Page 9 of Bossy Trouble

His bushy eyebrows furrowed, and his frown deepened even more as he said, “You’re late.”

“Duty called,” I responded jokingly. “That sometimes happens in this business. I’m sure you, of all people, understand that.”

“I have run many companies,” Sheikh Ahmed said, sounding insulted, judging by the inflection of his accented voice. “And not once have I been late for a meeting with my family.”

Well, good for you,I thought snidely but didn’t say it. The headache had already put me in a bad mood, but I was determined not to let it show. Not today.

I didn’t apologize either, despite the borderline glower the man was shooting at me. He probably meant to intimidate me, but that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. I didn’t intimidate easily, even with men as powerful and imposing as Sasha’s father. While I needed to stay on his good side for this meeting, I wasn’t going to kiss his ass either.

“I’ll try my best to see that it doesn’t happen again,” I said, then turned to Sasha, eyeing her untouched calamari. “Was that not good?”

She glanced at it like she’d forgotten it was there. “Oh…um, I’m not sure. I already ate earlier, so I’m not very hungry.”

She gave me a sidelong glance as she spoke, as if judging my reaction to the fact that she hadn’t eaten. Was I supposed to be proud of that? I was more so annoyed with the fact that she was wasting the food.

“You are often late to see my daughter.”

I sighed. It seemed like the sheikh didn’t want to let this go, so I turned to face the man.

“Baba, stop,” Sasha said, putting her palm over her father’s beefier hand. “Donovan is a very busy man.”

“Regardless, he should be on time,” her father said. “A man is nothing without his word. He must keep it.”

“Baba…” Sasha rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“A man also has a duty to take care of those under him,” I said. “Including his employees and everyone who relies on him for their livelihood. A man should also work hard to take care of those he cares about. Isn’t that right?”

Sheikh Ahmed seemed to not know what to say to that. He couldn’t deny that business was important, but he appeared to be in the mood to lecture me some more.

As he waffled about the indecision, the waitress finally arrived and took my order. I asked her to bring over an extra bottle of Moscato—Sasha’s favorite—for the table. By the time she left, Sheikh Ahmed seemed to have come to a decision, relenting.

“I suppose that’s fine today. But I won’t stand for anyone mistreating my daughter.”

“Then I won’t mistreat her.” I already knew how much he doted on his daughter. Despite being one of the richest men in the world, he always mentioned in interviews that his family was his greatest asset. As sweet as that was, it was a sentiment I would never understand. To me, business was everything, and relationships were secondary to that. Unlike what the rumors said, I wasn’t purposefully cruel, but I tended to exploit anyone or any relationship I needed to for the sake of my business, damn whoever got in my way.

It was why I no longer did business with friends. Usually, it shattered the friendship.

And it gave me an obvious weakness that others could see.

Sheikh Ahmed loving his daughter was a well-known secret in the business industry.

Which was exactly why I was here.

As the waitress departed with my order, I observed the sheikh anxiously scolding his daughter about her eating habits. Sasha rolled her eyes at him once more and seemed stubborn in her efforts not to eat. Their relationship was not one I could understand. My father hadn’t cared if I ate or not. Half the time, I wasn’t sure he knew I was alive. Or cared. After my mother passed away when I was in middle school, the man often left me at home alone for days with only a 100-dollar bill to get me through it. As far as he was concerned, if I wasn’t smart enough to figure out a way to keep myself alive, then I didn’t deserve to live.

My father also let me know that he raised me for one purpose and one purpose alone.

To become somebody powerful, someone that the world could never step on.

“The world is surrounded by sharks,” he’d told me—one of my first clear memories of him. It was the first-time loan sharks pounded on our door, demanding he come out. We hid behind the couch like rats, and I remember my father shaking with resentment at his own weakness. “They’re the ones who own everything, and if you’re weak, you’ll get eaten by the sharks. The only way to survive is to become a shark that eats other sharks.”

He’d told me the same thing when I came home one day with a bloody nose a bully from school gave me.

The next day, I went and beat the boy up so badly that they took him out of school in an ambulance. His parents threatened to press charges, and I got expelled from that school.

It was one of the first times I remember my father smiling at me. He’d put his hand on my head.

“Good job,” he’d said.

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