to a high shine, and, underneath a six-hundred dollar sports jacket, a faded AC/DC tee-shirt three sizes too large for him. The shirt had once fit him perfectly, Zaqwan remembered. French had been a doughy young man when they'd met. In their initial interview, when Zaqwan had asked French why he should hire him, the man had stated that no one would ever suspect he was Zaqwan's security.
Zaqwan had seen from the moment French walked into his office that the man's problem had been that no one had ever taken him seriously. He couldn't blame the world for it, based on French's appearance, but he knew that if he were able to get French to live up to his potential, he would earn a useful unswerving loyalty.
He had decided to give French a chance, and to set an intense standard for him to live up to. Zaqwan had never regretted it. The baby-faced young man had a talent for melding with a crowd. Over the last few years, French had left behind his insecurities and become a confident man.
His loyalty was unquestioned. Which was why Zaqwan could only bring this job to him.
French took one of the leather chairs opposite his desk, a hand-crafted piece that combined a clean, modern design with intricate traditional engraving. It had been created in a workshop in Ittar that provided employment for the blind. Zaqwan kept several business cards with the workshop's website address on them. Visitors often asked about it.
He may be a prince, but he was also a dedicated salesman, a thought that amused him. But there was no time for amusement now.
Now was time for business. He took his own chair and began the conversation. "Could you organize a quiet kidnapping? It's a personal matter, not business. I know I can trust you with this."
French did not even blink. Instead he made himself more comfortable, placing his Samsung Galaxy tablet on Zaqwan's desk and stretching out his legs. "Of course you could trust me with anything," he stated, in his unassuming voice. "But you won't."
"I beg your pardon?" His voice betrayed more irritation that he meant it to. French had never refused a task before.
"I said, 'You won't,'" French clarified, with certainty in his voice. "Sir, you always impress me with your intelligence. And you know exactly how bad an idea this is."
It seemed his emotions brewed much closer to the surface than they had when he'd first met Stacia Keating. He set his jaw, trying to hold back his impatience. Of course he didn't have to explain the situation to French. His efficient security chief likely had an extensive file on Stacia Keating, including her background, her habits, her daily schedule, and any potential threats she represented.
In fact, French had probably come into the meeting with her file prepped on his tablet. The one sitting on his desk.
All that personal information. In arm's reach. Stacia's life, her secrets, right there. He would not have to spy on her; it had been done for him. She would never know. With that information, he could create a scenario where she came to him. Done properly, she would even think it had been her idea.
And yet, something inside his chest rebelled at the thought. Using this information to maneuver Stacia into his arms would be easy. Before the fateful night when she opened her secrets to him, he would not have hesitated to use it.
Now? Doing so would leave him unsatisfied, and he could not identify why.
But she must return to him. So he had to take a more direct route. Which was why his security chief sat in his office.
"It," he said, referring to the potential abduction, "seems the only way to make her come to me."
"And you haven't done it already because you know it's the wrong thing." French shrugged. The casual gesture, along with the unrequested criticism, galled him. "Hey, I'd abduct anyone for you. You know that. But is that really what you want to do to her?"
No, something inside him answered.
"She will resist me at first," he admitted. She would. Loudly. And justly so.
Zaqwan had seen from the moment French walked into his office that the man's problem had been that no one had ever taken him seriously. He couldn't blame the world for it, based on French's appearance, but he knew that if he were able to get French to live up to his potential, he would earn a useful unswerving loyalty.
He had decided to give French a chance, and to set an intense standard for him to live up to. Zaqwan had never regretted it. The baby-faced young man had a talent for melding with a crowd. Over the last few years, French had left behind his insecurities and become a confident man.
His loyalty was unquestioned. Which was why Zaqwan could only bring this job to him.
French took one of the leather chairs opposite his desk, a hand-crafted piece that combined a clean, modern design with intricate traditional engraving. It had been created in a workshop in Ittar that provided employment for the blind. Zaqwan kept several business cards with the workshop's website address on them. Visitors often asked about it.
He may be a prince, but he was also a dedicated salesman, a thought that amused him. But there was no time for amusement now.
Now was time for business. He took his own chair and began the conversation. "Could you organize a quiet kidnapping? It's a personal matter, not business. I know I can trust you with this."
French did not even blink. Instead he made himself more comfortable, placing his Samsung Galaxy tablet on Zaqwan's desk and stretching out his legs. "Of course you could trust me with anything," he stated, in his unassuming voice. "But you won't."
"I beg your pardon?" His voice betrayed more irritation that he meant it to. French had never refused a task before.
"I said, 'You won't,'" French clarified, with certainty in his voice. "Sir, you always impress me with your intelligence. And you know exactly how bad an idea this is."
It seemed his emotions brewed much closer to the surface than they had when he'd first met Stacia Keating. He set his jaw, trying to hold back his impatience. Of course he didn't have to explain the situation to French. His efficient security chief likely had an extensive file on Stacia Keating, including her background, her habits, her daily schedule, and any potential threats she represented.
In fact, French had probably come into the meeting with her file prepped on his tablet. The one sitting on his desk.
All that personal information. In arm's reach. Stacia's life, her secrets, right there. He would not have to spy on her; it had been done for him. She would never know. With that information, he could create a scenario where she came to him. Done properly, she would even think it had been her idea.
And yet, something inside his chest rebelled at the thought. Using this information to maneuver Stacia into his arms would be easy. Before the fateful night when she opened her secrets to him, he would not have hesitated to use it.
Now? Doing so would leave him unsatisfied, and he could not identify why.
But she must return to him. So he had to take a more direct route. Which was why his security chief sat in his office.
"It," he said, referring to the potential abduction, "seems the only way to make her come to me."
"And you haven't done it already because you know it's the wrong thing." French shrugged. The casual gesture, along with the unrequested criticism, galled him. "Hey, I'd abduct anyone for you. You know that. But is that really what you want to do to her?"
No, something inside him answered.
"She will resist me at first," he admitted. She would. Loudly. And justly so.
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