The Prince's Daughter - Introduction
Al-Sintra Family series
Raj’s story…
Raj surveyed the endless line of diplomats, their eager faces resembling children awaiting candy. He groaned inwardly. “This is a nightmare,” he muttered to his brother Joran.
Joran adjusted his stiff wool uniform. “Agreed.”
“How much longer until we can escape this circus?”
Joran glanced at Raj, a subtle smile playing on his lips. “Well, there’s the grand ball tonight, then a formal breakfast tomorrow.” He eyed the sun streaming through the throne room’s tall windows. “I’d say we’ve got about twenty-two more hours of this.”
Raj stifled another groan. “Why do we even need to be here? Khal’s the star of the show. No one cares about us.”
Joran arched a dark eyebrow. “Jealous?”
Raj snorted. “Are you kidding? You couldn’t pay me enough to take Khal’s place.”
Joran grunted in agreement. Raj knew his brother would rather be skydiving or dodging bullets in a jungle than standing here in formal attire.
Scanning the room, Raj’s gaze landed on a stunning blonde with green eyes. He appreciated the ladies, but as she smiled back, he remembered his impending return to Hong Kong. No time for flirtations this time. If there was one thing he loved more than a beautiful woman’s company, it was orchestrating complex financial deals. The thrill of a high-stakes investment was his true passion.
As he pondered incorporating a Belgian company into his latest venture—despite strained diplomatic relations—he mentally calculated a potential two percent profit increase. Legal hurdles aside, it could be a win-win.
His musings were interrupted by Joran’s elbow nudging his ribs.
“What?” Raj snapped, resisting the urge to rub the sore spot. He wouldn’t give Joran the satisfaction. But he’d make sure to repay him during their next boxing match.
“You were lost in thought,” Joran observed.
“Yeah? So what?”
Joran shrugged. “If I have to suffer through this mentally, so do you.”
Raj chuckled. “No imagination, huh?”
Helen’s story…
“Did you see her last night?” one of the men exclaimed, punctuating his question with a laugh. “She was bodacious!”
The second man chuckled. “I saw ’em,” he replied. “And let me tell you, they are delicious!”
“Dude!” the first voice exclaimed. “Don’t tell me you hit that!”
“I did,” the second voice replied smugly. “And she was wild!”
Helen stared down at her empty coffee mug with exhausted irritation. Did she really need caffeine badly enough to endure this testosterone-fueled drivel?
“I want details!”
The second man chuckled, muttering words that likely provided a play-by-play of his previous night’s escapades. Helen didn’t have concrete evidence that these men frequented bars to meet strangers, but their nightly routines and the lingering scent of cheap cologne told the story. Tom and Mark, along with most of her male colleagues, would head to the bars across the street after work. They’d outspend each other on high-end scotch, ogle potential conquests, place bets, and then boast about their exploits the following morning.
Helen had endured these crass recaps too many times during her tenure at Duncan Investments, a bank specializing in multi-million-dollar deals. Mark had raked in a six-figure bonus last quarter, thanks to Helen’s hard work. She had identified the property ripe for development, negotiated with potential clients, secured financing partners, and then presented the deal to her boss. Naturally, he had handed it over to Mark, who swooped in to get the paperwork signed.
After six months of Helen’s meticulous effort, Mark had sealed the deal in a week, charming clients over expensive dinners.
Gazing at her empty coffee mug again, Helen decided she didn’t need caffeine badly enough to endure more of their locker-room banter. Sure, she’d only managed four hours of sleep last night while finalizing yet another deal. But the thought of presenting this proposal to her boss, only for Tom to reap the rewards, was too much. She couldn’t stomach the idea of investing seven months into a project, only for some chauvinist to claim all the credit—and the bonus.
Yet, if she didn’t deliver deals, Helen knew she’d be labeled incompetent and shown the door, despite her male colleagues’ habit of pilfering her hard work.
A jolt of caffeine would provide the spark she desperately needed. Damn it, she wasn’t about to let these Neanderthals rob her of her coffee fix too!
Stepping into the office kitchen doorway, she paused, glaring at the two men lounging against the countertop—right in front of the coffee machine. They ceased their conversation upon spotting her, both frowning.
“What’s up, Helen?” Mark asked, his tone friendly but with an unmistakable edge. “Did you finish that proposal? Mike mentioned you were working on something big.”
Helen resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, Mike was eager for her next idea; everyone’s bonus seemed to hinge on her efforts.
“It’s almost ready,” she replied. As she approached the coffee maker, neither man budged. She stopped. “Excuse me?”
Mark flashed that oily grin he believed was charming. “Say please,” he coaxed.
Tom chuckled, finding his colleague’s antics amusing.
Helen rubbed her forehead wearily. “Mark, just… let me get some coffee. I’m sure you and Tom can continue your locker-room talk a few feet away.”
“Yeah,” he replied with that same sleazy grin. “But where’s the fun in that?”
Tom laughed as if Mark had delivered a punchline worthy of a stand-up special. But Helen was done. She was sick of these two. So, instead of getting her coffee, she turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen. “I’m getting my own coffee maker,” she muttered on her way back to her office.
