The Segment (Completed)

2. Stalker

It had been two days since that encounter with the prince and Farrah was still buzzing with excitement. She could still remember the shock in his eyes when she called him 'Your Royal Highness'. Ah, the satisfaction that she received from his reaction was gold. To her at least. In her line of work, it was a sign of competence if one were able to fluster their guests during interviews; to make them so nervous that they manage to answer questions that they'd been deflecting previously. Farrah knew that he was in full incognito mode, he was working a thick, scruffy beard, black rimmed glasses, and curly hair sticking out in every direction possible – almost like mini antennas. He looked like he truly did belong in the hip and cool bar scene. Nobody recognized him which meant that his disguise worked. Farrah recognized those blue eyes, that were extra sparkly thanks to the overhead lighting at the bar. And she was close enough to see the scar on his right temple, the other telltale sign – the prince had fallen off his horse when he was a child and had a long scar on his right temple that had needed stitching. The scar remained.

In short, how many other red haired, blue eyed man who had a scar on the right temple named Richard did she know? Exactly.

Farrah was trying to research a story for one of her colleagues, something about a dog ownership and mortality rates. Her heart was not into it and she kept wandering of the articles that she was reading to check her emails. As usual, more requests for help in research were in her inbox and she complied. It was her job and she knew it. She had started interning with the company when she was doing her Masters in Broadcasting and media writing and she was beyond excited to be given this opportunity at 22. At 26 (and a half, she added rolling her eyes) she had had enough of doing mindless research and trivial news articles about dogs and funfairs – things that were all fluff, rainbows, unicorns and fucking sunshine. She needed to be taken seriously but after that whole fiasco two months ago, she hasn't been given a chance to prove her metal. Her boss had all but said, 'You're fired' not that Farrah could blame him. She was there to represent the company, not to make them look like a joke.

Buzz buzz.

Buzz bu-

"Hello, this is Farrah Khan speaking. For BBCS." She frowned as she said that. Why the hell was she answering that way on her personal number. That line was reserved for work calls on the other number.

She heard a male chuckle and then, "Hello Farrah Khan for BBCS, this is Richard for...well, you," the voice said and continued chuckling. She had on an incredulous expression wondering if this is really happening, and looked at her phone – Private Line. Figures.

"If this is your idea of a joke, I really don't fucking appreciate it," she said sounding as stern as possible. She thought back to who else knew, but other than Charlie, Farrah hadn't mentioned it to no one. And Charlie definitely knew how to keep her mouth shut.

"Why do you think it's a joke?" came the serious reply.

Because things like this don't happen to me, she thought.

"Is there anything I can be of service to you, Your Highness?" she said quietly.

"It's Rich. Call me Rich. Please." He almost ordered.

"How can I help you?" she said still being as quiet as possible. She was in an office full of journalists and reporters, and like hound dogs, they can smell a good story brewing from miles away. Farrah was not going to let this opportunity slip from her hands. Not this time.

"I was wondering if I could take you out for dinner." He says. "To make up for that comment about your job two months ago," he adds sheepishly.

Oh honey, you owe me more than just dinner, Farrah thought. "So, you remember?"

She heard more chuckles, "Yes, I do. And I am quite aware of the impact of what I said. I really do feel terrible."

"You really feel bad about this?" she cocked her head sideways.

"Horrible, really," he says easily.

"How about I buy you dinner, and you give me a career defining interview," she challenges him. "That will help me more than a simple dinner ever will."

He sighs, "I take it things are...not that great at work?"

"Not since you're 'cheeky' comment, they aren't," she winced.

"You know it's not that easy. I can't give interviews offhand," he says softly.

"I know. Can't blame a girl for trying," she said smiling. "But I do have a proposal for you."

"I figured. Over dinner," he says with absolute finality.

"Over dinner," she agrees.

"6pm at Dishoom tonight?"

"Covent Garden?"

"Yes."

"I love that place."

"...I know."

"Hah, stalker."

"Now you know how I feel, every single day."

Right, she thought. She might want to tone her sassiness down a notch. She wouldn't want to get beheaded due to having a smart mouth, she rubbed her neck absentmindedly. Do they still do beheadings? She wondered.

"See you then," She said

"Then." And he ended the call.

Farrah just continued to look at her phone, feeling like this is her one chance to get her career on track. One chance to prove herself before she resigns herself to her fate as a research-fucking-intern. She wanted to scream and do a happy dance but she knew that will invite unnecessary attention and right now, for her plan to work, she needs to be as under the radar as possible. She didn't want to risk someone else stealing her ideas so she buckled down and started ticking things off her to do list. It was already four and she needed to complete as many things as possible before leaving the office. It was a Friday and the tube station (or Hell in other words) would be overflowing with people. She shot off an email to Dave, the manager at Paani and told him that she can't make it tonight and since tomorrow was Saturday, she'll do the usual routine of going through the books and inventory in the morning, plus she wanted a report of tonight as well. Dave is fantastic at what he does and knew what he was doing, but when he was hired for Paani he knew that not only did he have Farrah as his boss, Daddy was also there circling around his head ready to attack if anything were to go wrong with his baby, Paani.

It was almost 5pm when she noticed the office was pretty much empty.

"Farrah, you need to go home love," her boss George practically shouted at her as he ran for the lifts.

"Yes, Sir," she shouted in response and sent him a mock salute.

"It's Friday night, love. Live a little," his parting words as the doors to the lifts closed on him.

Farrah fell back into the chair in a huff and looked down at her clothes. She was wearing a light grey tweed cropped trousers and a dark grey chunky turtleneck jumper. Luckily though she had paired her outfit with her boots that had a good inch and half of heel. Just enough of a boost to allude to her having a nice-ish arse. She was almost always dressing up in muted tones when it comes to office wear, boring but it works. She walked to the ladies room and touched up her makeup. A swipe of concealer under her eyes, a bit of powder to matte her skin and a swatch of tinted lip balm of her lips. She looked at herself at the full-length mirror and smoothened out creases from her pants. Her messy bun updo was breathing it's last few breathes, but she reckon it would last through dinner. Her winged eye liner was still perfect, thank the lord for waterproof eyeliners. She had no rings on and her nails were short and manicured.

"All right then, this is as good as it's going to get today," she took a deep breath and walked to her desk, quickly powering off her computer and collecting her things. She almost forgot to take her folder with her, the one with the proposal for Rich. 

Prince Richard, idiot, she chided herself. 

**************

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