Chapter 1
O ren Moore walked up to the waiting airplane, his lightweight backpack slung easily over his shoulder and the sweeping African sky above him. It was unbelievably hot and not even ten a.m. yet; he tried not to tug at his tight white shirt uncomfortably, but sweat was already covering his body. He had two bodyguards, one walking on each side, and he didn't like to appear weak in front of them. It was difficult to remain stoic, though; the surface of the sun might have been cooler than where he currently stood and his company's new heat repellent shirt was not fulfilling its promise to 'keep the burn away all day'. He made a mental note to call the shirt's team leader and give her a stern talking to as soon as he made it back to New York. What was the point of running the biggest sportswear company in the U.S. if he couldn’t even get a comfortable shirt for his own vacation?
Well, it was almost a vacation. It was as close as he got these days. His sister, Georgette, had raised hell about him never leaving the office to rest, and his executive team had all dropped similar hints. Eventually he had relented, but not without threatening to Skype as much as possible to make sure they didn’t burn the building to the ground while he was away.
I'm still not convinced they'll be able to launch the new hiking boot line without me. This is the first release day I've not been at headquarters for , he thought, annoyed that he had been practically forced out of the office during such a crucial time.
He consoled himself with the fact that he'd be gone only five days; it was just a quick trip to Northern Africa to appear at one of the extreme marathons his company was sponsoring. He'd smile, take some photos with the runners, cut a big check, and be back home in time for his sister's birthday.
"But first, I'm going to strike an item off the bucket list. At Georgette’s insistence," he murmured, looking up at the plane. It was supposed to take him out to the Sahara for an overnight trip so he could go boarding on the dunes and take some aerial photography.
His assistant had arranged everything for him, finding the tour company – Royalty Tour Plus – and checking its references. She claimed it was the ultimate provider of luxurious and private tours in the Sahara. Planning the excursion was one detail he had gladly handed over to her as he had been very busy with a company merger in the weeks leading up to the trip. She hadn’t made a misjudgment yet on her arrangements.
Seeing the plane for the first time, however, Oren was beginning to have his doubts in his decision to delegate. He had been promised a ride on a brand new plane, complete with leather seats, top of the shelf liquor and fresh food. However, from the outside, the plane looked far from new. The paint on the tail end was faded and chipped, and he thought he saw some dents along the wing.
The booze better be damn good , he thought to himself. Because this is not starting out promisingly. This is what I get for trusting someone else with important details.
"Hello, Mr. Moore," called a tall, lissome man leaning on the cockpit's door. "I'm Kirk, your guide and pilot for this trip." His native accent danced among the words, creating a pleasant, unexpected cadence to his speech.
Kirk cast a quick glance at the bodyguards, Steve and Doug, and gave them a short nod in greeting as well. They each nodded once, but kept their faces neutral. They were no doubt sizing him up quietly.
Oren put out his hand and firmly shook the pilot's. Kirk was lean, with dark brown skin and a shaved head. His eyes were a rich carob color, and they flashed with friendliness. He was an attractive man, with angular features and an easy smile. Oren almost hummed in approval - his assistant had finally made one right decision by picking such a handsome pilot.
Kirk smoothly slid open a side door leading to the passenger area. "After you, sir. We must hurry to get to the dunes before it
O ren Moore walked up to the waiting airplane, his lightweight backpack slung easily over his shoulder and the sweeping African sky above him. It was unbelievably hot and not even ten a.m. yet; he tried not to tug at his tight white shirt uncomfortably, but sweat was already covering his body. He had two bodyguards, one walking on each side, and he didn't like to appear weak in front of them. It was difficult to remain stoic, though; the surface of the sun might have been cooler than where he currently stood and his company's new heat repellent shirt was not fulfilling its promise to 'keep the burn away all day'. He made a mental note to call the shirt's team leader and give her a stern talking to as soon as he made it back to New York. What was the point of running the biggest sportswear company in the U.S. if he couldn’t even get a comfortable shirt for his own vacation?
Well, it was almost a vacation. It was as close as he got these days. His sister, Georgette, had raised hell about him never leaving the office to rest, and his executive team had all dropped similar hints. Eventually he had relented, but not without threatening to Skype as much as possible to make sure they didn’t burn the building to the ground while he was away.
I'm still not convinced they'll be able to launch the new hiking boot line without me. This is the first release day I've not been at headquarters for , he thought, annoyed that he had been practically forced out of the office during such a crucial time.
He consoled himself with the fact that he'd be gone only five days; it was just a quick trip to Northern Africa to appear at one of the extreme marathons his company was sponsoring. He'd smile, take some photos with the runners, cut a big check, and be back home in time for his sister's birthday.
"But first, I'm going to strike an item off the bucket list. At Georgette’s insistence," he murmured, looking up at the plane. It was supposed to take him out to the Sahara for an overnight trip so he could go boarding on the dunes and take some aerial photography.
His assistant had arranged everything for him, finding the tour company – Royalty Tour Plus – and checking its references. She claimed it was the ultimate provider of luxurious and private tours in the Sahara. Planning the excursion was one detail he had gladly handed over to her as he had been very busy with a company merger in the weeks leading up to the trip. She hadn’t made a misjudgment yet on her arrangements.
Seeing the plane for the first time, however, Oren was beginning to have his doubts in his decision to delegate. He had been promised a ride on a brand new plane, complete with leather seats, top of the shelf liquor and fresh food. However, from the outside, the plane looked far from new. The paint on the tail end was faded and chipped, and he thought he saw some dents along the wing.
The booze better be damn good , he thought to himself. Because this is not starting out promisingly. This is what I get for trusting someone else with important details.
"Hello, Mr. Moore," called a tall, lissome man leaning on the cockpit's door. "I'm Kirk, your guide and pilot for this trip." His native accent danced among the words, creating a pleasant, unexpected cadence to his speech.
Kirk cast a quick glance at the bodyguards, Steve and Doug, and gave them a short nod in greeting as well. They each nodded once, but kept their faces neutral. They were no doubt sizing him up quietly.
Oren put out his hand and firmly shook the pilot's. Kirk was lean, with dark brown skin and a shaved head. His eyes were a rich carob color, and they flashed with friendliness. He was an attractive man, with angular features and an easy smile. Oren almost hummed in approval - his assistant had finally made one right decision by picking such a handsome pilot.
Kirk smoothly slid open a side door leading to the passenger area. "After you, sir. We must hurry to get to the dunes before it
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