Unknown Royal Baby

Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

One year later

‘T HIS WAY , M S R ODGERS .’

The tall man in the sharp suit gestured for her to precede him into the hotel’s lift. His smile was perfunctory, not reaching his eyes. He had an air about him that made her wonder if he was a bodyguard, not an administrative assistant.

His stare made her shiver and pull her too-snug jacket close, the hairs at her nape rising. Would he frisk her before she was allowed into the presence of His High-and-Mightiness?

She didn’t relish the thought. But she’d see this through. Now she had a chance to confront Isam.

Her emotions were a chaotic jumble and her stomach churned with something close to nausea. Avril had never believed today would come. After a year of complete silence, he wanted to see her.

She’d almost, almost refused to attend.

She’d stomped around the house, muttering under her breath about self-centred men and their unconscionable behaviour. The message, not from Isam himself, but from an officious staffer she didn’t know, had caught her by surprise. To her horror, she’d found herself blinking back furious tears, bombarded by relief, anger and disbelief.

Not excitement. She’d given up on that ages ago.

How could she be excited to see him again? She’d almost convinced herself that the thrill she’d felt that night with him was her mind exaggerating. He’d been her first lover and, for a while at least, she’d turned him into someone special, more admirable than the flawed, arrogant bastard he’d proved to be.

Her breath caught on a bubble of bitter laughter that felt scarily hysterical. No, he wasn’t a bastard. Not as far as the world was concerned. Not long after leaving London, on his father’s death, he’d moved from being the legitimate royal heir to being proclaimed King of Zahdar.

But handsome is as handsome does, as Cilla used to say.

He’d treated Avril appallingly. She’d never be able to respect him after what he’d done.

‘Are you all right, Ms Rodgers?’

Her gaze snapped up to the man she was sure now was a minder. Did Isam fear she might physically attack him? Unlikely, since she’d be no match for him. More likely royal security was more obvious now he was Sheikh.

‘Oh, I’m just dandy. Thank you.’

She watched her companion blink and realised her smile held a feral edge. Drawing a slow breath, she forced herself to be calm or at least to look it.

The lift bell pinged and the doors slid open to reveal the elegant opulence of the presidential suite’s foyer.

In the almost thirteen months since that night, Avril had never ventured back here. Isam hadn’t returned but stayed in Zahdar since commencing his reign.

Because of her?

Unlikely. It was clear the man she’d thought she knew didn’t exist. She’d fallen for a mirage. She’d invested Isam with a character that matched his outwardly attractive appearance. Now she had the real measure of the man. Not admirable. Not attractive. Not worth pining over.

Avril smoothed her hand down the russet fabric of her straight skirt. It wasn’t new, she wasn’t going to waste her money on a new outfit for this meeting. But it was a favourite, even if the fit wasn’t quite as it used to be, and it made her feel good.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured as the minder led her into the suite then opened the door to the conference room.

She stepped over the threshold and heard the door snick closed behind her. On the other side of the table sat three men in suits. She only had eyes for the tall one in the centre.

Her heart took up a rackety beat, pounding her ribs as she met clear, pale eyes. Something like an electric charge jolted through her. Despite being prepared for this meeting, moisture tickled her hairline and bloomed across her palms, making her tighten her grip on her laptop case.

He stared straight back at her and her peripheral vision dimmed as her focus narrowed to eyes the colour of a grey winter’s morning. Eyes that scrutinised but gave nothing away. Eyes that didn’t flicker with even the tiniest hint of pleasure or welcome.

Avril thought she’d been prepared, thought Isam couldn’t hurt her any more, but that unresponsive stare pierced the armour she’d spent so long constructing.

She put her palm to the centre of her chest, trying to hold in sharp stabbing pain.

‘Ms Rodgers? Ms Rodgers.’ She turned stiff neck muscles to find a man beside her. He was in his forties, with a round face that looked more suited to smiling than the frown he wore now. He wore a bespoke suit and concern in his eyes. ‘Please, won’t you take a seat?’

Looking from him to the empty seat beside the Sheikh, she realised he’d come around the long table to her. How long had she stood there, aware of nothing but Isam?

‘Thank you.’

She sat as he introduced himself and the man still seated next to Isam. But she didn’t retain their names, too frantically focusing on trying not to show how badly shocked she felt.

‘And you know Sheikh Isam,’ he added.

Belatedly she realised she hadn’t remembered the obligatory curtsey for Zahdar’s head of state. Not that the man deserved a curtsey.

Avril inclined her head. ‘Yes, we’ve met.’

Was it imagination or was there a ripple of reaction to that? No, not a ripple. More a sudden stillness, as if her words put them all on alert.

Probably imagination. She made an effort to get a grip. There, that was better. A slow breath out as she clasped the arms of her leather chair. She was in control of herself now. The worst moment was over.

They’d seated her on the opposite side of the table. As if for an interview. Did they think to intimidate her with formality?

Her attention returned to Isam, directly opposite. He leaned sideways as his companion murmured something. Without his steely gaze on her she scanned his features, stunned at the changes in him and even more at how familiar he was. Her fingers twitched as if remembering the smooth flesh of his back and rounded buttocks, or clutching at his thick, surprisingly soft hair as they kissed.

His cheekbones were the same, sharply defined with angles a camera, or a besotted woman, would love. His mouth was pursed rather than relaxed and his nostrils flared as if something annoyed him.

But what caught her attention were the deep grooves carved around his mouth. The lines at his eyes hinted now at pain rather than pleasure. And of course the scars. A web of them at one side of his brow, extending up into his hairline.

Simmering anger disappeared, replaced by dismay. She’d known he was injured in the helicopter crash that killed his father soon after Isam’s return to Zahdar. But seeing the evidence brought a sharp, iron taste to her tongue.

It took a moment to realise she’d bitten her lip in distress.

When the accident happened she’d been frantic with worry. The Zahdari press had provided little insight into his condition. Every press release from the palace had seemed designed to obfuscate.

But eventually there’d been good news. Reports of the new Sheikh out of hospital, recuperating privately. Then of him taking up the reins of government. Then a few photo opportunities showing him at a distance, usually consulting with elders or opening some new facility.

Abruptly Isam turned and she felt the force of his stare like an assault. It seemed to drive right into her, probing and analysing. Threatening to shatter the hard-fought-for equilibrium she’d finally achieved.

What did he want from her?

‘Thank you for coming today, Ms Rodgers.’ It was the man with the round face and glasses who spoke. ‘His Majesty is reviewing his interests in the UK, hence today’s meeting.’

Did you really expect him to come here to take up where you left off that night? To see how you were? If you were okay?

Pursing her lips, she inclined her head. She’d known this would be a business meeting.

She still had to work out how she could get time alone with Isam. Despite her deep-seated disgust at his behaviour, there were things she needed to say. Things that weren’t for the ears of strangers.

‘If you don’t mind, we’ll start with your position.’

Avril started. Her position? Her gaze darted to Isam’s but his steady stare was blank. She breathed deep.

She lifted her chin. Two could play at being aloof. ‘What do you want to know?’

She kept her focus on Isam but again it was the man beside him who spoke. ‘Your role, for a start.’

That wrenched her attention to him. ‘I’m His Majesty’s PA in the United Kingdom.’

‘His Majesty hasn’t given you any instructions for some time. Yet you continue to draw a salary.’

It was the thin man on Isam’s other side who spoke, the one who looked as if he’d swallowed a lemon. He made it sound like an accusation, as if Avril had done something wrong, stealing from the royal coffers instead of struggling to manage responsibilities beyond her remit because her boss had lost interest in his enterprises here and cut off communication.

Her hackles rose. It certainly wasn’t her fault!

‘I’m afraid that’s something you need to take up with His Majesty, not me.’ She turned to skewer Isam with a glare that should have pinned his worthless hide to his chair.

‘Since his last visit I’ve managed as best I can. I was given clear parameters about regular auditing of and reporting from his UK enterprises. There are quite of few of them.’ And not all had been happy at the lack of direct contact from Isam, leaving her to handle their expectations when she herself didn’t know what to expect. ‘You’ll find full updates and progress reports in my regular emails.’

As well as her desperate appeals for him to contact her. All of which remained unanswered. Her chest rose on a shuddering breath but she sat straight, shoulders back and chin up.

Still Isam said nothing, yet she saw a flash of something in his expression that told her he wasn’t as cool as he appeared. Good! He deserved to squirm, ignoring her calls and emails. Presumably, too, informing his staff not to accept any call she made to the palace.

She’d spent too long and given up too much of her pride trying to contact him. She wasn’t in the mood to put up with any more nonsense.

‘As you say, a series of emails, yes.’ The first interviewer looked down at his notes. When he lifted his head his smile was easy yet instinct told her he hid something. ‘And the email address you sent it to? I’m afraid I didn’t have time to make myself a copy of the relevant reports before the meeting.’

Avril frowned, darting a look at Isam, but he was in whispered conversation with the other man. This was beyond odd. Why let his staff question her about her job rather than focusing on the work that badly needed his attention?

She spelled out the email address, watching as it was written down. ‘If there’s anything in particular you need to see, I can show you now.’

She put her laptop on the table and watched three pairs of eyes swivel to look.

‘Your work device?’ asked the thin man with the dour expression. At her nod he continued. ‘Excellent. If you could call up the most recent report that would be useful.’

Avril did as requested, but, instead of asking questions, the thin man walked around the table and with murmured thanks took the laptop back to his seat.

Startled, she looked at Isam for explanation. Didn’t he trust her any more?

He didn’t look quite so detached now. Long fingers massaged his temple, making her wonder if he had a headache, and as their eyes met she saw something that might be regret.

As if! She was the one who’d learnt about regret. And that her instincts were severely flawed around this man.

The first interviewer interrupted her thoughts. ‘Now, Ms Rodgers, perhaps you’d like to tell me about your work history, your skills?’

‘Sorry?’

‘I’m interested in why you applied for the position and what you brought to it.’

Indignation rose as a premonition rippled down her spine. They were going to sack her?

Avril didn’t mind that. She no longer wanted to work for Isam ibn Rafat. She should have resigned long ago instead of holding out that secret hope that he’d finally contact her and they’d talk. But she’d not allow them to imply it was because of the standard of her work.

She turned to the man she’d once esteemed. More than esteemed. ‘Isam.’ Protocol be damned. ‘Do you want to tell me what this is about?’

In her peripheral vision she saw his minders stare at her use of his personal name. It was probably an offence back in Zahdar. The dour man’s jaw actually dropped and the other one darted a wide-eyed look at his sheikh.

Her boss, her one-time lover, took his time responding and every second felt like a new betrayal.

‘I know this seems unnecessary, given that you’ve worked for me for some time. But we’re bringing my UK interests in line with my other investments. That means a detailed review of current arrangements.’

It was the first time Avril had heard his voice in over a year and she was shocked by how it affected her. Deep and smooth, with just a hint of huskiness, it trawled through her, snagging on sensitive spots, drawing a flurry of excited response.

Her hands tightened around the chair’s armrests and her thighs clamped together in instinctive rejection of that lush softening at the entrance to her body.

How could her body betray her after the way he’d treated her? He’d used then ignored her as if she were nothing.

‘Rashid here—’ he nodded to the man with glasses ‘—oversees all palace staff. Before I became Sheikh I preferred to manage my British investments personally rather than through Zahdar’s public service. But now, as Sheikh, it makes sense to draw it all together under one umbrella.’

He lifted those broad shoulders in a shrug that should have made his statement reassuring, as if the review were a trifle, but the movement was stiff. Did he still carry injuries from the crash?

Avril jerked her thoughts back. Isam would have the world’s best specialists attending him. She needed to concentrate on what this meant for her position.

Avril had told herself that cutting ties with Isam was the only way forward, though it meant finding a new position when she least felt up to it. But to be chucked out on the pretence of not doing her job, just because he was embarrassed by her presence, was beyond the pale.

‘So you’re rationalising and looking to sack me?’

That, at last, drew a reaction from Isam. He leaned towards her, horizontal lines grooving his forehead. ‘I didn’t come with any such intention. This is an information-gathering session only.’

He seemed so earnest, so persuasive, she was tempted to believe him.

Until she remembered the man who’d left her over a year ago with a promise to return in two weeks. She’d understood when he didn’t. The crash that injured him and killed his father had made international headlines. So she’d waited, hoping, fearing and praying for his recovery.

And then...nothing. Not a call, not an email, not a response to any of her messages. His phone was unanswered and palace staff had been polite yet dismissive when she’d called the switchboard.

‘Perhaps it would be easiest if we started with how your previous work fitted you for your current position.’

At Rashid’s words she reluctantly turned to him. ‘I can supply my résumé if necessary. I worked my way up through a series of positions until I was personal assistant to Berthold Keller.’

That grabbed her audience’s attention. Rashid’s eyes widened. ‘The property magnate?’

‘That’s him.’

‘But you must be no more than in your mid-twenties. That’s a very senior position at a young age.’

She’d turned twenty-seven a few months ago. ‘I’m pleased to say my previous employer valued competence over seniority.’

She spared Isam a sideways glance, challenging him to comment, but of course he said nothing. At least this session was destroying the last of her silly yearning for a man who’d only existed in her imaginings.

‘I’m very good at what I do.’

Cilla had said she had an old head on young shoulders. She was organised and hard-working, with an eye for detail, traits learned from her great-aunt, along with the desire to be financially independent.

‘So why did you leave?’

‘Working for Mr Keller involved a lot of travel, which was stimulating, but over time I realised I wanted to stay in London.’ Because Cilla, her feisty, independent great-aunt, had grown physically fragile. ‘It was Mr Keller who recommended me to the Sheikh.’

In response to Rashid’s questioning look, Isam nodded. ‘He’s a friend. I respect his judgement.’

Then he rose, resting his palm on the gleaming wood as if for support. But any thought that his injuries had weakened him physically were banished as he straightened to stand tall and imposing. There was no weakness in this man just as there was no softness.

It had been her mistake ever to imagine such a thing.

Even so, Avril’s pulse spurred in anticipation of his invitation to follow her for a private conversation.

‘If you’ll excuse me...’ his gaze swept the three of them ‘...there’s something I must do. I’m confident you’ll make good progress without me.’

His gaze met hers for the briefest of seconds. This time it wasn’t blankly disinterested. His eyes looked stormy and she could almost imagine a bolt of lightning tearing through the room. She shivered in response to some unseen reverberation.

Then, to her astonishment, Isam left without a backward glance. As if she held no more interest for him.