during his weeks of fasting, his strength remains. Pushing and pulling on my hips, he fucks my pussy with his face, and he does not stop until I come in this filthy, filthy position.
He spoons me afterwards, letting my heart rate slow. But eventually he tells me to open my legs.
“Habibti,” he whispers in my ear as he slips into me from behind. And his voice, is so filled with emotion, it sounds like more than a general endearment. It feels like that special word…the one neither of us would be cruel enough to say, knowing there’s an expiration date on our now.
But I feel it…I feel it for him as he sexes me so good in the deep of night, his hip action languid and tender. Like this is where he lives and the only place he has ever wanted to be.
There’s still over two weeks of Ramadan to go, and tomorrow in daylight we’ll have to be good. But we fall asleep naked. Sated in every way and happy that we stayed up, even if we’ll have to get up at four am.
However, Zahir’s phone shocks me awake a few hours later.
“Baby…?” I mumble, seeing the hour on the clock. There’s a two at the front of the read out, not a four.
His deep voice answers, “Go back to sleep, habibti. It is a call from home. They’ve probably forgotten the time…”
After all that loving, I don’t have to be told twice. I sink back to sleep with the thought that maybe when we wake, we’ll make special celebration plans for the upcoming weekend after the girls take the SATs on Saturday. Maybe go see the 8’clock show of Hamilton after sunset, or something like that…I’m sure he can score us tickets….
But I never get the chance to make those plans with him. When I wake, the sun has already risen, and the bed is cold. I sit up with a start to find a note on the pillow where he’s been resting his head for the last four weeks:
I am sorry, Prin, but I must return home.
Part VII
HIS TO…
Also by Theodora Taylor
HOT RUTHLESS TYCOONS WITH HEART
HOLT: Her Ruthless Billionaire
ZAHIR: Her Ruthless Sheikh
LUCA: Her Ruthless Don
HOT AUDIOBOOKS WITH HEART
The Owner of His Heart
Her Russian Billionaire
His Pretend Baby
His Everlasting Love
Her Viking Wolf
HOT RUSSIANS WITH HEART
Her Russian Billionaire
Her Russian Surrender
Her Russian Beast
Her Russian Brute
HOT SOUTHERN GUYS WITH HEART
His One and Only
His for Keeps
His Forbidden Bride
His to Own
HOT CONTEMPORARIES WITH HEART
The Owner of His Heart
The Wild One
Her Perfect Gift
His for the Summer
His Pretend Baby
His Revenge Baby
HOT HARLEQUINS WITH HEART
Vegas Baby
Love’s Gamble
HOT PARANORMALS WITH HEART
Her Viking Wolf
Wolf and Punishment
(The Alaska Princesses Trilogy, Book 1)
Wolf and Prejudice
(The Alaska Princesses Trilogy, Book 2)
Wolf and Soul
(The Alaska Princesses Trilogy, Book 3)
Her Viking Wolves
Her Dragon Everlasting
NAGO: His Mississippi Queen
Her Scottish Wolf (Howl’s Romance)
Her Scottish King (Howl’s Romance)
HOT SUPERNATURAL WITH HEART
His Everlasting Love
Chapter 53
A pounding knock at the door brings my head up from the pillow. I get my second shock of the morning when no one answers it.
No guards staked out in the living room while we sleep. No announcement of who’s at the door.
“Ms. Jones, it’s Dane and Erick,” I hear a voice announce in the distance. “We’re under strict instructions not to enter the suite until you say it is okay for us to come in.”
I look down at myself still naked from the night before. Then call back, “Hold on!” as I stumble out of the bed and paw through the closet until I find a kaftan. I haven’t answered a door in so long, it feels surreal and foreign as I turn the knob.
“What’s going on?” I ask the two muscular men with shaved heads and Bluetooth ear pieces who stand on the other side of the door.
“We’re not sure. The sheikh and his men left in a rush. There was some kind of emergency back in Jahwar. The sheikh is on a plane back to his kingdom right now…” Dane answers.
Oh, God. I reflexively reach for my phone only to realize the only numbers I have are for two of Zahir’s personal guards, both of whom are on the plane back to Jahwar.
“The twins…” I realize we didn’t meet them for the pre-dawn breakfast this morning.
“Don’t worry. We let the girls know there was an emergency and drove them to school,” Dane answers.
“Mind if we turn on the news?” Erick asks.
Ten minutes later, I’m standing between my American security watching BBC World, the only channel broadcasting about what happened in Jahwar.
“…terrible accident at the site of what was billed to become the UAK’s biggest shopping mall and entertainment center.”
I gasp, covering my mouth with both hands when I see the collapsed wreckage of the entire right side of the Kingdom Mall.
“… Indian billionaires, Najib Zaman, and his grandson, Rashid Zaman, were believed to be in the building at the time of the collapse, along with Rashid’s wife and young daughter, who are members of the Ardu Alzuhuwr royal family.”
“No…no…no…” I whisper behind my hands, thinking of elegant Mahirah and lively Aisha as they show images of several men in pale blue uniforms and hard hats searching through the wreckage.
The disembodied British newscaster’s voice continues, “The crew is still searching the wreckage, but none are believed to have survived.”
My heart withers in my chest when three pictures appear on the screen: a black-and-white photo of Mahirah in her hijab, and corporate headshots of Rashid and an older man who must be Zahir and Rashid’s grandfather, Najib.
The British newscaster goes on to say this September would have mar
ked the tenth anniversary of Princess Mahirah’s marriage to Rashid Zaman. That Rashid became a tech billionaire in his own right before the age of 30, but recently took the position of Chief Technology Officer at the international conglomerate, the Tourmaline Group, at his grandfather’s behest. According to sources, his grandfather had been grooming him to take over as CEO of the Tourmaline Group and had plans to retire within the next two years. In accordance with the BBC’s protocol on handling juvenile details and in respect of the family, they are not showing photos of little Aisha. But the newscaster tells us the family was in the building for what was supposed to have been a simple photo-op in front of the mall’s pre-built storefronts.
This is as close to an obituary as the news will get without officially declaring someone dead. However, I watch the coverage throughout the day, hoping to God they’re wrong.
But eventually, tears blur my eyes as body after body gets pulled out of the rubble. Only Rashid and one of his guards are unearthed alive. And they’re in such critical condition, the newscaster doesn’t sound optimistic about their chances of survival, even as she reports they’re being rushed to the hospital.
“Did you know any of them?” Sasha asks when she and Kasha return from school.
“Yes—” I start to answer, only to stop when an image of Aisha doing her great-aunt’s 60s Bollywood dance punches me in the heart.
“We should call Zahir,” Sasha says, as Kasha holds me and rubs my back. “Can we do that?”
The complicated answer to her question is no. Erick and Dane have been told to stay with us, but other than that, it’s radio silence. And when I try texting Zahir’s personal guard, I don’t receive a message back, not even a gray dot-dot-dot, though I know the plane is equipped with Wi-Fi.