and avoided wearing them because he had a notion that once someone put on a tie, they ran a real chance of being chained to a boring desk forever. His very freedom depended on not succumbing to the hideous adornment.
A meeting with the company's director demanded a tie, however. There was no way out of it - as Salma had pointed out several times that morning as he had groused over breakfast.
Kirk wasn't even sure why he had been called into this special meeting. He had been back in town for a week after being rescued and had spent that time recovering at home; he hadn't set foot in the office since the crash.
Oren had left days ago, and they hadn't had any contact since that final night in Khalas. He had heard from colleagues, though, that Oren had met with the managers of the company and had been firm in saying Kirk had no blame in the accident. In fact, by all accounts, Oren had left a glowing review and credited Kirk with saving his life.
"Maybe they are calling me in for a reward," Kirk mused aloud, looking at the clock on the office wall again.
He had been sitting outside the director's door for over fifteen minutes. He had arrived right on time but had been told by the director's secretary to wait until he was called.
Another five minutes rolled passed before the door opened, and a big-bellied man with thick glasses came out.
"Director," Kirk said respectfully, standing up and presenting his hand.
The director looked at him with watery eyes and avoided his hand. "Come in, Khaled, we have much to discuss."
Kirk paused, confused by why his real name was being used. It was company policy to always use their English names around each other to make it a matter of habit when guests were around. The director himself insisted he be called 'Harold' at all times.
"Alright, Harold," he murmured, following the portly man into the small office.
Kirk sat down in a small white leather chair that sat across from Harold's metal desk. It was surrounded by impressionist paintings in expensive looking frames - all of which were fake, Kirk knew. Everything in the office was designed to impress guests without costing anything.
If only this attention to detail had been given to my plane , Kirk thought bitterly, trying to keep his face neutral.
"Now, Khaled. I hope you have recovered from your little...adventure," Harold huffed as he squeezed his bulk into the large pleather chair behind his desk.
"I have, sir. Thank you for allowing the time off."
"Taking personal time is often a very good thing. It allows you to recharge and reconsider things from a new perspective."
Kirk raised his eyebrows. He had worked for Royalty Tour Plus for six years and had never been encouraged to take a vacation. In fact, he hadn't even had a sick day in years.
The director continued, seemingly not noticing Kirk's skeptical silence. "Mr. Moore has returned home as you probably know. His assistant had been calling us for updates every twenty minutes. Quite an impossible young woman! She arranged for him to be taken away by private jet as soon as he was back in town. I believe there was even a doctor on board the plane to assess his health."
Kirk smiled slightly, thinking about how he had returned to town: in the back of a truck hauling fabric to be sold in the city. He had sat on a crate for hours as they made the long trek, dust being blown in his face every time the wind shifted.
He could have taken the rescue helicopter with Oren, he knew that, but he had been afraid that he was falling too fast for the handsome billionaire. Oren had a busy life filled with extravagant toys and adventures. Kirk knew he was merely a blip on the radar - a story that would be told at dinner parties to much applause. Their connection couldn't have meant much to a rich, experienced man like Oren, and the last thing Kirk had wanted was to put his heart on the line like a fool.
"I'm glad Mr. Moore was well taken care of," Kirk said at last.
"He talked about you
A meeting with the company's director demanded a tie, however. There was no way out of it - as Salma had pointed out several times that morning as he had groused over breakfast.
Kirk wasn't even sure why he had been called into this special meeting. He had been back in town for a week after being rescued and had spent that time recovering at home; he hadn't set foot in the office since the crash.
Oren had left days ago, and they hadn't had any contact since that final night in Khalas. He had heard from colleagues, though, that Oren had met with the managers of the company and had been firm in saying Kirk had no blame in the accident. In fact, by all accounts, Oren had left a glowing review and credited Kirk with saving his life.
"Maybe they are calling me in for a reward," Kirk mused aloud, looking at the clock on the office wall again.
He had been sitting outside the director's door for over fifteen minutes. He had arrived right on time but had been told by the director's secretary to wait until he was called.
Another five minutes rolled passed before the door opened, and a big-bellied man with thick glasses came out.
"Director," Kirk said respectfully, standing up and presenting his hand.
The director looked at him with watery eyes and avoided his hand. "Come in, Khaled, we have much to discuss."
Kirk paused, confused by why his real name was being used. It was company policy to always use their English names around each other to make it a matter of habit when guests were around. The director himself insisted he be called 'Harold' at all times.
"Alright, Harold," he murmured, following the portly man into the small office.
Kirk sat down in a small white leather chair that sat across from Harold's metal desk. It was surrounded by impressionist paintings in expensive looking frames - all of which were fake, Kirk knew. Everything in the office was designed to impress guests without costing anything.
If only this attention to detail had been given to my plane , Kirk thought bitterly, trying to keep his face neutral.
"Now, Khaled. I hope you have recovered from your little...adventure," Harold huffed as he squeezed his bulk into the large pleather chair behind his desk.
"I have, sir. Thank you for allowing the time off."
"Taking personal time is often a very good thing. It allows you to recharge and reconsider things from a new perspective."
Kirk raised his eyebrows. He had worked for Royalty Tour Plus for six years and had never been encouraged to take a vacation. In fact, he hadn't even had a sick day in years.
The director continued, seemingly not noticing Kirk's skeptical silence. "Mr. Moore has returned home as you probably know. His assistant had been calling us for updates every twenty minutes. Quite an impossible young woman! She arranged for him to be taken away by private jet as soon as he was back in town. I believe there was even a doctor on board the plane to assess his health."
Kirk smiled slightly, thinking about how he had returned to town: in the back of a truck hauling fabric to be sold in the city. He had sat on a crate for hours as they made the long trek, dust being blown in his face every time the wind shifted.
He could have taken the rescue helicopter with Oren, he knew that, but he had been afraid that he was falling too fast for the handsome billionaire. Oren had a busy life filled with extravagant toys and adventures. Kirk knew he was merely a blip on the radar - a story that would be told at dinner parties to much applause. Their connection couldn't have meant much to a rich, experienced man like Oren, and the last thing Kirk had wanted was to put his heart on the line like a fool.
"I'm glad Mr. Moore was well taken care of," Kirk said at last.
"He talked about you
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