ROMANCE: THE SHEIKH'S GAMES: A Sheikh Romance (2 page)

“But you have no such proof other than the words of a low life, right?”

“No matter,” the officer said. “He has to come with us.”

“My son is going nowhere with you,” the elder Sheikh Ramadan retorted. “Look, we can work something out. I will personally come in with him in the morning, and I would very much appreciate your discretion on the matter. My son is not going to sleep in a prison cell!”

The officer in charge nodded, and then turned to the other next to him. “Very well, Sir, but I suggest you get a lawyer,” he said, and tipped his hat before walking off.

After they had gone, the old man looked at his son with disgust and grunted. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?” And then he walked off.

For all the trouble he had gotten into all his life, this had been the worst, and he wasn’t sure as yet how he was going to make it out of it in one piece. He sighed and stood there as he watched the flashing lights of the police car disappear from the estate, and then he went to his office. Not even a drink of brandy could drown the noise in his head, and for the first time in his life, he regretted his actions.

The sister towers in the busy Metropolitan area served as Jameela Harding’s home away from home. She had migrated to the United Arab Emirates a few years ago, chasing a job opportunity that would land her at the top. It did, and now she spent more hours in the law office than she did in her own apartment. At present the back seat of her car was strewn with paper and files from the many cases she had; from reports she had to make, and from research into cases she was still conducting. She didn’t try to organize them most of the times because they ended up being a mess by the end of the day again.

She pressed the button that opened up the trunk of her silver Volvo. She got out and went to the back and pulled out a box she kept there. She opened the back door and lifted some of the files and placed them inside there. She used her body to push the door back in, and struggled under the weight of the box.

“Let me help you with that,” she heard a voice say as she got to the elevator. It was Nathan, and one of the partners in her firm.

“Oh, thank you,” she replied, and handed the box to him. Then she fixed the straps of her bag onto her shoulder and pressed the up button.

“So, when are you going to let me help you with dinner one of these nights?” he asked.

The elevator bell dinged then, and Jameela hastened inside, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the question. “Why do you keep asking Nathan? I told you, I am not interested in dating anyone yet. I am just coming out of a relationship and…”

“I know, I know,” he said as the metal doors closed before them. “I had to ask anyway.”

“So, what’s going on with the bosses? I heard they called you in yesterday,” she said in an effort to change the subject. Nathan was a handsome man, with dark brown hair and a charming personality, but he didn’t catch her eye in the way she wanted a man to. Besides, she did not consider herself emotionally available. Her love life had been tumultuous in the last few years she had decided it would be best if she went on a relationship hiatus.

“Nothing much, except that I just got handed the case concerning the oil scandal,” he said and tried unsuccessfully to downplay both the magnitude of the job and his obvious excitement.

“You what? No way,” she said and nudged him on the arm. “Good for you. Wow.” The elevator opened then and she walked into the office. She almost ran into an intern balancing a tray of coffee, and heading towards what seemed like a marketplace. “I can’t say I don’t envy you. I’ve done a lot of research on Smithson and Gordon. Are you sure you don’t need a partner? I could use a break from this office.”

Nathan laughed as they got to her desk and he placed the box there. “Why would you even be researching them. That’s corporate law; you mostly specialize in criminal cases.”

“I know, but I have some knowledge of corporate law. Sometimes a change is good.”

“Well, you need to stick to criminal, before you steal all my glory,” he laughed. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he told her as he walked in the direction that had the corporate law sign hanging from the roof.

She smiled and sat, and then placed the box on the ground. She was rummaging around in her desk drawer when she felt someone’s presence close to her. She snapped her neck around and then held onto it as pain seared through her.

“Ouch,” she cried, and instantly sat upright in her chair. “Mr. Ahmad,” she said when she realized it was one of the senior partners.

“Can you come to my office?” he asked.

Normally she would have gotten a phone call from him, and the fact that he walked to her desk to notify her of an ad hoc meeting was alarming. “Sure thing,” she replied.

She eased herself from the chair, and with her hand on her neck where she feared she had gotten whiplash earlier, she followed him. Her heart was racing, especially in light of her recent conversation with Nathan. Maybe he had a promotion planned for her. The whiplash now forgotten, a smile crept onto her face and she closed the door behind her and sat down in the chair he indicated.

“Take a look at this,” he told her and slid a file across the marble top table he occupied. He folded his arms and watched her as she reluctantly took it up and opened it.

“What is this?” she asked, when she saw what it was about.

“The elder Sheik Ramadan has requested our services in defending his son,” he replied. “I would like you to handle that.”

Jameela pored over the sheets more carefully, and then closed it. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to decline that Sir,” she told him.

“This would be good for your reputation. Plus, imagine the publicity you would receive to be handling this case. You are one of our brightest and best, and you have handled similar cases before, plus the retainer is higher than most cases with this level of profiling and…”

“I can’t do this,” she replied and pinched her nose with her thumb and forefinger. “Excuse me,” she said and got up.

“Just think about this,” he told her.

Jameela nodded and walked out. There was no way she was taking on a case with Sheikh Al-Hafeez Ramadan. The man was a total snob and his ego pervaded the entire United Arab Emirates. She had not been personally introduced to him, but she had been aware of the way he flaunted his wealth and his position, and she felt it was against her better judgement, and nature, to defend him.

“What was that about?” Selena asked as she approached Jameela. “Ahmad doesn’t normally ask for guests.”

“Nothing. He just wanted me to handle Sheikh Ramadan’s case,” she replied.

“The Sheikh has a case? And you said no? Are you crazy?” the woman asked.

“It’s somewhat personal to me,” she told the girl. “I told him I’d think about it.”

“I hope you do take it, but if you don’t, please recommend me,” she laughed.

“Will do,” Jameela smiled. She got back to her desk, and spent most of the day catching up on her filing. Each time Mr. Ahmad walked past her desk he would stare at her, as if pulling a response from her, but she found it difficult to work with the Ramadans at present.

“Just think about it,” Ahmad urged again at the end of the day, and Jameela faked a smile as she nodded and cleared her desk. She needed to get home and away from the ghosts that haunted her. She got to her car and tossed everything onto the back seat and then slid behind the wheel. But she didn’t move off at once. She banged her head on the steering wheel and gritted her teeth as she remembered what they had done to her.

She started driving, and instead of going home, she went in the opposite direction. She drove for about ten miles before pulling over next to a huge property along the coast. She parked the car where she could survey the property, and switched off the ignition. She saw a little girl in the distance, playing with a dog, and a man not too far off watching her. In that moment her life flashed before her, and she remembered her grandfather, living on an estate, with servants and butlers and coachmen. She remembered visiting him as a child, and of her father telling her that the property would be hers when she came of age. Except that her grandfather had a gambling problem, and by the time Jameela was fifteen, he had gotten in too deep. He owed the Ramadans more than he could afford to pay, and though he had offered to make a deal with them, the elder Ramadan had opted for immediate payment. There was only one thing her grandfather could give, and that was his home. And they had had no problems accepting the deed to the property, even if it meant her grandfather no longer had a home. Business, they had said. What was even worse was that they didn’t even want the estate. Two years after the acquisition they had put the property up for sale and had callously sold it to the highest bidder.

Ironic how the same problem that had befallen her grandfather had so quickly turned on them. It had not been Sheikh Al-Hafeez, but it may as well have been him. She still wasn’t sure he hadn’t committed murder to escape his sins. She sighed and switched on the ignition. Ahmad was right; she was thinking about the case, but not in the way he would have wanted. Her mind was racing as she cruised home, trying to wrap itself around the circumstances of the case, but the only thing she remembered seeing was that it had evolved from a gambling debt into murder. Her guess was that the family wanted to keep it quiet. But she had no inclination to do so.

She decided to swing by the office before she got home and retrieve the file. She wanted to know the full details of her potential client. She also had a friend who worked as a reporter at the local newspaper; she might like to get wind of this budding story.

“Hey is Ahmad still here?” she asked when she passed the security post.

“I have not seen him come down as yet,” the guard replied.

“Great. Thanks,” she said and smiled at the man. She couldn’t stand still as the elevator climbed all twenty floors, and when it stopped, she all but pried the door open. He was just leaving the office when she caught him. “Mr. Ahmad,” she shouted from the hall.

“Jameela? I thought you had already gone,” he replied when he recognized her.

“I did, and I have given your proposition some thought, so now I’m back” she replied. “I would like to take that case.”

“The Sheikh Ramadan case?” he asked with surprise.

“Yes. I’ve decided that it would be good for my career to take it on,” she said and folded her arms before her.

“Great. Look, I am meeting with a client right now so I have to run, but the door is open. The file is in the top drawer in the cabinet on the right. Thanks Jameela,” he told her and patted her on the shoulder.

“No problem,” she told him. She stood there and watched him until he disappeared into the elevator, and then she walked slowly and deliberately to the office.

She was usually more professional in her dealings, not taking cases she was personally vested in, or had strong opinions about. She oftentimes avoided the wealthy who acted as if they were above the law, and they only needed a lawyer to hide behind. But she was sick of it now. This time the ball was gently rolled into her court, and boy was she going to hit an ace on her serve.

Sheikh Ramadan and his family would pay for the sins they committed on her bloodline, and they would be none the wiser. She smiled and held her head up as she walked into Ahmad’s office. Tomorrow she would meet him, officially for the first time, and she would make him pay.

Jameela was going over the file for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. She had spent the night researching the Ramadan line; she felt she knew them more intimately than they knew themselves. They were of landed gentry, since the early days when they struck oil in the desert. Slowly, the money they were able to command allowed them to expand to diamond production and later real estate. They owned most of the Eastern sections of the country, but still that had not been enough; they just had to have that one piece of property—to rob an entire line of their inheritance.

The present family pretty much ruled the east; they had everyone in their pockets. Had it been anyone else accused of murder, there wouldn’t even have been a case to handle. They would have been locked up and appointed a legal aid counsel, if at all. Sheikh Al-Hafeez Ramadan, like his entire family, was the exception.

The ringing of the telephone next to her pulled her with a snap from her reverie, and she grabbed it up. “Yes Sheridan” she said to the girl on the other end. Then there was a pause. “Please, send him in.”

She could hear the whispers from the others as Al-Hafeez strolled past the other offices and cubicles on his way to her. He stopped at her door, in the same instant her heart did. He was strikingly handsome and all the pictures she had seen of him had not done him justice. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat and stepped towards him.

“Sheikh Al-Hafeez,” she said with extended hand.

“Please, just Al-Hafeez will do,” he replied and took her hand. He lowered his head and kissed the back of it, and she couldn’t help noticing the stares she was receiving from the others watching them from the blinds.

She hastily pulled her hand back and went to close the door. “Please, have a seat.”

He walked to the seat she indicated, tossed his long white gown back, revealing golden pants and a V-neck shirt underneath it. He sat there silently, but with an air of condescension as he gazed around the room. Jameela folded her arms and shook her head and then returned to her chair.

“I take it you have reviewed my case,” he said rather pompously. “It should be clear I am not guilty of anything.” He had piercing black eyes that perfectly complemented his raven black hair. His skin was tanned, and smooth, not a freckle or pimple in sight, and he was tall. Even sitting, his torso was long and seemed to fill the space before her. He had his arms folded and seemed to be trying to fit comfortably into the chair as he shifted about.

“I’m sorry if the chair isn’t all that comfortable; it is all we have,” she began by saying. “And it isn’t clear to me at all that you aren’t guilty of anything. I’ve read your file, and I know what it says. Still, in order to properly represent you, I will need to hear it again from you.”