Something About Aimee Read online

  Something About Aimee

  S.E. Smith

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank my husband, Steve, for believing in me and being proud enough of me to give me the courage to follow my dream. I would also like to give a special thank you to my sister and best friend, Linda, who not only encouraged me to write, but who also read the manuscript. Also, to my other friends who believe in me: Julie, Jackie, Christel, Sally, Jolanda, Lisa, Laurelle, Debbie, and Narelle. The girls that keep me going!

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  And a special thanks to Paul Heitsch, David Brenin, Samantha Cook, Suzanne Elise Freeman, PJ Ochlan, Vincent Fallow, L. Sophie Helbig, and Hope Newhouse—the outstanding voices behind my audiobooks!

  – S. E. Smith

  Contemporary Romance

  SOMETHING ABOUT AIMEE:

  GIRLS FROM THE STREET BOOK 1

  Copyright © 2022 by S.E. Smith

  First E-Book Published June 2022

  Cover Design by Melody Simmons

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  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission from the author.

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  All characters, places, and events in this book are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations are strictly coincidental.

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  Summary: A Royal Sheikh's life is turned upside down when he falls in love with the street-smart courier who saves his life.

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  ISBN: 9781956052602 (Paperback)

  ISBN: 9781956052596 (eBook)

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  Romance (love, explicit sexual content) | Contemporary | Action/Adventure

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  Published by Montana Publishing, LLC

  & SE Smith of Florida Inc. www.sesmithfl.com

  Girls from the Street

  Something About Aimee

  * * *

  Colours of the Soul

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  Midnight Shadows

  * * *

  Katie and the Warrior King

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  The Geek and the Sheikh

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Additional Books

  About the Author

  Synopsis

  She was born on the streets; he was born to rule…

  Aimee Wheels loves her free-living lifestyle. She doesn't need the trappings of money to find happiness. All she needs are her crazy friends, her job as a courier in New York City, and her skateboard.

  Sheikh Qadir Saif-Ad-Din understands the power behind money and royalty, and he knows how to wield it. When he is simultaneously dismissed and then saved by a woman in tattered jeans carrying a skateboard, he doesn’t know what to think—except that he wants her!

  Aimee is thrown into the world of the ultra-rich when she stops an assassination attempt against Qadir. When she discovers a deeper plot to overthrow Qadir’s family by a rival billionaire, she becomes the target. Now all she can do is pretend she is dead and love Qadir from afar.

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  When Qadir is kidnapped by the men who tried to kill her, she abandons the safety of the witness protection program to save him. Can love find a way for Aimee and Qadir when a powerful billionaire has placed a price on their heads?

  Chapter One

  “Listen up!” Stanley Becker yelled, his deep baritone voice booming in the small space. “I need a volunteer to deliver a letter downtown.”

  In the crowded workroom of Becker Courier Services in Upper East Manhattan, a chorus of groans greeted his announcement. Stanley’s gaze swept over the six occupants of the room, and each person looked the other way when he focused on them as if that would make them invisible.

  The room was organized chaos. Bicycles, some intact and ready to go, others in pieces with greasy parts scattered on old envelopes and newspapers, jockeyed for space with the dilapidated loveseat, banged up desks, and lockers.

  Couriers of all different shapes, sizes, and colors fought for the limited seating as they finished their last-minute paperwork before quitting time or choked down the fast food that they had grabbed after not eating all day.

  When no one responded, Stanley yelled, “Carl!”

  “Can’t do it, boss,” Carl shouted back. “Taxi driver on 57th bent my rim.”

  Stanley’s curse-riddled opinion on taxi drivers caused snickers to abound.

  “Eric,” Stanley barked.

  Eric was already shaking his head. “Can’t, boss. I’ve already got over forty hours this week, and tonight’s dinner with my future in-laws. Becky said if I was late, that was it.”

  Polly held up her hands. “I’m out. I’ve got a flight in two hours and Shu promised to drive me, so don’t bother asking her. I’ll be lucky to make it to the airport as it is.”

  Stanley slammed his hand on the counter and scowled. “This has to be at the Harris building by 6 p.m.!”

  Everyone’s eyes went to the large atomic clock on the wall. Trace scoffed and shook his head. Carl snorted and continued working on his bike.

  “It’s 5:30 on a Friday night, boss,” Carl replied. “No one can make that run and get it there by 6 p.m. It’s impossible.”

  “What’s impossible?”

  Everyone’s eyes turned from Carl to the owner of the new voice.

  Aimee Wheels stepped on the back of her skateboard and caught it in midair. A courier bag was draped across her body. She reached into her pocket, retrieved a brand new bike tube, and tossed it to Carl. Aimee had witnessed his collision and picked up the replacement piece on the way back from her last delivery.

  As Aimee tucked her board under her arm, threaded her way through the cluttered room, and dropped the receipts for her deliveries on the long, scarred counter in front of Stanley, he replied, “A rush job came in. Company paid top dollar to have this delivered at the Harris building to some foreign guy, but it has to be there by 6 p.m.”

  Aimee whistled under her breath and shook her head. “Sounds like the guy who dropped it off should have planned better.” She signed the log.

  “I bet Wheels could make it,” Eric called with a mischievous look in his eyes.

  “Twenty says she can’t,” Peter countered.

  “Ten says she can,” Polly said, stuffing an Alexander Hamilton in the betting jar on the counter.

  Aimee was already shaking her head. If she had left five minutes ago, she might have made it. The Harris building was all the way down near the Financial district and the traffic was crazy at this hour.

  Carl stood up and added another twenty to the pot. Aimee groaned.

  “Two-hundred-dollar bonus if you deliver on time.”

  Everyone froze, including Aimee. She looked at Stanley, then the clock, and finally the folder Stanley held out to her.

  Two hundred dollars was a lot! Stanley never offered more than a ten-dollar bonus on special deliveries. Between the bonus and her share of the winnings if she made it in time, she woul
d have a nice little cushion for a few weeks.

  The silence was broken when Polly softly chanted, “Wheels… Wheels… Wheels…”

  Aimee bit her lip, then grabbed the envelope and stuffed it in her courier bag. She turned and took off at a sprint, jumping over the loveseat with one hand and tossing her skateboard with the other. Her feet hit the board, and she grabbed the frame of the door as she made a sharp turn into the lobby. In no time at all, she had left the building with incredible speed.

  “Damn, I think she might just make it,” Peter grumbled.

  Aimee flew along the crowded roads. She hugged her board, keeping low so she could swerve in and out of traffic. She caught the back of a city bus on Madison Avenue, a police cruiser on East 23rd, and another one heading down Broadway before she caught an ambulance on Lafayette Street. She cut between the towering skyscrapers to Centre, taking alleys most people didn’t even know existed.

  She emerged out of an alley on Fulton Street near the Harris building with two minutes to spare. Kicking her board up, she caught it and sprinted to the revolving door, sliding in a narrow, closing gap as a crowd of workers made their way out. She pulled the letter out of her bag and tried to quiet her pounding heart as she walked up to the main reception desk.

  “Delivery for Suite 1805.” Aimee handed her courier badge to the receptionist and scanned the barcode on the envelope before she handed that to the woman as well.

  The receptionist took the letter and passed it to a young man who was waiting. “I can’t believe it made it on time,” the man said with a relieved smile before he darted off to the elevators.

  Aimee raised her eyebrow and ruefully shook her head. “Yeah, it just sprouted wings and flew through rush hour traffic. Thanks for the tip, dude,” she muttered before she turned the scanner around in front of the receptionist with a smile. “Can you please sign this?”

  The phone rang and the woman answered it. Aimee waited, but apparently the receptionist could not sign her name and talk at the same time. Aimee tapped her fingers on the counter. From the way the woman turned away and was giggling, the call wasn’t business related.

  Aimee pulled the pocket watch out of her ragged coat pocket and glanced at it. She looked up when a group of men entered the building. They were all dressed in nice black clothes, and they were wired.

  It didn’t take her long to assess the situation. The first two men who entered were the lookouts. Next came the head of security. Aimee wanted to roll her eyes. No doubt the next person would be the ‘big guy’, whoever that was.

  She knew it would be a guy because women seldom made an entrance like this. Most of the high-society ladies preferred a less conspicuous entrance that didn’t scream ‘come kidnap me’.

  Sure enough, the next man who entered was obviously the one being protected. Aimee looked him over, itemizing each article of clothing from his fifty-thousand-dollar suit to the high-priced shoes, gold and diamond cufflinks, and Piaget Polo watch on his wrist.

  Hell, even his sunglasses cost more than I make in five years, she thought.

  Polly’s rubric would label him drop-dead gorgeous. Aimee had seen plenty of gorgeous guys who didn’t have an ounce of humanity in their self-important bodies, so unless this one showed her something different, he would barely make it into the cute category of her own rating system.

  When he removed his sunglasses, their eyes collided, and she felt a shiver of unease. His dark brown eyes conveyed a sudden, intense shock and then he intently looked her over from head to toe as if trying to ferret out all her secrets.

  Aimee analyzed his features, but no, she was certain she had never seen him before. Maybe Mr. High and Mighty had never seen a poor person before. She snorted and didn’t bother to hide her smirk.

  Mr. Moneybags’ expression was thunderous and Aimee almost laughed out loud. If he thought he could intimidate her, he was barking up the wrong tree. She had dealt with guys that would make this poor sod wet his bed.

  She noticed the two bodyguards entering behind him and released a soft whistle. Five bodyguards would set him back a pretty penny. Her fingers itched to test how good they were before she pushed the thought away. She was done with that life.

  That thought did make her laugh, and she shook her head. Who was she kidding? Never say never.

  “Here you go,” the receptionist said.

  “Thanks. Have a great weekend.” Aimee slid the scanner and badge into her courier bag, adjusted the skateboard under her arm, and turned to exit the building.

  She had almost passed Mr. Top of the World when the revolving doors spun, and intense alarm shot through her system. Years of living in neighborhoods where drive-by shootings were as common as fast-food drive-throughs had conditioned her. Before the two men were all the way through the door, she saw the guns in their hands. Their eyes were still scanning the lobby, but she knew who their target would be.

  “Take cover!” she hollered.

  She dropped her skateboard, caught it with her foot, and sent it careening toward the two assailants just as she twisted and tackled Mr. Come Kidnap Me. Gunfire erupted and screams filled the lobby. A burning pain seared Aimee’s arm, but she ignored it. They were sitting ducks in the lobby.

  She rolled over the man. Their eyes connected again for a second. In his dark chocolate irises she saw understanding and calm. She gave him a brief nod in acknowledgment.

  Shouts in Arabic gave her a clue about the man’s nationality—or at least his bodyguards’. Over the din, she said, “Run when I tell you.”

  He lifted an eyebrow, but she was already twisting away—and discovered that her plan to distract the gunmen wouldn’t be necessary. Her shout and skateboard missile had provided the bodyguards with enough warning to take care of the assailants.

  But not without injuries, she thought when she saw blood staining a guard’s pant leg.

  “Qadir, this way,” the chief of security ordered.

  Mr. Calm in a Crisis—whose real name was ‘Qadir’ apparently—ignored his security guy and grabbed her arm. She whirled toward him and tried to pull free, but he tightened his hold.

  “You got them. I’ve got to go,” she said, looking at the door. She heard sirens. She tugged again to free herself.

  “You’ll come with me,” he stated.

  “Qadir, your hand. You’re injured?” the head security guy exclaimed.

  Aimee’s captor frowned and looked down at his hand. Bright red blood oozed between his fingers. He shook his head, his eyes focused on her face.

  “The blood is not mine,” he said in a low voice that sent a shiver through her.

  He relaxed his grip, and she hissed, wincing and reaching for her arm. He grimaced, and the look in his eyes made her wonder if perhaps she had been hasty about discounting his ability to last on the street.

  “Tarek, call my physician,” he ordered.

  Aimee nodded with approval. “Your guy is going to need some help. The gunmen must not have hit an artery, otherwise he would’ve bled out by now.”

  The two bodyguards that had been in the rear were now standing over the two assailants. Neither gunman was moving, but the wounded bodyguard remained standing with his weapon trained on the neutralized threats.

  “This doctor is for you,” Qadir growled. “Nizar will be seen by someone else.”

  The protest on her lips died when Qadir ushered her into the elevator and suddenly she was surrounded by Tarek, the two forward bodyguards, and the man they were protecting. All four men made her feel like a shrimp.

  She reminded herself that being five foot three and three quarters in her stocking feet tended to make everyone seem like a giant, but there was no doubt that their muscled height and breadth were excessive in this small space, especially Qadir’s. She looked at the elevator display as the lift began to climb and silently groaned.

  So much for enjoying a nice evening on the water with my friends tonight, she disgruntledly thought, wishing she could at least lean back again
st the side of the elevator.

  “I need my board,” she suddenly said.

  Qadir frowned down at her. “Your board?”

  She nodded. “My skateboard. I shoved it at the lunatics downstairs before they started shooting. I need it back.”

  The man relayed her request to his head of security in Arabic, and Aimee turned her head so he couldn’t see the smile on her lips. She was fluent in a few languages. That tended to happen when you lived in a housing project which was a multicultural world unto itself.

  “So, do people normally try to kill you on Friday nights, or is today a special day?” she asked.

  Chapter Two

  Minutes Before:

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  Sheik Qadir Saif-Ad-Din entered the limousine and tried to quell his irritation at being late for his last meeting of the evening.

  His plans for an enjoyable, relaxing evening had been canceled. The meeting he was on his way to now had been planned for earlier, but it was rescheduled when the owner of the company had a heart attack.