Owen hopped back and away, hands in the air. “Sorry.” He gave a light shrug. “I really don’t like people coming at me.”
Three men surrounded King Faruq, and he signaled them to lower their weapons. “Omar, you are well?”
The guard cradled his arm and gave a humiliated nod.
Faruq’s gaze never left Owen’s. “You seem…hotheaded, Mr. Apollo.”
Another sniff. “Nah, just…” He deliberately scanned the room, noting the men who watched him with unabashed interest. “No offense, sir?—”
“Your Majesty,” someone hissed in correction.
Owen lifted his eyebrows, feigning surprise. “Maj—” Drawing his head back, he widened his eyes. “You’re what, a prince or something?”
“You want me to believe you do not know who I am, yet you saved my daughter?”
His pulse skipped a beat. “I…” Not too dumb, he warned himself, or they’d call it and plug him with lead. “Daughter?” He let himself pause, as if thinking. “Wait—the chick on the street? Paris—is that what this is about?” Slowly, he let a frown into his expression as he scanned the onlookers again. “Maybe I’m confused—I thought you said I saved her, yet…you treat me like some criminal. Gun to my head at the hotel. Bag over my head.”
“You speak very freely.”
“Call it nerves.” It wasn’t. He had to show himself strong. Willing to do what most men wouldn’t.
The king chuckled. “Why were you in France?”
Owen stretched his jaw. “There’s a cool tower there, not sure if you’ve heard of it.” He saw the incoming side-strike too late. Pain exploded across his jaw.
“Watch how you talk to the king!” a guard growled.
Feeling a slick warmth sliding down his jaw, he steadied himself. Tried to shake the ringing in his ear. He held out placating hands. Looked at the king. “Sorry.”
The king inclined his head in slow acknowledgment. “Why were you in Paris, Mr. Apollo?”
Owen hesitated at the repeated question. “A job.” It was true in more ways than one.
The king paused as he considered him, but seemed annoyed. “What kind of job?”
“Security. I was supposed to meet the guy at a café, but he never showed.”
“The café you were at when you saw my daughter get attacked.”
“Yeah.”
“Let me get this straight,” the king said, cocking his head to the side. “You just happened to be there, drinking a cappuccino, eating a pastry, and you just happened to see someone coming at her from across the street.”
The fear Owen showed now was legit. “I never said where the café was.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Or what I had to eat or drink.” Now time to play it off. He gave them an uncertain look, then laughed. “Did you happen to find the guy I was supposed to meet too?”
The king smirked as he considered him. “Clever, Mr. Apollo.”
One of the men—princes?—next to him leaned in and whispered something.
Listening, King Faruq studied Owen for a long minute and stroked his beard, then nodded. A second later, the prince strode over and spoke to a guard, who then left as the prince returned to his seat.
“Mahid, help him to his feet.” King Faruq motioned two fingers toward Owen. “Would you like a job, Mr. Apollo?”
Owen braced under the guard’s rough handling. Halfway up, he faltered. A job had been the intent of the op, but that it’d worked so quickly caught him off guard. “Uh…” He wiped his mouth. “I mean—yeah, I need work. Guy ghosted me, and I spent a fortune to get to Paris.” He exhaled heavily and shook his head. “Look, man—King…” Gaze tracking across the room, he shrugged. “I get it—you’re loaded. Could probably compensate me well for…whatever. But considering the gun to my head and hood over my face…”
“A man in my position must give great consideration to whom he invites into his home.”
Invites. Yeah, aggressively.
