“Why?”
“You told him you didn’t have time to see him in Portland. Or Seattle. So he’s flown to Vancouver and he’s here now.” Jamie smiled nervously, hands fidgeting. “And I don’t think he’s going to go away until you see him. Apparently it’s urgent. Life or death, or something of that nature.”
Life or death. Just the sort of thing her father would say. Zayed was cut from the same cloth. Gorgeous, wealthy, famous, shallow and self-absorbed. It was always about them, what they wanted, what they needed. She despised playboys and movie stars, loathed self-indulgence, and loathed Zayed Fehr most of all.
Zayed might be Sharif’s brother, but he was truly the black sheep of the family. A desert prince without a care, or sense of responsibility, or propriety, for that matter. Rou gestured unhappily. “I don’t have time to see him—”
“You do now, actually—”
“But I don’t want to see him.”
“Have you ever seen him?” twenty-three-year-old Jamie asked breathlessly.
“We’re acquainted,” Rou answered flatly, unwilling to admit to more than that. Jamie certainly didn’t need to know the details of their painful, embarrassing encounter three years earlier. Suffice it to say that Zayed Fehr would never be a man she respected, or trusted.
“He is really good-looking,” Jamie added, eyes bright and cheeks pink.
“He is,” Rou answered with an exasperated sigh. “He might even be physical perfection. He also has an ungodly amount of money, a shocking amount of power, but that doesn’t make him a good person.”
Jamie’s shoulders lifted and fell. “He seems nice enough. Actually, he seems very nice—”
“You’ve seen him?”
“Well, yes. He’s here. In the outer room.”
“In my hotel suite?”
Jamie’s blush deepened. “I told him he could wait there. I thought perhaps you had five minutes now. The media escort won’t be here for another half hour and they’re doing your makeup at the TV station.” She saw Rou’s expression and hurriedly added, “He really is desperate to see you.”
Rou shuffled the papers before her, trying to cover her panic. Zayed here, now? Zayed outside her door, waiting in her suite?
“Did I do something wrong?” Jamie asked nervously.
Yes, she wanted to shout. “No,” she answered instead, swallowing hard even as she became aware that her hands were damp and her heart racing.
She was also aware that Jamie was suddenly close to tears, and the last thing she wanted—needed—was Jamie crying. Jamie tried so hard, and was a lovely girl and usually an efficient assistant. Rou couldn’t blame her for falling under Zayed’s spell. Zayed wasn’t just gorgeous and rich, he was also charming and charismatic and women fell at his feet. Even she—cool, logical scientist—had fallen at his feet.
“I thought you’d have five minutes,” Jamie stammered.
Rou pressed her hands to the desk edge to stop their trembling. Of course she did. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was, she didn’t want to spare Zayed Fehr five minutes. She didn’t want to see him. Not even for five seconds. “How long has he been waiting?” she asked as silence stretched.
Jamie’s pink cheeks grew rosier. “A half hour.”
Rou blanched inwardly, although years of experience as a therapist allowed her to remain expressionless. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“I…” Jamie’s shoulders lifted and fell. “I…”
“Never mind. It’s all right.” Rou squared her slim shoulders and tucked long, fine blond hair behind one ear. “Send him in. I’ll see him. But five minutes. That’s all he gets.” Her voice firmed and her chin lifted. “Make sure he understands.”
Zayed stood in the suite’s outer room waiting to be admitted to see Rou Tornell, bestselling author, international speaker and professional matchmaker.
It was the professional matchmaker part that made his upper lip curl ever so slightly.
Who would have ever thought that Sharif’s timid little protégée would end up an international speaker, never mind an exclusive, professional matchmaker?
Who would have thought that introverted, academic Rou Tornell would understand sexual attraction, much less romantic attachment?
Zayed was usually too chivalrous to make comparisons among women, but with Rou Tornell it was impossible not to. She was the coldest, stiffest, stuffiest woman he’d ever met, and while Sharif said she was merely focused, Zayed’s experience made him suspect she was seriously repressed, maybe even clinically depressed.
If it weren’t for Sharif, he wouldn’t be here today.
But then who would have ever imagined that Sharif, just four years older than him, would disappear? Who would have thought the Fehr royal jet would crash?
Zayed’s eyes closed briefly as ungodly pain ripped through his chest. The pain felt even hotter and more vivid now than it had been when he’d first received the news five days ago. Since then he’d flown home to Sarq to see his youngest brother, Khalid, who was trying to keep things together until Zayed could return and take over.
Zayed had also spent time with Sharif’s queen, Jesslyn, and the children. Four children all stunned and grieving, missing their adored father.
It was worse at the palace than he’d imagined. The grief, the fear, the heartbreak. No one knew what had happened. It was as if the plane had just fallen from the sky. No warning, no signal of distress, no radio call for help. The plane was just gone. Tomorrow it’d be a week since the disappearance.
On day fourteen, by law, Zayed would inherit the throne.
It was impossible. Zayed was not a ruler, or a leader. He did not belong in Sarq. The desert was no longer in his blood. He craved rain, not sun. Skyscrapers and penthouses were now home.
But Jesslyn’s face—her eyes so haunted—remained with him. As did Khalid’s silent, endless grief. And maybe it was this that pierced his heart.
I need you, Khalid had whispered as they hugged goodbye. We all need you. Come home.
Khalid had never asked Zayed for anything. None of them had ever asked Zayed for anything. Sharif was the one they had all turned to. Sharif was the eldest, the rock, the center of the family.
But now…now…Sharif was gone.
Just like that.
No wonder Jesslyn looked like a ghost. No wonder Khalid hadn’t slept in days. Their world was turned upside down. Nothing would ever be the same.
The door to the suite’s living room opened and Jamie, the young personal assistant, pretty and a little plump, stepped out and closed the door behind her.
“Dr. Tornell can
