Someone here on Literotica mailed me and asked if I could write about a billionaire. Other said the liked my Sheikh stories. Someone else reviewed my earlier stories and claimed they were degrading and using the F-word way too much. So this time I want to try to write an old fashioned romance story with no sexscenes (at least not in the beginning) but what still will have you ladies (and maybe gentlemen) dreaming hot dreams.
Feel free to comment, to suggest improvements or to point out factual errors. Or to suggest a storytwist. Bear with me that English is not my mother language. The setting of the story will be the fictious oil emirate Al Dahaab, famous for its golden beaches (hence the name Gold)
*****
She had a splitting headache. Her eyes were burning.
Lisa was rubbing her index- and middle fingers in circles over her temples. Well at least she got the job done. The sun was slowly rising above the highrises in the business district of al Dahaab. The azure waters of the Gulf invisible from their 15Th floor. The files were stacked in neat piles and she had compiled a document with all the cases they were handling for Khalid Enterprises, the Al Dahaab University, Nour Oil and smaller local clients.
Khalid Enterprises was a major client for her firm Baker De Groot, consultants and tax advisors. PDG most people called it. PDG had been handling the visa cases for the shipping moghul Khalid Enterprises, owned by a younger brother of the Emir of Al Dahaab, for years. Sheikh Khalid was rumoured to be quite the demanding business man.
Until recently their business with Khalid Enterprises had run smoothly.
Lisa's department in Amsterdam had been taking care of all the visa requests by their clients from AL Dahaab and the rest of the Gulf for the Shengen Area, the largest part of Western Europe and part of the European Union. But with the United Kingdom leaving the EU, Brexit, many international companies were planning to leave London and settle in Amsterdam or Berlin. That also applied for the companies from Al Dahaab, a small but very rich oil Emirate bordering Saudi Arabia. The workload on residence permits and visa applications had tripled in a few months' time.
Mr Patel the stocky Indian expat who was station chief in Al Dahaab, had suggested to Lisa's bosses to manage the immigration clients from Al Dahaab by the local branch of PDG from that moment onwards instead of out of the main office in Amsterdam. Quite a sound idea. Lisa had agreed with him. It would be easier to create a strong relationship with clients when you could meet in the office over tea or coffee instead of over the email or by a conference call. Locals would also be more cultural sensitive.
Three days ago mr Patel had called Lisa. His voice was shaking. In a panicky way he had explained that PDG was in deep shit. His cousin, Joe Patel, had been handling the visa cases in Al Dahaab. The man had read law in Oxford and mr Patel had trusted his nephew to be able to handle the applications. Patel jr was all confidence and showed great papers with academic qualifications and traineeships. He had been on the job for two months.
But then a letter had been hand delivered to PDG just before mr Patel had started his weekend of binge-watching Netflix. A letter coming from the top floors of their high-rise office tower. A letter from Sheikh Khalid, owner of Khalid Enterprises. It was a harsh letter. His company had seen all its visa applications denied all of a sudden and according to the sheikh Patel jr was an incompetent fool who had ignored all emails. PDG was given till the first day after the weekend to clear up the mess but otherwise Khalid Enterprises would take its business and go elsewhere and press for damages. The only reason the Sheikh did not do that straight away was, according to the letter, the excellent service PDG had provided for years.
When hearing about the letter Patel junior had headed straight back to India and Patel Senior had looked in despair at a pile of unanswered letters and a chaotic office with files everywhere. It was obvious junior could do the talk but had been utterly worthless as an employee. The old man blamed himself. If he had not been his uncle he might have checked his work earlier.
Mr Patel had begged Lisa for help. Could she come? Could she find a solution? Would she be a dear and go to that meeting with the Sheikh, the one he had summoned them to attend?
Lisa had packed her things and taken the first flight to the Emirates. And so she had ended up in a small Gulfstate bordering the United Arab Emirates and Saudi Arabia. An emirate with loads of money and very strict rules of behaviour. No drinking, no bars. Lots of expats but all you could do was work and work and sleep.
Now after a weekend of relentless working and sleeping five hours a night at least she had been able to sort things out. Some cases could be solved by launching an appeal, others by applying for a new visa all over again, a few could be saved by sending in more information and some however were lost causes. Those two professors would never make it to the oncology conference in Paris, the wife of the owner of the oil company would have to miss her cousin's wedding and the Sheikh's men would not be able to travel to Amsterdam for business. Time was simply lacking to arrange that.
"Lisa", mr Patel said, walking in her small office. "Are we able to somehow manage this crisis?" His secretary followed him in and handed him and Lisa a cup with steaming Arabian coffee and a platter with sweet honey pastry.
She felt a stone in her stomach. She was so nervous and tired. What if they would loose this client? The guy probably had all kind of connections not only in the Gulf but also worldwide. Lisa was the head of her department age 26 but PDG's topmanagement was ruthless. A worldwide American- European consultancy firm, they did not care that much for an again station chief in a Gulf state or a paralegal in Europe. Even if the station chief had a 20 year career with them or the paralegal was running her own visa department with five others working there for her.
"We have to make it work mr Patel."
"I compiled a list with cases and solutions. We will offer all damage control for free."
"Tell the sheikh you have been handling his cases for eight years. That you are back. That he can trust you."
"I hope so. I have been googling the man. He is very successful it seems and demands that of the people he works with as well. Unlike those Arab princes this guy seems to be all about work and business. Only gossip columns I found are years old. I never directly dealt with him before. I have no idea what kind of a person he is."
She looked at her watch. "I better go."
She grabbed a scarf and walked to the bathroom. Her long dress would not offend any local and with her honeycoloured curls in a tight braid tucked in a bun at her nape and covered by the scarf, she felt sure she looked professional Arab-style.
The elevator pinged and she pressed the button for the 28th floor. A bead of sweat travelled down between her breasts. Her breathing was high in her chest. She glanced in the mirrored walls. Huge blue eyes, a flush colouring her cheeks slightly pink but due to lack of sleep she looked deadly pale with dark rims under her eyes, some curls escaping the headscarf. A young woman. Tall for this part of the world. A bit too curvy for her own part of the world. Paralegal. Someone about to advise a sheikh, a prince, the brother well half-brother of a king, a man who owned billions. Why for heaven's sake did she have the feeling she had to go to the toilet? She had just been there. Get a grip. You nervous foul. You can do this.
The elevator pinged. The door opened. She walked into the office of Khalid Enterprises. A young man in the white robe of the region, the thobe, his head covered by a red and white checkered triangular scarf kept in pace with a black agal, was sitting at a reception desk.
"I am Lisa van der Woude. I am here to see Sheikh Khalid."
"Just a moment miss."
The young man phoned and said something in Arabic.
