Sheikh's Desert Duty. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
scrambling to cover their butts while Isabelle shored up the defenses for The Harrington.
No, she wasn’t exactly a lead reporter for the Herald. She was more lead coffee maker and vapid party summarizer for the society pages. But, given that, she had the authority to run a piece on the Chatsfields.
Though, as much as Sophie loved Isabelle, as much as she wanted to help out her friend, she wasn’t sure if this was what she signed on for. No, she was certain this wasn’t what she’d signed on for.
“So what is it you want?”
“It’s quite simple, really. I need to keep you busy for a while.”
“I like a scavenger hunt. If you wanted to set up some kind of elaborate game, I might be persuaded to participate. That could keep me busy for a bit.”
“That is not what I had in mind.”
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, goose bumps breaking out over her arms. “Organizing your sock drawer?”
“Getting warmer.”
“Okay, you need to start talking, because I’m starting to panic.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“I have an idea.” She had overheard enough of his conversation with James to start piecing some things together. And what she surmised was that he was royalty of some sort. Because he had accused James of sleeping with his sister. His sister, who happened to be a princess. So unless he was some kind of royal bastard, he had to be a prince, sheikh or otherwise titled person. A quick internet search when she’d gotten back to her computer would’ve clarified everything. Of course, now she was separated from her computer, for who knew how long, so finding out who he was wouldn’t be as simple as she imagined.
Though if she could get her phone...
“I am Sheikh Zayn Al-Ahmar, of Surhaadi. And I am taking you back to my country for the foreseeable future.”
Her stomach jumped up and hit the back of her throat.
“What do you mean I’m coming back to your country with you?”
“Just exactly what I said. You are returning to Surhaadi with me, until I can figure out a means of dealing with you.”
“Well, I don’t want to.”
He shifted in his seat, one arm draped over the back of it, his legs thrown out in front of him. He had the posture of a lazy cat, as though this were mundane. As though he kidnapped women from alleys in New York every day, and threatened to take them back to his desert kingdom. As though this were as commonplace as ordering sparkling water instead of still.
But she had a feeling it was only an illusion. That, much like a cat, the lazy posture was simply lulling her into a false sense of security, so that she would be all the more surprised when he pounced. She decided then and there that she would not be lulled.
“All of this has very little to do with want, as far as I’m concerned,” he said. “Do you truly think I want to bring you back to my country with me? If so, you are mistaken. This goes deeper than want. This is about what I must do.”
“Well, what is it you must do? Let me help you with that, and perhaps we can both be spared this whole taking me back to the desert thing.”
“I am afraid I do not have time to negotiate.”
“I’m asking honestly, what is it you need? What is it you want from me?” Anything was preferable to this. Well, okay, not anything. But a lot of things.
“I require your silence, habibti. And while under normal circumstances I would be willing to pay for your silence, I find that I must be even more diligent in this instance. I cannot take the chance you will simply take my money and then give away my secrets, anyway.”
“I have a lot of honor. And I also have a lot of bills. So, all things considered, a payoff might be your best bet.” At this point, she just wanted to forget she had ever even seen the man. No payoff required. She was starting to get seriously freaked out.
“As I said, under normal circumstances I might have gone that route. But there is too much at stake. Anyway, what sort of paltry story do you suppose you could bring out of the Chatsfield name? There is more to this story. More to what I know about James Chatsfield. Come back to the palace with me, and I will tell you everything.”
Oh, no, that was far too easy, and made absolutely no sense. The man was trying to get her away from people, away from New York, to keep something secret. He was hardly going to give her surrounding information.
“I don’t trust you.”
“All things considered, I doubt there is any chance of there being trust between us.”
“Well, perhaps we don’t need trust. Perhaps we just need you to not force me to go someplace against my will. Right now, I would take that over trust.”
The limo started to slow, pulling into a driveway that she didn’t recognize. This didn’t look like any of the airports she was familiar with, or at least not a terminal she was familiar with. Not that she had spent very much time traveling, but she had dropped friends off when they went on trips.
Still, she was not an authority on air travel. “Where are we?”
“A private section of the airport, reserved for visiting dignitaries. It allows us to sidestep a lot of bureaucracy.”
She was starting to put the pieces together, but between the general feeling of shock and the haze of disbelief covering this whole thing she wasn’t feeling as quick as she usually did.
“I need you out of the way for a while. Surhaadi is the best place, where I can keep you close. Where I can keep an eye on you. But never fear, you will come away from this rewarded.”
A chill spread over her. “I have a job, I have a life, I can’t just leave.”
Okay, so saying she had a life was pushing it a bit. She had a life of working sixty hours a week, and doing her very best to climb the ladder, such as that was in her industry. She had spent her entire life working her way up from, if not the gutter, certainly a disadvantaged position, to where she was now.
Isabelle Harrington had helped her secure her place at the Herald, and Sophie owed her. More than that, she refused to squander any opportunity she was given. The vast majority of the work she had done to elevate her status had been accomplished on her own. Due to nothing more than sheer bloody-mindedness, determination and a burning sense of injustice that sat in her stomach, making her feel hollow. Driving her on, looking for a way to fill it.
But her position at the Herald was one of the few things that had been provided for her by her creative friends. Isabelle had recommended her for the position, and Sophie took it very seriously. She didn’t take for granted what she had been given. The thought of just leaving the job, for an indefinite amount of time, was unthinkable.
“Where is it you work?”
“I work at the New York Herald, and I can’t just leave.”
“I will call your boss, and I will speak to him.”
“Uh...no. You won’t. That is not happening.” Knowing Colin, he would smell a story and be no help in bailing her out. Her boss had the morals of a vulture. He was opportunistic in the extreme. A man who had attached himself to a very wealthy wife, using those connections to land himself a position as head editor for the Herald, all while sleeping with younger socialites behind her back.
He was opportunistic, but not, in Sophie’s experience, particularly sneaky. Either way, she did not want to bring him into this.
“You have now told me where you work. I am more than happy to take the ID out of your bag, find your name and call your boss. I will tell him that one of his reporters has greatly offended the sheikh of Surhaadi. And I will tell him I want you fired.”