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I left the house for the first time in two days, but only after Skylar made me promise to come back. She always does this when I’m about to leave.
The journey to my house isn’t so far; I live in the same neighborhood as Rebecca and her small family.
Why? Because I can afford it.
It’s an apartment building in which I own a two-bedroom apartment on the highest floor. I’m not worried about Rebecca finding out that I live here mainly because she sees me too little outside of the work environment.
My work environment is her house and any other place I must escort her. Should she spot me on a rare occasion, I could easily lie that I’m visiting with a cousin.
It makes way too much sense.
I step into the house, and Hakeem comes rushing to me. Hakeem is my confidant, and I brought him with me from Omanbecause the king always requires the second opinion of another man.
He was initially my best friend until my father died, and I was asked to appoint someone to take the role. No other person came to mind.
"You’re welcome, Your Highness," he greets me and immediately assumes his place beside me. Having spent quite a while in America, I feel it’s strange, but Hakeem doesn't think so.
He takes his job as my right-hand man more seriously than I'm taking my role as a leader.
I don’t know how good of a leader I would make, but I dare say that even after I'm done with my revenge quest and return to my province in Oman, Hakeem would still be better at his job than I would be at mine.
He just possesses the attributes and embodies them, understanding his place as a servant to the throne and doing his best to execute the responsibilities that the throne requires.
"At least you know you don’t have to stand beside me here. We’re alone, and no one is watching us," I grunt.
It’s true. The comfort of an American home is a complete luxury that the people of this country don't know they have.
A more family-oriented place like where I’m from would invade every inch of your privacy, and that's just for regular families.
In the royal aspect, the word privacy is extinct. The system is still efficient if the general aim of your requiring privacy is so that no one gets to know what you are doing on the inside.
Every servant that frequently must intrude on your personal space swears an oath of secrecy, which is punishable by death for breaking.
Hakeem can proudly be called a confidant because he will tell no one what he sees or hears me do.
And the best part about that is his assistance.
He’s under obligation to assist me with anything I ask.
He executes very useful commandments, considering he doesn't like being dragged out here and forced to tailor my revenge to perfection.
"Were you able to find out his schedule today?" I ask Hakeem as I stroll casually to the kitchen to make myself a brimming hot cup of coffee.
I need the heat.
"Yes, sir, for the most part, it has remained unchanged over the past couple of weeks. Work." He drops in a little bit of sarcasm, but I permit it.
It took him a while to use the word “Sir” on me, mainly because I didn’t want him to embarrass me with the words “Your Highness” in public.
If only anyone knew how hard it was for me to convince him to drop the overly formal titles and continue with just the simple “Sir,” they’d appreciate it so far.
“I see.”
There’s not much for Hakeem to track because Thomas just came back from New Jersey not up to a day ago, probably on the same jet with Rebecca.
Now that the thought of having a little romantic affair with my boss has eased, the thought of her being sad tickles my heart a little, but I wipe the effect off with a swat.
I bring the rich-flavored cup rim to my mouth and sip, allowing the sheets to scald my tongue. At least the burn is going to give me enough to think about. The sting from the boiling coffee enrages me and gets me into action. Action is what I do.
