Page 12 of His Scarlette Obsession
But I can’t say any of that.
Won’t.
“I already told you why.”
“Just because you want me?”
“Yes.”
She swallows hard, the movement drawing my attention to the delicate line of her throat. “And after three months?”
I smile, knowing it doesn’t reach my eyes. “We’ll discuss that when the time comes.”
Lykan
“Liquidate the assets and fire everyone.”
I end the call without waiting for a response. The board had two years to turn the company around. They failed. Now their three thousand employees will pay the price for that incompetence.
Is it harsh?Yes.
Is it necessary?Also yes.
Business isn’t charity. It’s war, and I’ve never lost a battle.
A notification flashes on my phone: stock prices already dropping on rumors of the acquisition. By Monday, I’ll buy back controlling interest at half the price. By next quarter, after restructuring, the company will be worth triple its current valuation.
It’s almost too easy. Predictable.Boring.
I tuck my phone away and return my attention to the small bakery across the street. Through the large front window, I can see her.
My fiancée.
Even in my thoughts, the term still feels foreign...but in a good way.
She sits at a corner table, her auburn hair catching the morning light streaming through the window. She’s laughing atsomething, her head tilted back, completely unaware that I’m watching her from the tinted window of my limousine.
Like a stalker.
I almost laugh at the absurdity of it.
Sheikh Lykan Qahiri, CEO, investor, heir to the throne of Sharasa, reduced to lurking outside a small-town bakery because I can’t seem to stay away from a woman I’ve known for less than three days.
This isn’t like me.
Noneof this is like me.
I’m a man of strategy, of careful calculation. I don’t act on impulse. I don’t make decisions based on want rather than necessity.
And yet here I am.
Every instinct my father drilled into me screams that this is dangerous. Women who make you forget yourself are the most dangerous kind. Wasn’t that the lesson of his life? A king who became a puppet because he couldn’t resist a beautiful face and a seductive laugh.
I should drive away. Go back to Manhattan. Forget the bakery, forget the fiasco of an engagement, forgether.
Instead, I find myself watching the curve of her throat as she swallows her coffee, the way her fingers tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, the spark in her eyes as she speaks.
I’ve been sitting here for seventeen minutes.
