To Win a Prince, page 2
The moment I stepped outdoors, reporters swarmed me, yelling my name. I pushed through the throng, ignoring the questions regarding my feelings on my father’s earlier interview. I opened the back door of the taxi, slamming it shut as I slid across the cloth seats.
“Drive now,” I spat.
“Yes, ògbéni. Where to?”
I flinched inwardly at the title of mister, hearing the derisive tone of Alàgbà Ladipo instead.
“Uh.” I peered at the note on my phone listing the address of Ms. Blakely’s business. I relayed it to the driver.
“Got it, ògbéni. I will get you there quick as possible.”
Thank goodness Ọlọrọ was not prone to traffic jams like other parts of Africa. The island boasted a small population of less than a million.
I focused on the scenery passing by as the driver took me to Aṣọ, Ms. Blakely’s business. Once I arrived, the first thing I wanted to ask was why she chose that name. Aṣọ meant clothed in Oninan and seemed a simplistic name for a fashion company. Granted, my experience was in the jewelry industry, but still.
Hopefully she had not submitted paperwork denoting the name and a trademark for the logo. Certainly I could brainstorm much better options than Aṣọ. Business was in my blood and went along with the degree hanging on my home office wall. Another requirement from Father.
He had been grooming me to take over Diallo Enterprises one day, but with this setback, I wondered about my future there. Out of all the changes I had experienced this past month, not working at the family business made me the most nervous. I could not lose my position as COO of Diallo Enterprises. I cannot.
I would call Father this evening. Inform him how much of an asset I would be to Ms. Blakely. Father would have to reconsider stripping everything from me then. Right?
This was not my life, and the upsets had me shaken. Still, I had an image to protect regardless of my current infamy. I would become a prince once more, and this would all be relegated to a minor detour in my life.
“Are you okay, ògbéni? You are awfully quiet back there.”
I peered at the rearview mirror. “Simply thinking, monsieur.” Mister sounded better in French. Plus, speaking the language reminded me of my superiority over the taxi driver.
I was accomplished. Held an MBA, spoke six languages, and was heir to the Diallo empire. I was no commoner, despite the royal council’s pronouncement that I could no longer be titled. I had led a princely life, been raised in privilege from birth. I did not know how to be anything else.
Despite this, I was sure the royal council expected me to accept my new identity. The queen had even mentioned that I needed to learn what it was like to serve. Helping Ms. Blakely with all my business knowledge was a service in itself. Why must I demean myself in front of the community as well? At least that torture did not start until next week.
One thing at a time.
“I will leave you to think, then.” The driver turned on the radio and began bobbing his head to the rhythm of the music.
“I appreciate that, monsieur.” I glanced at my watch. I was due at Aṣọ in five minutes. “Will we arrive soon?”
“Béèni, béèni, ògbéni.”
His assured yes would not help me if he did not apply a little more pressure to the gas pedal. It would not look good if I showed up late on my first day. I sighed. This day was off to a horrible start.
The taxi driver stopped behind the vehicle in front of us and began shaking and singing at the top of his lungs.
“Ah, do you listen to this, ògbéni?” he yelled out.
“No, I have not heard this song before.” Despite my obvious disdain, the driver continued his serenade. Father had always played instrumental music. Back in my university days, I had been familiar with popular songs, but that style was not something I gravitated to.
I wanted to lower myself from view in case anyone saw me with the driver exuberantly singing at full volume. Why did he have to roll his window all the way down? He looked ridiculous. Did that make me so by association?
“Monsieur.” I pointed ahead when he turned to look at me. “The car has moved.”
“Ah, yes. I apologize. This is my jam!”
I glanced at my watch. Two minutes to arrival and a few more miles to drive.
I was going to be late.
Eleven minutes later, security escorted me to Ms. Blakely’s office. She stood behind her desk, a look of irritation on her very pretty face.
I blinked. I remembered her. She had been at the welcome ball for the queen during our Independence Day festivities. She had worn an emerald dress. I remembered because the matching jewelry had made her skin glow like a brown axinite.
“You’re late,” she snapped in an American accent similar to the queen’s but less cultured. No, that was not the right word. Less guarded.
I clenched my hands. If I had had my Porsche or even the Mercedes to drive, I would have been on time. Something told me the queen’s best friend would not care about my plight. So I offered the truth. “My taxi driver got distracted dancing instead of driving.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What?”
“It was quite embarrassing. He sang loudly—and badly, I might add. He would break out dancing at traffic lights only to realize traffic had commenced upon my reminder. He insisted that almost every single song that came on was his jam.”
She folded her arms across her chest. I saw the slightest twitch of her lips.
“Fine. I’ll make an allowance this time. But I expect you to be on time in the future, Mr. Diallo.”
Ugh. I cannot bear that label. “That is my expectation as well, Ms. Blakely. It was my first time in a taxi, and I did not know what to expect.”
Her mouth parted again, eyes wide with shock. It was quite obvious she had not been raised in a life of privilege if she thought taking a taxi a common practice. But that was none of my concern.
I slid my hands into my pockets. “I am ready to begin. Am I to work an eight-hour day?”
Her nose wrinkled as she pushed her curly mane away from her eyes. How did one woman have so much hair?
“We’ll see. I’m in the early stages, but I’ve gotten a lot completed.” She frowned, her ruby-red lips turning downward. “And unfortunately, still have too much on my plate.”
“I am here to help in any way I can.” And to prove to Father that I deserved the things life had afforded me, and maybe even to convince the council to rescind their decision and restore my title.
“Yes, well, have a seat.” She gestured to the white chair in front of her glass desk.
I sat down and held my breath. Whatever happened in this meeting would determine my future. I could only hope Ms. Blakely would put me on a path that led me back to the top.
Two
Iris
Ekon Diallo.
My stomach tied itself into a million knots the moment he sauntered into my office. I tried to appear calm and in control despite the turbulence of my emotions. Ever since I’d seen a picture of the former prince, I’d been intrigued by him. Then, when I’d seen him at the Independence Day ball, my hormones had gone into overdrive like a teenager with her first crush. I wasn’t sure what exactly about him made my insides flutter, but not being able to pinpoint his je ne sais quoi quality didn’t stop the effect he had on me.
My cheeks wanted to heat at his proximity. I could only pray that he’d think my flushed face a result of anger at his tardiness and nothing more. Which I still couldn’t believe. Who showed up late to their first day of court-appointed service, then blamed it on the taxi driver?
I didn’t know what to think, but I also didn’t have time to dwell on my emotions—or was that hormones? Seeing the man I’d developed a crush on in person sent a wave of longing through me, followed quickly by feelings of betrayal. How dare he try to ruin Bri’s ascension to the throne. She was a wonderful person and didn’t deserve all the subterfuge she’d faced.
You aren’t supposed to dwell on your emotions, remember? Snap to it and act like the owner of a company.
I smoothed the back of my black dress and sat. The hem matched the bodice, sporting a tribal arrangement of reds, yellows, and black. I loved the plethora of fabric available in Ọlọrọ and couldn’t wait to share it with the world.
“Let me give you a little background,” I said once Ekon was seated. “I started Aṣọ to give the Ọlọran women a chance to leave poverty behind and provide for their families.” Purpose filled me as I remembered my first days in this country. How seeing dozens of women selling their wares for mere pennies just to feed their families pinged me with an awareness beyond myself and moved me to action. The whole country wasn’t impoverished, but the wealth discrepancy between the privileged and the poor remained steep.
“Admirable.”
I hid my surprise at Ekon’s snooty tone. Bri had tried to tell me how he’d acted on their one and only date. The one she’d been forced to attend per the council’s edict. However, the image I’d built up of Ekon in my mind hadn’t believed her. Perhaps that was why his betrayal of the crown—of Bri—was so hard to swallow. I saw an ideal when I looked at him, not the real man. I’d do well to remember to keep my head from adding to a fantasy that could never exist.
I refocused. “You call it admirable. I call it being the hands and feet of Jesus.”
He arched a smooth eyebrow. “Explain.”
Did he get his brows threaded? I’d never seen a guy with such perfectly shaped eyebrows. I fought the urge to find my compact and check my own reflection. I’d looked flawless when I left my place this morning. My curls were free and out in full glory, giving me the added confidence to meet Ekon face-to-face.
And maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of me wanted to strike an impression that would make him drool. That wasn’t a bad thing, was it?
Sure, wanting a man to find me attractive hedged this side of vanity, but letting Ekon know he could never have me gave me an opportunity to inflict revenge. Bri deserved my loyalty. Not only was she my best friend and the reason I was even here to begin with, but her support had secured me a working visa. Now I could turn my dreams of Aṣọ into reality.
“I’m a firm believer that the Lord wants us to be the answer to so much of the heartache in the world today. What we have is meant to be shared. No one is blessed so that only their lives can be enriched.” I shrugged a shoulder. “That’s my belief.”
“Interesting.” His tone was droll.
Okay, his superior attitude was starting to grate on my nerves. Would it be too much to have a button under my desk to press that alerted my secretary to guests who needed to be ejected from the building? Too bad I hadn’t thought of that when opting for the glass desk. Instead, I chose the furniture for its fashionable design and the way the modern style projected an image of capability.
“Mr. Diallo,” I intoned, “do you plan on being a help or a hindrance?”
Because I really did need help. The only thing secure was the board of directors because that had been a council requirement. The seats were filled with Ọlọrans and a few other members from countries from mainland Africa. In addition to that, I’d hired a secretary, security, and a few women to create the fashion lines Aṣọ would offer. We needed a lot more workers before we could be considered operational.
One bright spot in the sea of paperwork was my old coworker Matt. We’d worked together back in the States as fabric purchasers, only Matt had visions of grandeur and had moved steadily up in the fashion industry. When I told him about starting a business here, he jumped his old employment ship and agreed to be head of marketing. He had a wealth of expertise that would put us on the fashion world’s map.
Ekon sat up. “I will help. Not merely because the council ordered me to, but because—” He clamped his lips shut.
I straightened in my seat. Because what? Should I ask or take his silence as cue to move on to the next topic? I batted down the Iris who wanted to know everything about Ekon and forged ahead. “I’m glad you’ve chosen to be an asset.” I grabbed a stack of papers and plopped the ream before him. “This paperwork details the requirements the council has for the company. The board has already sent me their suggestions on how we can implement the parameters and adhere to my vision.”
“Which is?” Ekon held up his hands. “Excuse me. It was not my intention to interrupt, Ms. Blakely.”
Maybe he did have manners. “No problem.” I’d just ignore how my last name sounded on his lips and try not to imagine how Iris Diallo would sound.
Foolish thoughts, yes, but it was hard to detach myself from dreams already woven. In a perfect world, Ekon wouldn’t have been a potential suitor for my best friend or a traitor to the crown. Instead, we’d be married and working on our two-point-five kids. My optimistic mind had been working overtime trying to concoct sympathetic reasons for his actions.
“Tell me your vision and mission.”
His demanding tone jolted me. No please? “My vision is to clothe the world and honor our resources.”
Ekon dipped his head, motioning for me to continue.
Why did I feel like I was in the hot seat? I crossed my legs. “As for my mission, it’s to clothe the world in sustainable fashion using the resources and skills of Ọlọrọ Ilé. We’ll adhere to the highest standards of fashion and leave resources for future generations to thrive in the fashion industry.”
“Do you not think that idealistic?”
“Are you kidding me?” I tried to study him as an employee and not a potential boyfriend. “The mission of Diallo Enterprises is to offer the world the best cut gems without stripping Ọlọrọ of its vital minerals. Are you telling me that’s not idealistic?”
“Touché.”
My heart panged at his cavalier attitude. “This isn’t a game, Mr. Diallo.”
“No, it is not.” He nodded. “I merely wanted to make sure you feel strongly about your vision and mission statement. If you had faltered, I would have encouraged you to rewrite them.”
“Oh.” I leaned back in my seat. He’d been trying to help? I eyed him, wondering where the other shoe was.
“Are you attached to the name? Have trademark documents been submitted already?”
He didn’t like Aṣọ? “I’ve turned in all paperwork, and the name was approved.” I’d been inspired by Colossians 3:12: Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.
“Then we’ll make do.”
I kept my face from showing my true emotion. Or at least, I tried.
“Is there a place I can review these documents without monopolizing your office?”
The moment Ekon Diallo had walked in, his presence had taken over my office. My mind was still trying to catalogue the notes in his cologne. They were subtle, and the combination made my stomach dip as if a fainting couch were on hand.
Focus, Iris. “Per the council, you’re to work in my presence. But never fear.” I pointed to the table jutting out alongside the empty wall to my left. “You have your own desk that’s not in the way in the least.”
His lips twitched. “Very well. I assume I focus on this task until I finish reading it?”
“Yes. However long that takes. I put sticky notes in areas where I need your advice. Some of the government regulations on workplace requirements and insurance are particularly daunting.” A snarl curled my lip as I gestured toward the papers he held.
I hated that stack of documents. Thankfully, some of the board members had very helpful ideas for building capital and seeking investors. Still, that was nowhere near the extent of the regulations we had to weed through.
“I will get to work, then.” Ekon stood and held out a hand.
Oh no! Shaking hands was such a bad idea. What if when we touched, the chemistry between us went through the roof? How would I keep my composure? On the other hand, what if there was no spark? I’d be crushed and forced to get rid of this stupid infatuation.
Which might not be a bad thing.
I thrust my hand forward, remembering my dad’s rules on presenting a firm handshake. The crease between my thumb and index finger slid right into Ekon’s. Warmth enveloped my palm as I schooled my features to reveal nothing.
My face could be very expressive, so maintaining a poker face around others in the business world took every ounce of energy I possessed. Right now, I concentrated on standing upright in my black stilettos and ignoring the tingles that had erupted.
“Are you cold?” Ekon asked. He pointed to the goose bumps on my arm.
I broke contact. “When the AC kicks on, it blows right on me.” I pointed upward, thankful the unit had just turned on, because now I hadn’t lied. The cold air was the reason I had a wrap draped over the back of my chair. But not the reason for your current chills.
“Ah, I see. Perhaps you should set the temperature higher in your office.” He looked around. “Do you have your own thermostat?”
I shook my head. “Maintenance is still working on that. Until they get it changed, we share the same temp as the rest of the building.”
He sniffed. “Pity.”
Pity how high in the air your nose is! I huffed and sank into my chair.
His snobbery nettled the part of me that wanted to believe in his potential good. Besides that, I was the boss, so he needed to take a hint and mosey on over to his side of the room. I stared at my desk, ignoring him. Securing a spot in a Paris fashion show was next on my agenda, not mooning over a man who was no good for me.
Despite how right my hand felt in his and how much I wanted to sigh with all the feels.
His footsteps finally dwindled in volume, making me believe he’d crossed the room to his desk. I picked up my phone and rehearsed my spiel in my head before dialing the number to the Paris location.
The secretary greeted me in a bored tone.
“Good morning. I’m Iris Blakely, owner of Aṣọ in Ọlọrọ Ilé, Africa. I’m calling to sign up for the fashion show.”
