The Boy Who Cried Wolf

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They were back in New York before having sailed outside the vicinity of it. Murtasim had stormed into the kitchens of the cruise at brisk speed. He slammed the glasses down as he reached a counter and demanded that every member of staff be re-identified in front of him.

But nothing suspicious came up. Everyone had valid ID’s. The head chef wasn’t of much assistance either. He was woozy from the merriment of the party and couldn’t remember if he had turned over the task of serving the drinks to a staff member or not. Unsatisfied with his response, Murtasim decided it was best to cancel the cruise. Meerab was incredibly unhappy at his paranoid decision and she grumbled loudly about lost feasting opportunities.

Abdullah Kadwani however, happily agreed with Murtasim. According to Kadwani, it would rouse great curiosity if the public were to know that the Elite Squad was out to sabotage his tour. He even suggested the horrid idea that they stage a few fake kidnapping attempts when they went sightseeing to create more drama for the public.

Nooran was on board with the idea and offered to do the script writing for the planned sabotages, claiming she had a great knack for creative writing. Similarly, Siraj also showed keen interest and insisted he was a fantastic director of action sequences.

Their idea was highly unpopular.

Murtasim now stood at the edge of his bed in his newly appointed hotel room, running a towel over his wet hair and aimlessly looking at the golden swirls decorating the obsidian walls. He was pondering over how best to keep the remainder of the trip as safe as possible. As he ruminated, Murtasim’s thoughts moved to his goals. He was incredibly close to his goal of ultimate corporate expansion. Incredibly close. But for some strange reason, he wasn’t as elated as he thought he would be. Something was missing.

A muted buzzing sound rang throughout Murtasim’s suite, interrupting his thoughts. He glanced at the indicator light to double check, his eyebrows flickering in surprise. Someone really was at his door. He was expecting Meerab to be fast asleep by now. He assumed she was probably back to give him an earful. She’d already given him a harsh handful of words on the ride to their hotel room for ruining her Caribbean plans.

Sighing, Murtasim tossed aside the towel he was tousling his wet hair in and picked up a bathrobe. He dressed himself in it, covering his nude body by slinking the plush fabric over his arms while he walked towards the door. He tied the sash just as he reached it.

“What do you want now Meerab?” Murtasim grumbled, flinging open the door.

Only it wasn’t Meerab at the door.

“Afia?” exclaimed Murtasim in surprise, looking stunned.

The woman named Afia, who was leaning against the door frame and smiling seductively, had dark eyes and long, straight black hair that rippled down her back like silk. She was wearing a red formal dress, which accentuated her voluptuous figure and wide hips.

“Hi Murtasim. Long time no see,” said Afia.

“I—what are you here for?” spluttered Murtasim, utterly confused at her appearance.

Afia was a model who had previously worked with Murtasim’s company for television adverts. But she was the last person Murtasim expected to show up, here of all places.

“What? No hello for me?” Afia asked in a purring voice. She lifted her back off the edge of the doorframe and pushed her way past Murtasim, casually sauntering inside his hotel room and flipping her silky hair behind herself confidently.

Murtasim irritably stalked after Afia, who was eyeing every detail of the interior design of his hotel room with a keen eye.

“I’m asking you again, what are you here for?” spat Murtasim quite rudely, his irritation increasing at Afia’s self invitation to his room.

          

Afia turned to face him, smiled, then slowly walked up to where Murtasim stood, eyeing him like a grinning cat.

“I just came to see if you wanted a quick...rendezvous? In a short period of time, you won’t be a bachelor anymore. So, you know, I thought we could have some fun like the good old days?” Afia asked in a suggestive voice. “I really do miss our little fling. It was far too fleeting.”

Afia lifted her arms and tried to wrap them around Murtasim’s neck. She gave off the smell of expensive perfume, specifically a mix of cinnamon and vanilla. But Murtasim felt like something pungent had invaded his nostrils. He immediately pulled back, shoving her arms away roughly.

“No. I’m not interested. If that’s what you’re here for you should leave,” said Murtasim gruffly. “But before you do, just let me know, how did you get my room number?”

The lack of proper etiquette by the security team was making Murtasim paranoid. Afia however, only seemed amused by his anger, her eyes lighting up mischievously at Murtasim’s furrowed brows.

“Oh come on. You used to be so friendly Murtasim,” Afia said in a sensual whisper. She lifted a hooked index finger and traced it along Murtasim’s jawline, but her hand was slapped away immediately by him.

“Don’t touch me Afia. Leave!” hissed Murtasim, glaring down his nose at her.

“But Murtasim,” Afia drawled in a sing-song sort of voice. She sidled even closer to Murtasim and bent over a little, emphasising her cleavage in a provocative manner. “A secret get-together won’t hurt anything. No one has to know.” She finished her suggestion off with a wink.

Murtasim looked furious. Afia’s suggestion was making his insides crawl.

“I’m about to get married! How could you suggest something like that?!” Murtasim thundered.

Afia drew back, placed her hands on her hips and frowned, thoroughly confused. “I don’t understand Murtasim! You were never interested in marriage. Didn’t you say that yourself? So what’s all this?”

Murtasim was caught off guard. He wasn’t sure how to respond. Up until yesterday, that was exactly what he wanted out of life. He wanted to live life on his terms. Free and unrestricted, far away from the responsibly of marriage. Yet here he was, feeling unfulfilled. It wasn’t the same anymore. His old life wasn’t looking appealing.

“Well now I am interested in marriage! So please leave,” Murtasim repeated firmly, pointing to the door. “Or I will escort you out myself.”

His anger seemed to have no affect on Afia whatsoever, who merely reached out a hand and grabbed Murtasim’s finger that was pointing to the door. Then bringing his arm back down to his side, Afia clasped Murtasim’s hand firmly.

“Boo!” whined Afia. She bit her lower lip, her teeth sinking into her red lipstick and she tightened her hold on Murtasim’s wrist so he couldn’t pull it away. “Come on Murtasim baby. You don’t really want that lawyer. You want me. You know you want me.”

Murtasim’s eyes narrowed at Afia as he tugged his wrist out of her tight grasp. His mind was still running through all the ways Afia could have made it to his hotel room.

“Did one of my personal staff send you up?” questioned Murtasim, wondering if Afia had been sent up by a body guard upon her being a familiar face.

Afia giggled. “I’ll tell you all about that later. Now. What about my offer? I’m certain a secret bachelor party won’t affect any arrangements of yours with that lawyer. I know it’s just a publicity relationship,” Afia continued, reaching her palm out to place on Murtasim’s chest, “So I think our coast is clear for—”

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