ROMANCE: THE SHEIKH'S GAMES: A Sheikh Romance Page 2

  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.

  CHAPTER 3

  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, s
ince 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.”

  He shifted in the seat some more and stared into her hazel eyes. She looked away when she grew self-conscious about it, and reopened the file. “Like it says, I was accused of murdering someone, but I did not commit the act,” he said sternly while jamming his index finger on the table to emphasize his point.

  “Where were you at the time of the murder?” she asked him, looking him in the eyes again. She found it hard not to. It’s like he was pulling her into a black hole by some sort of magnetic force, and she had to brace herself so she wouldn’t get lost in it.

  “I was in my office, I suppose,” he said.

  “You suppose? Can anyone corroborate that?” she asked him.

  “Why am I getting the inquisition?” he asked, seemingly with a growing irritation.

  “Because I have to know these things so I can properly represent you. The prosecution will throw these questions at you, and based on what’s in here, we will be meeting with them soon. I’m told the victim’s family has a lawyer, and he is very proficient, I can assure you.”

  “And you are not? It is your duty to ensure I don’t go behind bars for something I didn’t do!” he said forcefully.

  Jameela sat there looking at him, thinking that her want to make him pay was completely justified. He was smug, and she found herself growing more anxious the longer he sat there. “I am very good at what I do, but I can only do that if I know everything there is to know. I don’t want to show up for an inquisition and have a curve ball thrown at me. I should remind you Sheikh Ramadan, that it is your ass on the line. Not mine! So let me ask again, is there just cause why anyone would think you are capable of killing this man you said you did not?”

  Al-Hafeez hesitated, and she saw his lips twitching, and then he pinched his chin. “Alright, there might have been something.” Of course there was a motive, she thought. Why else would he need a lawyer? Jameela clasped her hands on the desk as she waited for him to continue. “I had a gambling debt with him, which is in the file. I have another bookie I normally wage bets with, and in times when I need money I do not wish my family to know about I would call him. I do admit I mentioned I could kill the man after he came to me, but that was only to my good friend Al-Kareem. He called my father after he left my office, during which time I called this other bookie. We were supposed to meet at a spot we often used, but when I got there, he wasn’t. That’s when I got the call, from Manseh’s brother—Manseh is the man I owed—that he was dead, and that I had sent my friend to kill him. Needless to say, my friend was also dead, but he had already called the police, so that by the time I got home, they were right behind me.”

  “Hmm,” Jameela responded as she thought about what he had said. “So did he have the money for him? Is that what he was supposed to do? Clear the debt, or transfer it rather?” she queried.

  “Yes, that was the idea,” Al-Hafeez replied. “I’m not sure if he did, and if he did, then the others wouldn’t have told me. They just want to send me away because it seems easy I guess.”

  “That’s going to be hard to do without a murder weapon—for a long time anyway. We have already established that you do have a motive for the killing, but without proof of the murder, it probably won’t end up going to trial. Where was the body found?” she asked, and then flipped through the fie again; she was sure she had seen it somewhere.

  “Near the docks,” he told her.

  She rubbed her chin and stood up. She walked to the window and looked across at the massive towers in her line of sight. “And your office is not that far from it then, right?” she asked.

  “It is about a ten-minute drive,” he told her. “Why?”

  She turned and looked at him, before walking over. She tried not to look into his eyes as much, because its power was commanding her mind against the task at hand. “So,” she began and pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, “you have motive, opportunity and no alibi,” she said. “That is, unless there is someone who can verify you have been in your office at the time the man was murdered. I will have to contact forensics for the exact time of death, and see if that will help.”

  “I guess that’s it then,” he told her and got up.

  “That’s it?” she asked. “Do you think you just come in and say that, and that’s it?” she asked. “I am going to need a lot more than that to get you off the hook.”

  “That is your job. I am paying you well to make sure I do not wind up in that filthy establishment,” he said arrogantly.

  Jameela could feel the blood boiling inside her, and her ears getting warm from the effect. “Did it occur to you, that when you were gambling, that you had already made your bed in a ‘filthy establishment’? Didn’t you realize that at some point it would take more than money and a warm smile to get you off the hook? You may be paying me but you better hope and pray I find something that might help you.” She was fuming by then, but Al-Hafeez just stood there, looking at her, like she was the crazy one.

  “You did not have to take this case. There are many lawyers here, and it would seem I have offended you in some way, though I fail to see how. In any case, you can ring me if you decide you are capable of turning this around,” he said. And with that he walked out.

  Jameela stood there staring at the door after he had gone. It took her a full ten minutes before her breathing returned normalcy and her heart slowed its pace. She had been angry at his family before, but she had personally witnessed how overbearing they could be. Sheikh Al-Hafeez wa
s not someone she was willing to fight for, and she was willing to risk her job in seeing him fall. But would she be able to endure the long hours she would need to work with him? In a fleeting moment she thought against it, just leaving him be, and let some poor sap bend over backwards to help him. The thing was, without a murder weapon, they possibly could not charge or convict him of murder. But she didn’t know what it was or if they had one.

  “So?” Selena asked as she wheeled into the office. “Isn’t he adorable? I mean, I’ve heard stories about him but he seems far better,” she said with glee.

  “The operative word being seems,” Jameela replied. “He is very arrogant and controlling, and at present I am still not sure I should be working with him. I think he deserves to go to prison.”

  “What?” Selena asked and then laughed. “That bad, huh?”

  Jameela slapped her hand on her forehead and closed the file. “While there is only a slim chance of losing this case, the man is already proving difficult to work with. Hey, look at me, the Almighty Sheikh Ramadan; I am paying you, so do as I command,” she said in a mock masculine tone, much to Selena’s amusement.

  “He said that?” she asked.

  “I’ve always disliked their kind,” Jameela replied.

  “Well, look at it like this; you will be making a ton of money to just tolerate him. It shouldn’t be long. You are good at what you do Jameela.”

  “Yeah, thanks Selena. I really hope this is my shortest case in history. I need to go down to the precinct,” she told the woman.