The Sheikh's Scheming Sweetheart

by Holly Rayner

  "I'm going home, Mitchell," she said as she turned to face him.

  Mitchell was a few years older than her, about thirty-two or so, barreling his way towards a ruinous sixty with reckless hedonistic speed. Despite all the time he spent on the beach weightlifting instead of working, his gut was already beginning the slow sag towards a beer belly. It was impossible to say what color his skin had once been beneath all the orange spray tan, though he'd presumably done a great deal of actual tanning at some point as well. His skin had gone leathery, crinkling like crepe paper around his eyes. His hair, poorly dyed black to hide the early gray, was slicked back so stiffly it looked like a rubber wig. He was wearing a T-shirt under an obnoxious Hawaiian print. The shirt read 'no fat chicks.' Kathy wondered if he knew how much everyone despised him.

  "Oh no, you're not," Mitchell replied sharply. "The chairman is visiting."

  The swell of anger Kathy had been preparing to unleash evaporated instantly.

  "The Sheikh?"

  "He's doing his usual tour of the facilities," Mitchell confirmed. "Making sure we're up to his high standards."

  Mitchell rolled his eyes, his contemptuous expression making it clear what he thought of the Sheikh's standards.

  "But it's only been a few months since his last visit," Kathy said, caught off guard. "He usually only visits a few times a year."

  "Well, I guess he likes it here," Mitchell huffed, already trying to walk away. "Whatever. Deal with him."

  "What? Why me?" Kathy demanded. "I need to go home! I've been here since five!"

  "I don't care!" Mitchell was hurrying away from her before she could argue. "He likes you. You deal with him!"

  Kathy groaned and gave up trying to chase him. It was pointless anyway. Mitchell was probably on his way out the door, heading back to the beach. He rarely spent more than a few hours in the studio these days. And Kathy couldn't say he was wrong in wanting her to deal with the Sheikh. He did seem to like her, at least more than he liked Mitchell (although that wasn't saying much), and with the state the studio was currently in, they needed all the good will from the board they could get.

  Still, it was with a great deal of reluctance that she pulled herself together and went to find the Sheikh. It wasn't that she didn't like him. They'd spoken on a handful of occasions, mostly during inspections like this. He was polite, genial, intelligent. A little stiff and formal, but then again, he was her boss. She just didn't have the energy to fake a smile and be sociable right now. She wanted to eat and go to bed. Hopefully, the Sheikh wouldn't need her to accompany him for long. She'd give him the usual tour and report, and, fingers crossed, he'd let her go home in an hour or so.

  She was almost to the office when she paused, surprised by a delicious smell wafting down the hallway. She'd know that smell anywhere. That was the coconut curry from her favorite restaurant in town. She would have eaten it twice a week if she could afford it. She followed the scent, surprised to discover it leading her in the same direction she'd been going. She opened the office door to see Sheikh Tehar Al-Kindi sitting at his desk with two Styrofoam takeout boxes.

  For a moment, she was distracted from the food by the sight of him. It caught her off guard sometimes how handsome he was. It was hard to say what exactly was so remarkable about his features, to the point that it became easy to forget, when out of his presence, how those same features could make her heart race when he was in the room. His skin was golden warm and clear, his jaw strong, the lines of his face angular and striking. But all those features could be found better refined in magazines and in the faces of the actors and models she regularly interviewed. Perhaps it was something in his eyes, which were a striking dark brown that, when illuminated, seemed almost gold. Kathy was inclined to think it was none of these so much as his smile, which conveyed a gentle, patient intelligence that mere physical attractiveness could never hope to match. He turned that smile on her now, eyes lighting up beneath the fringe of his jet black hair.

  "Ah, Miss Burgess," he said, offering her a seat. "I was just about to go and find you."

  "It's good to see you again Sheikh Tehar," Kathy said with a respectful nod of her head. "But I'm surprised you're back so soon. Is something wrong?"

  "We had such a nice talk last time," Tehar replied, an amused smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Perhaps I just wanted to see you again?"

  Kathy laughed politely, but she didn't buy it. She took the seat he'd offered across the desk from him.

  "It seems like a long way to fly just to talk to me," she replied. "You know you're always welcome to call and save yourself the trip to the airport."

  "I may hold you to that," the Sheikh said with a small laugh, but then he sighed, getting more serious. "No, actually, I'm afraid I'm here on Henry Alan's request."

  Kathy's eyes widened. Henry Alan was the founder of QIC Media and the primary owner, along with the Sheikh and Josh Mitchell. It was the Sheikh's funding of the company along with his thoughtful leadership and spotless reputation that had allowed it the level of success it had attained, and earned Tehar his place as chairman.

  "He wants this station more closely monitored now that Mitchell is running it," the Sheikh explained. "The company can't afford another scandal."

  "Understandable." Kathy shook her head remembering that mess. "You know, I never did get the full story on what happened."

  "We can discuss that in a moment." The Sheikh stopped her and pushed one of the Styrofoam containers towards her. "Someone mentioned you'd been here all day, so I thought I'd treat you to dinner for your hard work. You mentioned this restaurant the last time we talked, I believe?"

  The Styrofoam squeaked as Kathy opened it and the scent of delicious food wafted out. She'd been right about the scent. It was her favorite coconut curry. She was practically drooling at the sight of it.

  "Thank you," Kathy said, taking the plastic fork he offered her. "This is my favorite!"

  "I made sure to tell them no shrimp," Tehar noted. "You're allergic to seafood as I recall."

  "Yeah." Kathy laughed, surprised and delighted. "I can't believe you remembered! This looks so good. I haven't eaten since breakfast."

  "You should take better care of yourself," the Sheikh replied, opening his own container. "This station needs you. You're our most valued anchor."

  Kathy's face heated with flustered delight.

  "There's no need to flatter me," she said.

  "It isn't flattery if it's the truth," Tehar replied seriously. "You are the most stable and reliable face this station has. After everything that's happened, we quite literally cannot afford to lose you. You should take pride in that. We're lucky to have you."

  "I don't feel like I'm doing anything extraordinary," Kathy said evasively. "I love this job. I just want to do my best at it."

  "You just worked a, what, eleven-hour shift?" Tehar leaned across his desk, frowning. "More? I don't even know. Regardless, that is going above and beyond what is expected of you. It shouldn't have even been asked of you. I take it that was Mitchell's doing?"

  Kathy nodded, rolling her eyes as she took a bite of her curry.

  "I'll look into making sure that doesn't happen again," Tehar promised. "I need to look into his scheduling practices anyway, after the fit he threw about giving that other woman maternity leave."

  "So, you're just down here to clean up his messes?" Kathy asked. "That doesn't seem right."

  "After the scandal last year, Henry Alan thinks he needs to be more closely supervised." Tehar put his food aside, apparently not very hungry. "And I can't blame him. I could have sent someone else out here to keep an eye on him, but, frankly, I don't trust anyone but myself to stay objective. Mitchell's family has a great deal of money and influence that he's never been ashamed to use for his personal benefit."

  "So, what did happen last year?" Kathy asked. "I transferred to this station after the worst of it was already over."

  "Well, I assume you heard about the affair?" The Sheikh sig
hed, sitting back and rubbing the bridge of his nose as though even remembering the event gave him a headache.

  "Yeah, with an intern, right?" Kathy replied.

  "A nineteen-year-old intern," Tehar replied. Kathy winced. "And barely that. The photos that were leaked were very compromising. Mitchell's family is influential, but his ex-wife's family is probably even more so. She was humiliated and her family was outraged. They set out to ruin his career and QIC Media on top of it. The press had a field day. We've always tried to brand ourselves as moral leaders with upstanding values. That one of the part owners was fooling around on his wife with a teenager—a teenager who worked for him no less! The consent issues there cannot be understated. Well, needless to say, it was an ugly blemish on our record. It nearly killed this station and the entire company with it."

  "So, why wasn't he fired?" Kathy asked, frowning over her Styrofoam lid.

  "Henry Alan owed his father a favor. They've been friends since charter school." Tehar waved it off dismissively, though his tart expression made it clear he didn't approve of such nepotism. "So, Mitchell was merely demoted. I was given his position, which he isn't pleased about as I'm sure you can imagine."

  "That explains a lot, actually," Kathy muttered, recalling how quickly Mitchell had fled the building. "He doesn't exactly speak fondly of you, or of Henry Alan."

  "Knowing what kind of man he is, I would be very surprised if he did," Tehar said with a snort. He shook his head, returning to his lunch. "But enough of that business. How have you been since my last visit?"

  Kathy debated how truthfully she should answer and decided to lean on the side of polite formality.

  "Fine," she answered with a slightly stiff smile. "Working hard. If I didn't love this work as much as I do, I'd probably have gone crazy by now."

  "As evidenced by today." Tehar raised an eyebrow, clearly still baffled by the ridiculously long shift she'd worked. "But I was more concerned about what happened right after my last visit. Forgive me if it's not something you want to talk about, but I heard your father passed just this November?"

  "He did," Kathy answered, tightlipped, sitting back a little stiffly. She put down her fork. "Lung cancer. He was a pack-a-day smoker for most of his life."

  "I'm sorry to hear that." Tehar frowned, sympathy and concern making lines in his face that made him seem older than he was. It was somehow comforting, a glimpse past his usual formal facade. "I've lost relatives to cancer. There's nothing worse than watching someone you love disappear a little at a time."

  "No, it wasn't like that for me," Kathy said, shaking her head. "By the time he got to the doctor and had it checked out, it was already terminal. Treatment might have given him a few more years, but he decided against it. Didn't want it to interfere with his work. He didn't even tell us he was sick until he went into the hospital for the last time, by which point it all happened pretty fast. Spent his last few days pushing out one more article. He wanted to finish this big piece on the Syrian refugee crisis. He'll probably get a few posthumous awards for it."

  She shrugged, hands in the air, as though it were all meaningless. Like it had happened to someone else. Tehar's frown deepened. Kathy looked away.

  "We hadn't spoken in years," she said. "We were never close."

  "I heard you didn't request any time off." Tehar leaned back, looking at her thoughtfully.

  "I figured the best way to honor his memory was to keep working." Kathy scoffed, covering her face with her hand. "It's what he would have done. Of course, that was before the will came out and—"

  She cut herself off, a sour taste in her mouth. She dropped her hand back to her lap sharply, composing herself.

  "I'm sorry for bringing up such an unpleasant subject," Tehar said as she trailed off. "Everyone mourns in their own way. I was simply concerned Mitchell was the reason you hadn't taken personal time to grieve. I'm relieved to know it was your own choice."

  "I appreciate your concern," Kathy replied, distancing herself from the unpleasant conversation.

  To his credit, Tehar looked apologetic for bringing it up.

  "Thank you again for lunch," Kathy said, closing the takeout container with a squeak of Styrofoam. "I really appreciate it. I'll finish the rest at home. I should give you your tour so you can get back to work."

  "That's not necessary," Tehar said quickly. He'd picked up his phone and was frowning down at the screen. "I can find my own way around. You've answered the biggest questions I had already. You should go home and get some rest."

  "I really don't mind—"

  "No, I insist." Tehar stood up, coming around the desk to urge her towards the door. "I was serious when I said you should take better care of yourself. We can't afford to have you getting sick."

  Kathy opened her mouth, considering telling him everything, and then thought better of it.

  "All right," she agreed. "Thank you, sir."

  "Oh, one thing before you go." His hand was warm on her shoulder as he guided her out of the office, but he paused to offer her his phone instead. "May I have your number?"

  Kathy froze, caught off guard.

  "You did say I could call next time I had questions," he reminded her with a smile. "It would be much more convenient than flying in."

  "Oh, of course." Kathy shook her head to clear it and accepted his phone, handing him hers. They exchanged numbers quickly and Kathy took her phone back, amused to see he'd entered his name as 'Tehar' rather than Sheikh or boss or something more formal.

  "I'll probably see you tomorrow," Tehar said as he tucked his phone away. "I'll be in the studio for a few days before I report back to Henry Alan."

  "I'm glad to hear it," Kathy said, sincerity obvious. She was glad to have someone keeping an eye on Mitchell's shenanigans. "I'll see you then. Good night, sir."

  "Good night, Miss Burgess," Tehar said with a polite nod. Kathy smiled and waved as she left, allowing her weariness to settle back onto her shoulders as she stumbled out into the hot parking lot to find her car. Sheikh Tehar was a good man. She was going to miss him when she had to leave.

  Chapter Two

  "You're home, finally! God, you look awful."

  Kathy opened the door of her condo to see her best friend sprawled out on the couch with her feet on the coffee table. Tessa was tall enough to be a model, but her proportions were more scarecrow than Barbie, a comparison made more apt by her huge cloud of curly blond hair. She and Kathy had been friends since middle school, they lived in the same building and had keys to each other’s places, and Tessa was currently helping herself to the last of Kathy's yogurt.

  "Thanks for reminding me," Kathy said, dragging herself to the coat rack to put up her keys and bag before collapsing face first into the couch across Tessa's lap.

  "You're out of yogurt."

  Kathy groaned in reply, and Tessa patted her head.

  "Long day?" she asked.

  "Unbelievably."

  "Well, good news. You'll have plenty of time to relax on your date tonight!"

  Kathy groaned louder. Tessa rubbed her back.

  "Aw, come on," Tessa pleaded. "Richard is a really nice guy! You're going to have a great time."

  "You don't know he's nice," Kathy pointed out, her voice muffled by the sofa.

  "Well, I know Linda from my yoga class thinks he's really nice."

  "She's his sister!"

  "From my experience with brothers, that should make her think he's awful," Tessa pointed out. "Besides, I may not know he's nice, but I know he's healthy, good looking, and financially stable. That's what you're really looking for here, right?"

  "You make me sound like some weird gold digger." Kathy sat up so that she could glare at Tessa. "It's not like I'm doing this because I have a choice."

  "Then don't go on the date." Tessa shrugged, unconcerned. "It's not like I care if you get your inheritance."

  Kathy pursed her lips, struggling with what to say. Then she gave up, shoulders sagging.

  "It's a
lot of money," she conceded.

  Tessa laughed, and Kathy, defeated, turned to prying her shoes off her aching feet.

  "Plus, the family home in Colorado," she added, chucking one of her heels across her stylishly decorated but conspicuously unlived-in living room. "If I let that go, my family would never forgive me."

  "I'm sorry for laughing," Tessa said, setting the yogurt down on the coffee table. "I shouldn't. It really is messed up. What kind of father forces his daughter to get pregnant? That's some dark ages B.S."

  "According to the will, he doesn't want me to end up like him." Kathy sighed, unable to resist the urge to defend her father, dropping her other shoe unceremoniously on the floor. "He spent his whole life focused on nothing but his work. He pushed me and Mom away and ended up in that hospital, dying alone. So, he thinks making me have a kid will force me to focus on family. Cause that worked so well for him, right?"

  "I thought people were supposed to get nicer and more understanding when they find out they're dying," Tessa said, shaking her head.

  "I don't think that's it," Kathy mused, leaning back against the sofa, rolling her stiff shoulders. "I think it's more like…people find out they're dying and get desperate to leave some kind of mark on the world. We're always so sure there's going to be more time. Then suddenly there isn't, and we realize how much we've wasted on things that won't matter or be remembered. I think a lot of people who find out they're dying would like to pick up a weapon and go around screaming and overthrowing governments. Get themselves a statue or at least a note in a history book somewhere. But instead, we just try to make nice memories with our families or guilt them into something, in hopes we'll be remembered through them, maybe."

  Kathy shook her head, hands open, palms up, like she was trying to wrench the complicated truth out of the air. "I don't know. Dad just seemed so desperate to leave something behind, and it’s like he didn't even want to bother trying to get through to me because he knew the damage was already done. He just kept working on that last article like if he made it good enough it might, I don't know, save him or redeem him somehow. In the end, I still don't think he liked it."