AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yeah, but I need answers.” Frank’s voice cracked. “And soon. I’m meeting the sh—I’m meeting my client in less than an hour and, like I said, I just took a quick look at this proposal and—”
“And you’re in over your head,” Megan said sweetly, and hit the disconnect button so forcefully she thought she might have broken it.
The phone rang a second later. She ignored it. It rang again, and she grabbed the phone, shut it off and, for good measure, tossed it over her shoulder into the back seat.
This was why Simpson hadn’t fired her.
He needed her. All that crap about her staying in L.A. to assist Fisher was just that. Crap. She was going to stay here and force-feed everything to her replacement. Frank would get the scepter. She’d get the shaft.
“Forget it,” she snapped.
No way was she going to take that kind of treatment. What was with men, anyway? Three of them had tried to step on her today. Simpson. Fisher. And the sheikh.
“Don’t forget the sheikh, Megan,” she said out loud, but how could she possibly forget a man so despicable?
He’d kissed her. So what? It was a kiss. That was all, just a kiss. Okay, so he was good at it. Damned good, but why wouldn’t he be when he’d been with a zillion women? That was what he did. Made love to women, ordered his flunkies around, and sat on his butt the rest of the time, counting his money, figuring out ways to make it grow.
What else would a rich, incredibly good-looking Prince of the Desert do with his life?
To think that such a man believed he could buy her…
The idiot behind her hit his horn again. This time, it was a long, long blast that seemed to go on forever.
Megan looked in the mirror.
“Go on,” she snarled, “pass me if you can, you idiot!”
The horn blared again. Megan cursed, put down her window just enough so she could stick out her hand and make the universal sign of displeasure. She’d never done such a thing before in her life but oh, it felt good!
The driver behind her swung out, horn blasting in answer to her gesture. He cut in front of her, then put on the speed and zoomed away, in and out of the smallest possible breaks in traffic until he vanished from sight.
“Are you really in such an all-fired hurry to get to hell?” she yelled.
Then she put up her window, glared straight ahead and wished nothing but life’s worst on the Worm, the Sheikh, Frank Fisher, and the idiot driving the Lamborghini.
California drivers were not only fools, they were foolhardy.
The mood he was in, Caz had half a mind to force the VW onto the shoulder of the freeway, yank open the driver’s door and tell the cretin behind the wheel that making a crude gesture to a stranger wasn’t a good idea.
Luckily for the cretin, he was in a hurry.
The traffic had been bumper to bumper. When it finally loosened up, he’d waited for the guy ahead to start moving. He hadn’t. Or maybe she hadn’t. Caz had pretty much generated a picture of who was behind the VW’s wheel. A woman. Middle-aged, peering over the steering wheel with trepidation, nervous about the rain.
The finger-in-the-air thing had changed his mind.
No gray-haired Nervous Nellie would make such a gesture. She wouldn’t yap on a cell phone while she was driving, either. At least, he thought he’d seen the driver holding a cell phone to her ear. It was hard to tell much of anything because of the rain, and who was it who’d said it never rained in Southern California?
Hell.
He had to calm down.
Driving fast would help. It always did. It was what he did at the end of virtually every meeting with his advisors back home, take one of his cars out on the straight black road that went from one end of Suliyam to the other.
From no place to nowhere, his mother used to say.
Caz always thought of her when he was in California. She’d left his father and come here, where she’d been born, when he was ten. She died when he was twelve, and he’d only spent summers with her for the intervening two years.
“Won’t you come home with me, Mama?” he’d ask at the end of each summer. And she’d hug him tightly and say she’d come home soon…
