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Chapter Two
Sheikh Jamsheed Rahal rubbed at his temples before the teleconference with his cousin, Abir, was about to start. This morning—okay, early afternoon—had been a complete disaster and cluster fuck, which was the only kind of ‘fuck’ he hated. The last thing he intended was to have Brenda march in on his romp with two of the girls from the party last night. It wasn’t that his maid was a naïve girl—far from it—but there was a huge difference between having her know about his nightly antics and accidentally rubbing her face in them. He had a strict system that always worked: enjoy the night as much as he wanted, but send the girls away by six a.m. and be ready to have Brenda clean his room by eight.
Frankly, he never would have overslept if he wasn’t anxious about his meeting with his cousin in the first place. He’d had far too much champagne at the party, and the hurt look in Brenda’s eyes was killing him—not to mention the feeling that he may have truly lost her. It was the punishment he got for taking comfort in the bottle.
He drummed his fingers on the oak of his desk and groaned when his screen flickered to life, indicating that Abir was on the other end.
The other man had a pinched expression to his broad features and something dark always seemed to be brimming in those grey eyes of his. Today was no exception.
“Ah, cousin, you’re calling almost half an hour late. Don’t you respect that I have more business to attend to than just your demands.” Abir said, stroking his long, black beard.
It was all an attempt to needle him. Yes, it was true that because of the disaster earlier today, Jamsheed was running behind on everything. However, there was no way he’d be drawn into a pissing contest with his cousin. All he had to do was nod, concede, and that would take the fight out of the other man, who seemed to live only to be contrary to others.
“I had an emergency come up, Cousin.”
Abir sneered. “Again, I have other work than that of Rahal Oil Subsidiaries.”
“You might have personal dealings, but you forget your place sometimes.” Frankly, Abir seemed to forget it all the time. “Father runs Zomelia, and soon so will I. You have a duty to the family line to help with the industry that keeps Zomelia a powerful player in the world petrol game. Your other desires are secondary.”
Abir shook his head. “So are yours. Do I at least get a name?”
“Huh?”
“A name for whatever blonde bimbo kept you too late to make our call. Surely she ended up being more important than honoring your commitments, Jamsheed.”
He gritted his teeth and tried to press forward with the meeting. “Now about British Petroleum; they’re looking to buy into the company for ten percent of total stock shares. I think this will help us get into the Western market.”
“I’d prefer an alliance with some of the oil holdings of the Sultan of Brunei, myself. He only wants eight percent, and you know how I feel about Westerners. At the end of the day, my cousin, you can never trust them.”
Jamsheed curled his hands into fists at his side. “And there is the xenophobia I know and loathe. We’ve been talking for two minutes, and you already want to reject a deal based on your irrational hate of anyone not of Muslim descent. You know how much I loathe when countries do the reverse to our people. How can you not see it’s the same thing?”
“Fine, I love Westerners. They and all their endless bombing are wonderful.” Abir said, rolling his eyes. “Then I can say I hate the BP deal because I only want to give up eight percent at most and because they have a terrible safety records and multiple spills in the Gulf Coast of late. Use whatever reason you want. I hate the BP idea.”
“Father and I think…”
“Of course; pull rank then.”
“Well two-to-one is just democracy. It’s voting,” Jamsheed defended.
“You and Uncle always have a voice against me. Fine, send me more details in writing on the BP proposal. I want time to decide if their safety record will ruin our company’s reputation and take time to sell you further on the Sultan of Brunei. Is there anything else, master?” Abir rolled his eyes again even as he gave a mock bow.
“You could be more polite. I know you might not like this, but one day I will be the Sheikh of Zomelia and you have to respect that.”
Abir narrowed his eyes. “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”
“Is that a threat?” Jamsheed asked, sitting up taller in his chair.
“No, but that doesn’t mean you have to assume everything is axiomatic either. There are a lot of rules for the succession to the throne, and you never know what might complicate them or…”
“…Or something more traitorous?” Jamsheed asked, his voice taking on an edge as hard as diamond.
Abir grinned and brought a hand to his chest in mock indignation. “Never, Cousin. I merely meant that nothing is for certain. For all we know, the world could be struck by a giant meteor tomorrow. That’s all I was trying to convey.”
“I bet. Fine, I’ll fax you the deal portfolio. Talk to you soon Abir.”
“Always, Jamsheed. Wish Uncle well.”
With that, the rat clicked off.
