One Night with a Gorgeous Greek: Doukakis's Apprentice / Not Just the Greek's Wife / After the Greek Affair
Sarah Morgan
Chantelle Shaw
LUCY MONROE
In the arms of a ruthless, possessive, passionate man!Polly Prince works hard, but her family’s company is taken over by ruthless Damon Doukakis! As his apprentice, Polly accompanies Damon to Paris and so must resist the lethal sensuality of her new boss in the most dangerously romantic city in the world.Ariston Spiridakou had married Chloe to provide him with an heir and Chloe’s defiance had her cast out of his life. Infuriatingly, three years on, Chloe finds herself at Ariston’s mercy and he won’t even consider her request until she’s expecting his baby!Billionaire tycoon Loukas Christakis reluctantly allows struggling designer Belle to work on his private island. Virile Loukas finds her innocence an unexpected temptation. When their short affair has consequences, Loukas resolves to secure what he feels is his…
One Night with a Gorgeous Greek
Doukakis’s Apprentice
Sarah Morgan
Not Just the Greek’s Wife
Lucy Monroe
After the Greek Affair
Chantelle Shaw
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#uec69ec90-c4f0-586c-83b1-736739851d54)
Title Page (#u1e5ce950-5586-5d88-9b97-6d96b82b7c21)
Doukakis’s Apprentice (#u39e43500-bdf2-544b-817d-cbb628a9b488)
Excerpt (#u69c49953-fc34-5a27-bc93-8bc17c12d606)
About the Author (#uf4f994a3-91d6-52b3-9c35-bfeaf4f93bdf)
CHAPTER ONE (#ub2409756-c30f-55c4-afb2-9c54f2d3ff35)
CHAPTER TWO (#u4200d7f8-6307-5269-bc27-573200d23858)
CHAPTER THREE (#ue636b4fe-4be6-5cf2-9159-bff76beb730e)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u42822928-6397-52f2-a26c-0c06200b3920)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u4317c14d-2ba1-563e-bb3d-12b423d062d8)
CHAPTER SIX (#u6010a224-b80c-565e-b289-d588a77f00f1)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
Not Just the Greek's Wife (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
After the Greek Affair (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Doukakis’s Apprentice (#ulink_c4079577-3ec8-5aa0-98a7-dc4b52b59d92)
‘Everyone has their price, Mr Doukakis.’
‘You think so?’ Intrigued, Damon allowed his gaze to drop to the creamy skin visible at the neck of her formal white shirt. So what’s your price, Miss Prince?’
‘I was talking about business.’
Damon smiled. ‘Of course you were. Someone with your exceptional morals would never become tangled with someone like me, would they?’
His sarcasm brought a scarlet tinge to her cheeks but she didn’t defend herself. ‘Have you finished?’
‘Finished?’ Damon slowly lifted his gaze and stared down into those eyes. They were the blue of a summer sky. ‘I haven’t even started.’
About the Author (#ulink_43d07e2c-a91d-5fc2-8158-bdcbae6e1ee4)
USA TODAY bestselling author SARAH MORGAN writes lively, sexy stories for both Mills & Boon
Modern
Romance and Medical™ Romance.
As a child Sarah dreamed of being a writer, and although she took a few interesting detours on the way she is now living that dream. With her writing career she has successfully combined business with pleasure, and she firmly believes that reading romance is one of the most satisfying and fat-free escapist pleasures available. Her stories are unashamedly optimistic, and she is always pleased when she receives letters from readers saying that her books have helped them through hard times.
RT Book Reviews has described her writing as ‘action-packed and sexy’, and nominated her books for their Reviewer’s Choice Awards and their ‘Top Pick’ slot.
Sarah lives near London with her husband and two children, who innocently provide an endless supply of authentic dialogue. When she isn’t writing or reading Sarah enjoys music, movies, and any activity that takes her outdoors.
Readers can find out more about Sarah and her books from her website: www.sarahmorgan.com (http://www.sarahmorgan.com). She can also be found on Facebook and Twitter.
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_fdfeb7d9-f585-54cb-8ecb-edb107b5bec6)
‘HE’S here. He’s arrived. Damon Doukakis just strode into the building.’
Woken by the panicky voice, Polly lifted her head from her arms and was blinded by sunlight pouring through the window. ‘What? Who?’ The words were slurred, her brain emerging slowly from the shadows of sleep. The headache that had been part of her life for the past week still squeezed her skull. ‘I must have dozed off. Why didn’t anyone wake me?’
‘Because you haven’t slept for days and you’re scary when you’re tired. There’s no need to panic. I’m doing that for both of us. Here—I brought sustenance.’ Balancing two mugs of and a large muffin, the woman kicked the door shut. ‘Wake yourself up with carbs and coffee.’
Polly rubbed her eyes and squinted at the screen of her laptop. ‘What time is it?’
‘Eight o’clock.’
‘Eight o’clock?’ She flew to her feet, sending papers and pens spinning across the floor. ‘The meeting is in fifteen minutes! Were you hoping I’d just walk in there and talk in my sleep or something?’ Polly hit ‘save’ on the document she’d been working on all night, her hand shaking from the sudden awakening. Her heart pounded and deep in her stomach was a solid lump of dread.
Sleeping didn’t make any of it go away and reality pressed down on her like a heavy weight.
Everything was about to change. Life as she knew it had ended.
‘Stay calm,’ Debbie swooped across the office and put the plate and the mugs on the desk. ‘If you show him you’re afraid, he’ll walk all over you. That’s what men like Damon Doukakis do. They sniff out weakness and they move in for the kill.’
‘I’m not afraid.’ The lie wedged itself in her throat.
She was afraid. She was afraid of the responsibility and of the consequences of failure. And, yes, she was afraid of Damon Doukakis.
Only a fool wouldn’t be.
‘You’re going to be fine. I mean, we’re all depending on you, obviously, but I don’t want the fact that you have the future of a hundred people in your hands to make you nervous.’
‘Thanks for that calming thought.’ Polly allowed herself a quick gulp of coffee and then checked her BlackBerry. ‘I’ve only been asleep for two hours and I already have a hundred e-mails. Don’t these people ever sleep?’ She scrolled through them quickly, scanning for anything important. ‘Gérard Bonnel wants us to move our meeting tomorrow back to the evening. Can I get a later flight to Paris?’
‘You’re not flying. The train was cheaper. I bought you a non-flexible ticket on the seven-thirty out of St Pancras. If he’s moved the meeting then you’ll have most of the day to kill.’ Debbie leaned forward and stole a large chunk from the muffin. ‘Go and see the Eiffel Towel. Make love to a delicious French guy on the banks of the Seine. Ooh la la.’
In the process of replying to an e-mail, Polly didn’t look up. ‘Public sex is an offence, even in France.’
‘Nowhere near as big an offence as your non-existent sexlife. When did you last go on a date?’
‘I have enough problems without adding a sex-life to the mix.’ Polly pressed ‘send’. ‘Did you sort out a purchase order for that magazine promotion?’
‘Yes, yes. Do you ever stop thinking about work? The fearsome Damon Doukakis just might have met his match in you.’
‘The rest of these e-mails are going to have to wait.’ Polly put the phone down on her desk and glanced at the clock. ‘Damn—I wanted to take another look at the presentation. I need to brush my hair—I don’t know what to do first—’
‘Hair. You slept with your head on your arms and you look like Mohican Barbie.’ Debbie whipped a pair of hair straightners out of Polly’s drawer and plugged them in. ‘Hold still. This is an emergency.’
‘I need to go to the bathroom and do my make-up.’
‘No time. Don’t worry. You look great. I love that look. You’re so good at mixing vintage with current.’ Debbie slid the irons down Polly’s hair. ‘The hot pink tights really work.’
Keeping her head still, Polly reached out and unplugged her laptop. ‘I can’t believe my dad still hasn’t rung. His company is being decimated and he’s nowhere in sight. I’ve left about a hundred messages.’
‘You know he never switches his mobile on. He hates the thing. There—’ Debbie unplugged the irons ‘—you’re done.’
Polly twisted her hair and pinned it in a haphazard knot at the back of her head. ‘I even called a few of the London hotels last night to see if a middle-aged gentleman and a young woman had rented a suite with them.’
‘That must have been embarrassing.’
‘I grew up with embarrassing.’ She retrieved her boots from under the desk. ‘Damon Doukakis is going to rip us apart when he realises my father isn’t showing up.’
‘The rest of us will make up for it. The whole company came in early. We’re all busy bees. If Doukakis is looking for slackers, he’s not going to find them here. We’re determined to make a good impression despite your father’s absence.’
‘It’s too late. Damon Doukakis has already made up his mind what he wants to do with us.’ And she knew what that was. Panic gripped her. He’d taken control of her father’s company. He could do anything he liked with the business.
It was his revenge. His way of sending a message to her father.
But it was a crude weapon. The scorching blaze of his wrath wasn’t just going to burn up her father—it was going to burn up the innocent staff who didn’t deserve to lose their jobs.
The weight of responsibility was suffocating. As her father’s daughter she knew she had to do something, but in truth she was powerless. She had no authority.
Debbie ate a piece of muffin. ‘I read somewhere that Damon Doukakis works a twenty-hour day so at least you’ll have something in common.’
After three nights with virtually no sleep Polly could barely focus. Drugged by tiredness, she struggled to shake the clouds from her brain. ‘I’ve put together the figures. Let’s just hope Michael Anderson can work the laptop. You know what he’s like with technology. I’ve backed up the entire presentation in three places because he managed to delete the thing last time. Are the rest of the board here?’
‘They all arrived at the same time as him. Not that they said anything to us.’ Deep lines of disapproval bracketed Debbie’s mouth. ‘None of them have the bottle to face us since they sold their shares to Demon Damon. I still don’t understand why a rich, powerful tycoon like him would want to buy our little company. I mean, I love working here, but we’re not exactly his style are we?’
Polly thought about how hard she’d worked to try and drag the company into the twenty-first century. ‘No. We’re not his style.’
‘So did he buy us for the fun of it?’ Debbie finished the muffin and licked her fingers. ‘Maybe this is billionaire retail therapy. Instead of buying shoes, he blows a fortune on an ad agency. He offered the board a whole heap of money.’
Polly kept her mouth shut but the dark dread turned to an icy chill.
She knew why he’d bought the company. And it wasn’t something she could share with anyone. Damon Doukakis had sworn her to silence in a single chilling phone call that had come a few days earlier. A phone call she hadn’t mentioned to anyone. She didn’t want it to be public knowledge any more than he did.
Polly forced herself to breathe slowly. ‘I’m not surprised the board sold. They’re greedy. I’m so sick of booking their long lunches and their first-class airfares and then being told we’re not profitable. They remind me of mosquitoes, sucking up our lifeblood into their fat bodies—’
Debbie recoiled. ‘Pol, that’s gross.’
‘They’re gross.’ Polly mentally ran through everything she’d put into the presentation. Had she missed anything? ‘If I were the one giving the presentation, I wouldn’t be so worried.’
‘You should be the one giving it.’
‘Michael Anderson is too threatened by me to let me open my mouth. He’s afraid I might actually tell someone who does the work around here. And anyway, I’m just my father’s executive assistant, whatever that is. My job is to keep everything running behind the scenes.’ And she was horribly conscious that she had no formal qualifications. She’d learned by watching, listening and trusting her instincts and she was savvy enough to know that for most employers that wouldn’t be enough. Polly pressed her hands to her churning stomach, wishing she could stride into the boardroom wielding an MBA from Harvard. ‘Doukakis already has a super-slick successful advertising agency in his organisation. He doesn’t need another one and he doesn’t need our staff. He’s just going to snap his jaws around us like—’
‘No!’ Debbie held up her hand and shuddered. ‘Don’t tell me what it will be like. No more of your blood-sucking-mosquito analogies—I just ate your breakfast.’
‘I’m just saying—’
‘Well, don’t say. And if Damon Doukakis wants your father’s business that badly, well—that’s sort of a compliment, isn’t it? And you’re assuming he’ll make us all redundant, but he might not. Why buy a business and then break it up?’
Because he wanted to be in control.
Instead of being a helpless passenger like her, Damon had put himself in the driving seat. While her father was living the life of a man half his age, his company was being savaged by a ruthless predator. And she was fighting that predator single-handed.
‘Cheer up.’ Debbie patted her shoulder. ‘Damon Doukakis might not be as ruthless as they say. You’ve never actually met him in person.’
Oh, yes, she had.
Feeling her face turn the same colour as her tights, Polly closed her laptop.
They’d met just once, in the head’s office the day she and one other girl had been permanently excluded from the exclusive girls’ boarding school they attended. Unfortunately that one other girl had been his sister and Damon Doukakis had turned the full force of his anger and recrimination onto Polly, the ringleader.
Just thinking about that day was enough to make her body tremble like a leaf in the wind.
She was under no illusions about what the future held for her.
To Damon Doukakis she was a troublemaker with an attitude problem.
When he lifted his axe, she’d be the first for the chop.
Polly ran her hand over the back of her neck. Maybe she’d just offer to resign if he kept the staff on. He wanted a sacrifice for her father’s behaviour, didn’t he? So she’d be the sacrifice.
Debbie picked up the empty plate. ‘So who is your dad seeing this time? Not that Spanish woman he met at Salsa classes?’
‘No, I—I don’t know.’ The lie slid easily over her lips. ‘I haven’t asked.’ Stressed out of her mind, Polly picked up her BlackBerry and slipped it into the pocket of her dress. ‘It’s crazy, isn’t it? I can’t believe that Damon Doukakis is about to stride in here and take away everything my dad has ever worked for and he is in some hotel somewhere—’
‘—having wild monkey sex with a woman who is probably half his age?’
‘Don’t! I don’t want to think about my father having sex, especially with a woman my age.’ Especially not this woman.
‘You should be used to it by now. Do you think your dad realises that his colourful sex-life has put you off ever having a relationship?’
‘I don’t have time for this conversation.’ Blocking out thoughts of her father, Polly wriggled her feet into her boots and zipped them up. ‘Have you arranged coffee and pastries for the boardroom?’
‘All done. But Damon Doukakis is probably just going to feast on the staff. He’s like a great white shark.’ Adding to the aura of menace, Debbie made a fin with her hands and hummed the theme from Jaws. ‘He glides through the smooth waters of commerce, eating everything that gets in his way. He’s at the top of the food chain, whereas we’re right at the bottom of the ocean. We’re nothing more than plankton. Let’s just hope we’re too small to be a tasty snack.’
Uncomfortable with the analogy, Polly glanced protectively towards the fish tank that she kept on her desk. ‘Keep your voice down. Romeo and Juliet are getting nervous. They’re hiding behind the pond weed.’ She wished she could join the fish. Never in her life had she ever dreaded anything as much as this meeting. Over the past few days she’d sacrificed sleep trying to put together a convincing case for saving the staff. She no longer had any illusions about her own future, but these people were like her family and she was going to fight to the death to protect them.
The phone on her desk rang and she picked it up with the same degree of enthusiasm a doomed man would display on his walk to the gallows. ‘Polly Prince …’ She recognised the slightly slurred tones of Michael Anderson, her father’s deputy and the agency’s creative director. Despite the hour, he’d obviously already had a drink. As he instructed her to bring the laptop to the boardroom, Polly gripped the phone tightly. Snake. The man hadn’t had a creative idea for at least a decade. He’d bled the agency dry and now he’d sold his shares to Damon Doukakis for an inflated price.
Anger shot through her. If they hadn’t sold out, this whole situation might have been contained.
Slamming down the phone, Polly scooped up her laptop, determined to do what she could to fight for the staff.
‘Good luck.’ Debbie glanced at Polly’s feet. ‘Wow. Those boots are perfect for kicking ass. And they make you look tall.’
‘That’s the idea.’ Last time she’d met Damon Doukakis he’d made her feel small in every way. Physically and emotionally, he’d towered over her. It wasn’t going to happen again. This time she was determined that when he glared at her they were going to be eye to eye.
Walking towards the boardroom felt like walking the plank. It didn’t help that every two seconds someone stuck their head out of an office to wish her luck, each nervous smile making her more aware of the depth of her responsibility. They were relying on her, but deep down she knew she had no influence and virtually nothing with which to defend them. It was like going into battle armed only with her hairdryer. She was just hoping that Michael Anderson would use the presentation she’d put together to fight for them.
The doors to the boardroom were closed and she paused to draw breath, irritated by how nervous she was. Not of the board—for them she felt nothing but contempt—but of Damon Doukakis. She breathed out, slow and long, telling herself that ten years was a long time. Maybe the rumours were wrong. Maybe he’d developed a human streak.
She was relying on it.
Knocking briskly, she opened the door. For a moment all she saw were smug expressions, a litter of coffee cups and dark suits hugging bodies fattened by too many lunches.
The boys’ club.
Still clutching her laptop, Polly forced herself to walk forward. As the doors were closed behind her she looked around the table at the men she’d worked with since she’d left school at eighteen. Not one of them looked her in the eye.
Bad sign, she thought grimly.
A couple of the directors stared at the notes in front of them. The atmosphere was thick with tension and anticipation. They reminded her of the bloodthirsty, voyeuristic crowds that sometimes gathered round the scene of an accident. To some, there was nothing so compelling as watching another human being in deep trouble. And she was in deep trouble. Knowing that every man around the table was now a millionaire several times over, Polly felt nothing but disgust.
They reminded her of a pack of hyenas ready to benefit from someone else’s kill.
They’d sold her father out without hesitation.
And they’d sold out the staff.
She was so furious with the lot of them that it took her a moment to notice the man positioned at the head of the table.
Occupying her father’s chair with arrogant assurance and no evidence of conscience, Damon Doukakis presided over the meeting like a conqueror surveying his captives. He didn’t speak or move, but somehow everything about his body language screamed masculine aggression.
Her heart pumping, Polly placed the laptop carefully on the polished surface of the boardroom table.
Those dangerous black eyes watched her and she wondered how he could convey authority when he hadn’t even opened his mouth. Somehow he dominated the room, his economy of movement and speech intensifying the aura of power that clung to him like a protective force field.
A superbly tailored suit skimmed his wide shoulders and a snowy white shirt dazzled against his bronzed throat. The knot of his tie was perfect—everything about him was sleek and impeccably groomed. He presented a startling contrast to the rest of the men around the table. Not for this man the excess weight that came with endless business entertaining. Under the expensive suit, his body was hard and strong—honed, no doubt, by exercise and the same rigid self-discipline he applied to his business practices.
Women found him irresistible, of course. He was pure alpha male, the controlling force behind one of the fastest-growing, most successful companies in Europe. In the darkening gloom of economic depression, the Doukakis Media Group was the bright star that shone the light of recovery.
It irritated Polly extremely that the man not only had a towering intellect and an astonishing gift for business, he also looked that good. There was no justice, she thought savagely as she opened up her laptop and reminded herself not to be fooled by the sleek suit or the other outward trappings of civility. As far as she was concerned, the clothes did nothing to mask what he was—a ruthless opportunist who was willing to stop at nothing to achieve his chosen goal. But she understood why the board had sold out to him. He was the King of the beasts, she thought numbly, and the men around him were just lunch, to be consumed in one snap of his jaws. They were weak, and the weak would never challenge a man like Damon Doukakis any more than a wildebeest would turn on a lion.
Look him in the eye, Polly. Look him in the eye.
Knowing that the worst thing she could do was show him she was afraid, she looked. It was only for a second, but something passed between them. The impact of that wordless exchange slammed into her and she dragged her gaze away, shaking from head to toe. She’d expected to feel intimidated. What she hadn’t expected was the flash of sexual awareness.
Shaken, Polly switched on the laptop, desperately hoping that he wasn’t aware of her reaction to him.
‘Gentlemen …’ She paused. ‘And Mr Doukakis.’
There was grim humour in the smile that played around the corners of his mouth and despite her best intentions Polly found herself staring at the sensual curve of his lips. According to rumour, sexual conquests came as easily to him as the business deals. Doukakis was as ruthless, unemotional and calculating in his relationships as he was in the other areas of his life. Maybe that was why he was so protective of his sister, she thought numbly. He knew what men were like.
But so did she. And an inconvenient flash of chemistry wasn’t going to change her opinion.
As her eyes met his again, her tongue suddenly jammed against the roof of her mouth and her lips refused to form the words that had gathered in her brain. In that single moment she saw that he knew. He knew that her heart was racing and her entire body felt as though it had been turned into an electric circuit. He knew the effect he was having on her, from the sparks to the quiver in her belly. It was the same effect he had on all women.
‘Miss Prince?’
That cold, sardonic voice shocked her out of her stupor.
If she had harboured any hope that he’d forgotten her contribution to his sister’s educational experience, then those hopes now lay smashed in tiny pieces at her feet.
‘As you know, Polly is the daughter of our chairman and chief executive.’ Apparently blind to the unspoken communication, Michael Andrews finally found the courage to speak. ‘Her father always made sure she had a job here.’
The implication was that she was some sort of loser who couldn’t get employment without help, and Polly felt her temper rise at the injustice of that introduction. The anger was just what she needed to blast away those other feelings.
Relieved to be back in control, she tapped a key on the laptop and opened a file. ‘I’ve prepared a presentation outlining our business strategy and looking at our forecasts for the future. You’ll see that we’ve won six new clients already this year and those accounts are—’
‘We don’t need to hear this, Polly.’ Michael Anderson interrupted her hastily and Polly’s fingers paused on the keyboard. Yes, they did. Without her presentation the staff didn’t stand a chance of being kept on.
‘But you have to—’
‘It’s too late, Polly.’ With a glance at his fellow board members, Michael Anderson cleared his throat. ‘I understand that this is a very awkward situation for you, but your father no longer has control of this company. He’s always been unconventional, but now he appears to have disappeared completely. Even today, with rumours of the takeover all over the news, there is no sign of him, which just confirms that the board made the right decision to sell. The Doukakis Media Group is cutting edge. These are exciting times.’ He cast a fawning glance at the man who sat still and silent at the head of the table. ‘There’s going to be a shake up. We’ll be announcing redundancies to the staff later but I wanted to tell you personally as your father isn’t here. It’s tough, I know—’ he rearranged his drooping features into a look of sympathy ‘—but this is business.’
Polly felt as though she’d stepped into a parallel universe. Her brain was fuzzy and there was a buzzing in her ears. ‘Wait a minute.’ Her voice sounded robotic and nothing like her own. ‘You’re saying you’re going to make everyone redundant just like that, with no discussion? It’s your job to protect them—to show Mr Doukakis why they’re needed.’
‘The point is, Polly, they’re not needed.’
‘I disagree.’ Her fingers were suddenly ice-cold. Panic crept into her throat and lodged itself there as if she’d suddenly inhaled all her worst fears. ‘The accounts we’ve won, we’ve won as a team. And we’re a good team.’
‘Just leave the laptop, Polly.’ Michael Anderson tapped the end of his pen on the table. ‘If one of Mr Doukakis’s people wants to look at the presentation, they can.’
That was it.
They were dismissing her.
Every eye in the room was fixed on her, waiting for her to give up and walk out.
Her father’s company would be dissolved. One hundred people would lose their jobs.
‘It isn’t over.’ The words spilled from her lips and Polly stared directly at Michael Anderson, the man who had sold her father out and was now selling out her colleagues. Desperately, she tried to appeal to his conscience. ‘You have to stand up there and give this presentation.’
‘Polly—’
‘You have a responsibility! These people work for you. They put themselves out for you. You should be defending them.’ The exhaustion and stress of the past week overflowed like a river bursting its banks after heavy rainfall. ‘It’s because of their hard work that you’ve been living the high life. Why did you ask me to put together the presentation if you never intended to use it?’
‘You were anxious about your father.’ Michael’s tone was patronising. ‘I thought it would keep you busy.’
‘I’m not a child, Mr Anderson. I can keep myself busy. I’ve had no choice about that since the key players in this company do nothing but sit on their backsides eating and drinking their way through the profits.’ Dimly aware that she was burning every bridge, she stalked round the table and had the satisfaction of seeing Michael Anderson’s eyes widen in consternation.
‘What are you doing? Where are you—? I can see you’re angry, but—’
‘Angry? I’m not angry. I’m furious. You have one hundred employees biting their nails out there—’ Beyond caring about herself, Polly flung her arm towards the door. ‘One hundred people terrified of losing their jobs who right now are wondering whether they’re going to be able to afford to keep a roof over their heads and you’re not even going to fight for them? You’re a disgusting coward.’
‘That’s enough!’ His face was red and angry. ‘If it weren’t for the fact that you’re the boss’s daughter, you would have been fired long ago. You have a real attitude problem. And as for the way you dress—’
‘How a person dresses doesn’t affect their ability to do a job, Mr Anderson. Not that I expect you to understand that. With the exception of the board—’ she cast a derisive look around the boardroom table ‘—this is a young, vibrant, creative agency. I don’t need to wear a boring suit with an elastic waistband to accommodate a four-course business lunch paid for by your unsuspecting clients.’
Scarlet-faced, Michael Anderson looked as though he was at high risk of a stroke. ‘I’m going to overlook your behaviour because I know how difficult this week has been for you. And I’m going to give you some fatherly advice as your own father seems to take his responsibilities in that area so lightly. Take your redundancy money, go on a good long holiday and rethink your future. Apart from your extremely unfortunate temper, you’re a nice girl. Beautiful.’ Sweat beading his brow, he dragged his eyes away from her legs. ‘You’re only working on client accounts because of your father. In any other company you’d be a secretary. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,’ he said hastily as he saw Polly’s expression darken. ‘All I’m saying is that a girl with your looks doesn’t need to spend her nights with her head in a spreadsheet playing with business—isn’t that right, gentleman?’
A murmur of agreement spread through the watching board members. The only person not smiling was Damon Doukakis. He stayed silent, his eyes hooded as he watched the antics from the far end of the table.
Polly saw nothing through the red mist of anger that clouded her vision. ‘Don’t you dare criticize my father. And don’t you dare make those sexist, misogynistic comments when we all know who’s doing the work in this company. You sold out to the highest bidder for personal gain. You’re now multimillionaires and we’re unemployed.’ She tried and failed to keep the emotion out of her voice. ‘Where was your sense of responsibility? Shame on you. Shame on all of you.’
Michael Anderson’s mouth was slack with shock. ‘Who do you think you are?’
‘Someone who cares about the future of this company and the people who work for it. If you make one single one of them redundant before at least considering other options then I’ll—’ What? What could she do? Aware that she was utterly powerless, the anger suddenly left her and Polly turned and stalked back round the table, furious with herself for losing control. She felt spent and exhausted and utterly dispirited. She’d let everyone down. Instead of making things better, she’d made them a thousand times worse.
Damn, damn and damn. Why couldn’t she stay cool and calm like these fat, overblown men in suits? Why hadn’t she gone to bed last night? Being tired always lowered her burn threshold.
Deafened by the extended silence, Polly felt misery slide through her veins. Her anger had blown itself out, but not before she’d ruined everything. ‘Look—I’ll go, OK? I’ll walk out of here right now without a fuss. Just don’t make everyone redundant.’ Mortified by her behaviour, she directed her words at Damon Doukakis, who still hadn’t made a move. ‘Please don’t make anyone redundant because of me.’ Horrified to feel the hot sting of tears, she closed her laptop and was about to leave the room when Damon Doukakis spoke.
‘I want to see that presentation. Send it to my handheld.’ His voice hard and inflexible, his eyes locked on Polly with the deadly accuracy of a laser guided missile. ‘I want to see everything you’ve put together.’
Mute with shock, Polly couldn’t move, and it was Michael Anderson who recovered first.
‘She’s just a glorified secretary, Damon. Honestly, you really shouldn’t—’
Damon Doukakis ignored him. He was still looking at Polly. ‘You can tell the staff they have three months to prove their worth. The only immediate job losses will be the board.’ That unexpected bombshell sent ripples of consternation across the room.
As the meaning of his words sank home, Polly felt lightheaded. He wasn’t getting rid of the staff. They had a stay of execution.
Making a strange choking sound, Michael Anderson tried to loosen the collar of his shirt. ‘You can’t get rid of the board! We’re the engine of this company.’
‘If my car had an engine like you it would have been scrapped,’ Damon said grimly. ‘You revealed your commitment to the company when you sold me your shares. I don’t want anyone working for me who can be bought. Nor do I want to find myself slapped with a lawsuit for sexual discrimination, which will undoubtedly come my way if you stay with the company.’
Watching the other man crumble, Polly felt like cheering, but Damon Doukakis was still speaking, listing his demands with a complete lack of emotion.
‘I’m moving the entire operation into my London offices. I have two floors empty and a team ready to facilitate the move.’
Polly’s desire to cheer instantly faded. ‘But the staff have been here for ever and—’
‘I don’t deal in “for ever”, Miss Prince. In business, the best you can hope for is “for now”. My second in command, Carlos, will take over the day to day running of business for the foreseeable future.’
‘But Bill Henson has been in that post for—’
‘For far too long,’ came the smooth reply. ‘He can work with Carlos for the next three months. If we’re impressed, we’ll take him on. I never lose good people. But I run a meritocracy, not a charity.’
Michael Anderson’s face was a strange grey colour. ‘Damon—’ He cleared his throat. ‘You need someone to show you our systems. Explain how the company is run.’
‘It took me less than five minutes with your balance sheet to assess how the company is run. The word is badly. And I’ve already decided to keep someone on who has inside knowledge.’
Michael sagged and his smile was slack and desperate. ‘That’s a relief. For a moment there I thought—’
‘Which is why Miss Prince will come and work alongside me for the next three months.’
Work alongside him? Oh, no, not that. ‘I’m ready to step down, Mr Doukakis.’
‘You’re not stepping anywhere, Miss Prince. You and your laptop are going to be right by my side as we sort out this mess together.’ His words were deliberately ambiguous and Polly wondered which mess he was referring to—the company, or her father’s relationship with his sister.
‘But—’
‘My people will be here within the hour to organise the move into my offices. Anyone who would rather not move is, of course, free to leave.’
‘Wait a minute—’ Polly felt as if she’d been flattened under a heavy object. She’d assumed she’d be the first out of the door. She was ready and willing to make that sacrifice. In fact she was desperate to put as much distance as possible between her and Damon Doukakis. ‘I resign.’
His eyes locked on hers. ‘Resign and I’ll make the entire workforce redundant this afternoon.’ The suppressed anger in him licked through the room, sizzling everyone around the table to a crisp.
‘No!’ Polly felt dizzy with horror. ‘They haven’t done anything.’
‘Having glanced at your balance sheet, I find it all too easy to believe you. I’m asking myself what anyone in this company has done over the past year. It’s only fair to warn you that I don’t hold out much hope that these people will still be working for me in three months. I’ve seen more activity in a graveyard.’
Polly’s limbs weakened. She thought about Doris Cooper, who had worked for her father in the post room for forty years. Recently widowed, the woman made a habit of giving the wrong post to the wrong people, but no one wanted to upset her so they quietly reorganised everything when she wasn’t looking. Then there was Derek Wills who couldn’t spell his name but made lovely cups of tea to keep everyone going. If she walked out they wouldn’t even make three weeks, let alone three months. ‘Fine,’ she croaked. ‘I’ll work for you. But I think your behaviour is appalling.’
‘Your opinion of me is unlikely to be lower than mine of you.’ He came right back at her, the full power of his anger slamming into her shaking frame with the force of a hurricane.
Polly stood rigid, impossibly intimidated despite her attempts not to be. There was something terrifying about that splintering dark gaze and the raw power of the man in front of her. She didn’t need to see the contempt in his eyes to know he had a low opinion of her and even the heels on her boots didn’t help. He still made her feel small in every way possible. But none of that was as scary as the other feelings she was trying so desperately to ignore. The quickening of her pulse and the strange melting sensation inside her tummy. ‘You’re not being fair.’
‘Life isn’t fair.’ His tone was hard and uncompromising. ‘Like it or not, you’re all now part of my company. Welcome to my world, Miss Prince.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_fc4230cd-0f2a-5547-9696-1646a36a4fdf)
HE’D never encountered such a shambolic operation in his life.
Infuriated at having landed himself with a company that offered him no benefit whatsoever, and angrier still at the wanton carelessness the Prince board had demonstrated towards people’s job security, Damon cleared the room with a single movement of his hand.
It frustrated him to have to deal with this situation when all he really wanted to do was track down his sister and protect her from the fallout of her own mistakes. Even after an intense week of reflection, he was no closer to understanding what had driven her to make such an appalling decision. Was her choice of Peter Prince just another ploy to prove her independence? Challenge him? He stood for a moment, bracing himself against the crushing weight of responsibility that had been his closest companion since he’d been forced to take charge of his sister’s welfare in his teens.
As Polly Prince stalked towards the door with the board members, he intercepted her. Slamming the door shut behind the last suited man, he turned on the woman he hadn’t laid eyes on for a decade.
‘Wherever you are, trouble is always close behind.’
She was taller than he remembered. Other than that, she didn’t seem to have changed much from the rebellious teenager who had stood sullen and defiant in the school office hearing her fate.
Damon scanned her from head to foot in a single sweeping glance, taking her choice of dress to be just another example of her careless, irresponsible attitude to life.
Everyone else had chosen to wear a dark suit to the meeting. It was typical that Polly Prince had favoured fashionable over formal, her short dress revealing incredibly long legs showcased in hot pink tights and black ankle boots. She looked fresh, young and—sexy.
The sudden explosion of primal lust was as unexpected as it was unwelcome and Damon dragged his gaze up from the heels of her cheeky black boots to focus on her face.
Accustomed to mixing with women who dressed with understated elegance, he was exasperated that the self-discipline he exerted over his own responses appeared to have deserted him. Even as he was telling himself that he had more sophistication than to feel sexual attraction for a girl with great legs, he was wrestling with a powerful urge to shrug off his jacket and cover those slender curves.
To kill those unwanted feelings stone-dead, he focused on the issue of his sister and her father. ‘Where the hell is he?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Then tell me what you do know.’
Her delicate features were set and determined as she stared directly at him. ‘I know you’ve taken over my father’s company. Clearly you’re a megalomaniac.’ Her cool remark threw petrol onto the fire that raged inside him.
‘Don’t take me on, Miss Prince. I’m a tough boss but I’m a tougher enemy. Remember that.’ He delivered the warning and had the satisfaction of seeing her face lose colour. ‘I don’t want to hear anything from that smart mouth of yours except answers to my questions. Where is your father?’
‘I have no idea.’
That unmistakably honest admission was a solid blow to his gut. He’d been relying on her to reveal her father’s whereabouts. ‘You must be able to make contact. How do you get hold of him in an emergency?’
‘I don’t.’ She sounded genuinely surprised by the question. ‘My father taught me to be self-sufficient. If there’s an emergency, I handle it.’
‘I’ve taken over your father’s company, Miss Prince. This is definitely an emergency and I don’t see you handling anything. I can’t believe that the CEO of a company can so readily abandon his responsibilities.’ It was a lie, of course. He’d seen it before, hadn’t he? Tasted first-hand the bitter after-effects of another man’s careless disregard for obligation. The memory of it had never left him. Even now, when success was his many times over, it was always there beneath the surface. It drove him forward from one deal to the next. It was the reason he had never relied on another man for employment.
In the midst of discovering that the past still had the power to destabilise him, Damon found his attention snagged by the wisp of pale blonde hair that had floated down from the haphazard, kooky hairstyle she wore. It seemed that even her hair was rebellious.
This girl, he mused, knew nothing about obligation and responsibility.
She selfishly pursued her own agenda with no thought to the casualties. Ten years before it had been his sister who had suffered. Thrusting aside the fleeting thought that Polly Prince couldn’t be held accountable for her father’s shortcomings, he subjected her to a cold appraisal which she returned with no visible display of nerves or conscience.
‘You offered an inflated price for the stock and the board members sold my father out. That was outside my control. My priority now is to do everything I can to protect our loyal staff from your predatory instincts.’
‘Cut the act. We both know that you have no interest whatsoever in protecting the staff. The only reason you care about the business is because it’s your meal ticket. No other company would be stupid enough to take you on. You’ve been bleeding this company dry for years, but it’s stopping right now. If you were hoping I’d give you a pay-off to leave, then you’re in for a shock because I don’t carry passengers. You may be the ex-boss’s daughter, but from now on you’re going to work for your money.’ The anger boiled up inside him, the past somehow mixing with the present. ‘You’re going to take your useless, lazy self and finally do a job. And if all you’re capable of doing is clean the toilets, then you’ll clean the toilets.’
Those sapphire-blue eyes were locked on his and then she made a sound that might have been a laugh. ‘You really don’t know anything about the company you just bought, do you? Mr Media Mogul who never makes a mistake in business—Mr Big Tycoon who is all-seeing and all-knowing—is suddenly blind.’ Her voice dripped contempt and Damon, who prided himself on his lack of emotion in all his dealings, found himself wrestling the temptation to throttle her.
‘My only interest in your father’s business is as a way of ensuring his co-operation.’
‘You have no choice but to be interested in his business. You own it. A fairly heavy-handed approach to a problem, I’d say.’
‘I’ll do what it takes to protect my sister.’ He’d been protecting her since he was fifteen years old—since that cold February night when the policeman had knocked on the door and delivered the shattering news. Losing both parents in such a brutal way had been devastating but Damon had somehow dragged himself through each day, driven by the knowledge that another person was depending on him. He was all Arianna had in the world and what had began as the most terrifying responsibility had become the driving force behind everything he did. Now, protecting Arianna was as natural as breathing. Nothing would destroy the web of protection he’d spun around her. ‘If you have any idea where they are, you should tell me now because I will find out.’
‘I have no idea. I am not my father’s keeper.’
‘Arianna is your friend.’ He watched with satisfaction as that barb slid home.
‘And she’s your sister. She’s as likely to confide in you as she is in me.’
‘She tells me nothing about her life.’ The words tasted bitter in his mouth. ‘And now I know why. Evidently she has much to hide.’
‘Or possibly you’re just not an approachable person, Mr Doukakis. Arianna is twenty-four. An adult. If she wanted you to know what she was doing, she’d tell you. Perhaps you should try trusting her.’
Worry fuelled his anger. ‘My sister is ridiculously naïve.’
‘Had you not been so over-protective, perhaps she would have developed some street sense.’
Damon was thrown once again by the contrast between her fragile appearance and the layer of steel he sensed in her. It had been the same ten years before, when she’d stood in the office in silence, steadfastly refusing to explain her appalling disregard for school rules and general good behaviour. Because of her, his sister had been forced to leave one of the best schools in the country. Damon had subsequently banned Arianna from seeing the appalling Polly Prince. That was before he’d understood how teenage girls worked. The ban had effectively spurred his young sister into full rebellion mode and Arianna had promptly doubled the time she’d spent with the Prince family. It was a decision that had triggered numerous high-octane explosions in the Doukakis household.
‘Arianna is a very rich woman. That makes her a target for all sorts of unscrupulous individuals.’
‘I don’t pretend to be an expert on relationships, Mr Doukakis, but I do know that my father isn’t with Arianna because of her money.’
‘Really? Then perhaps you have no idea just how much trouble this company is in.’ He wiped his mind of images of his young sister with an ageing playboy.
‘Has it crossed your mind that he might be with her because Arianna is warm and funny and my father finds her entertaining?’
The thought of what form that ‘entertainment’ was likely to take sent pushed his soaring anger levels from dangerous to critical. ‘Well, she won’t be entertaining him for much longer.’ Control slid from his grip. ‘How the hell can you be so calm? You should be completely mortified. Your father is—how old?—fifty?’
‘He’s fifty-four.’
‘And it doesn’t embarrass you to see his name linked with an endless string of young women? He is thirty years older than Arianna. He’s been divorced four times. That’s a sign of an unstable personality.’
‘Or a sign of an eternal optimist, Mr Doukakis.’ Her voice was husky. ‘My dad continues to believe in love and the institution of marriage.’
If it hadn’t been his sister they were talking about, Damon would have laughed. ‘The institution of marriage doesn’t require endless practice, Miss Prince.’ Her defence of her father drove his opinion of her lower still. ‘When I walk out of here, I’ll be giving a statement to the media. Within the hour news of my takeover will be all over the internet. Once he finds out I have control of the company, your father will make contact. When that happens, I want to know. And I want to know immediately.’
‘My father doesn’t like the internet. He says it inhibits the development of personal relationships.’
At the mention of personal relationships, sweat broke out under his collar. ‘Bad news has a habit of travelling fast and we both know I’m the last person he would want at the helm of his precious company.’
‘I agree. He won’t be pleased. He considers you to be a man whose only goal is profit. He didn’t like me mixing with you when we were teenagers.’
Transfixed by that altogether unexpected revelation, Damon stared at her with genuine astonishment. ‘He considered me a bad influence?’
‘My father has a real thing about people who only judge the world in financial terms. That isn’t the way he runs his life and it certainly isn’t the way he runs his business. To my father a successful business is as much about the people as the profits.’
‘It took me a single glance at your company accounts to work that out. Prince Advertising is afloat through good fortune and the accidental success of a few of your campaigns,’ Damon snapped out, noticing that a faint frown appeared on her forehead. ‘The company is in profit despite your father’s approach to business, not because of it. As for the people—your headcount is severely bloated and you need to slim down. You’re carrying dead wood.’
‘Don’t you dare describe these people as dead wood. Everyone here has an important part to play.’ Her voice shook. ‘Your fight is with my father, not with the innocent people working for this company. You can’t make them redundant. It would be wrong.’
‘Business tip number one,’ Damon said softly. ‘Never let your opponent know what you’re thinking. It gives them an advantage.’
Those narrow shoulders straightened. ‘You already have the advantage, Mr Doukakis. You’ve bought my father’s company. And I’m not afraid to tell you what I’m thinking. I’m thinking that you’re as ruthless and cold as they say you are.’ Her eyes shone and he wondered if he should warn her that it was dangerous to wear her emotions so close to the surface. And then he realised how hypocritical that would be because, for once, his own were similarly exposed.
Acting on an impulse he didn’t want to examine too closely, Damon reached out and caught her chin in his hand, feeling the softness of her skin under the hard pads of his fingers as he forced her to look at him. ‘You’re right. I am as ruthless as they say I am. You might want to remember that. And tears just irritate me, Miss Prince.’
‘I’m not crying.’
But she was close to crying. He recognised the signs and he could feel the betraying tremble of her jaw. She was the same age as Arianna and yet that was where the similarity ended. For a fleeting moment he wondered what her life must have been like—an only child brought up by her father, a notorious playboy.
‘I took nothing your board of directors did not readily give.’
‘You made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.’ Her emotional accusation almost made him smile.
‘I’m Greek, not Sicilian. And the people working for me would never sell me out, no matter how good the offer.’
He saw something flicker in her eyes and then she jerked her chin away from his grasp. ‘Everyone has their price, Mr Doukakis.’
And she should know, Damon thought grimly, remembering the reason she’d been excluded from school. Definitely nothing like his sister. ‘I’m afraid I have to politely decline your offer. When it comes to my bed partners I’m extremely discerning.’
For a moment she stared at him blankly and then her mouth dropped. ‘I was talking about business.’
Damon found himself looking at those lips. ‘Of course you were.’
‘You are so offensive. Have you finished?’
‘Finished? I haven’t even started.’ Damon slowly lifted his gaze and stared into her eyes. The chemistry was unmistakable but it didn’t worry him in the slightest. When it came to women he made his decisions based on logic, not libido. He had no time for people who were unable to exercise control over their impulses when the need arose. ‘At the moment the staff have their jobs. Whether or not they keep them is up to you and your father. I’ll expect you in my offices at two o’clock this afternoon. You’re going to start doing some work. And don’t waste time appealing to my emotions, Miss Prince. I never let emotions cloud my decision-making.’
‘Really?’ Those blue eyes locked on his and he saw the same fire and determination in her he’d seen that day in the school. ‘That’s interesting, because I’d say that your decision-making in this instance has been entirely driven by emotion. You’re using this takeover as leverage against my father. If that isn’t an emotional decision, I don’t know what is. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to organise the staff for the office move. If you really want all this “dead wood” transferred to your offices by this afternoon then I’d better get my useless, lazy self moving.’ She stalked towards the door, all long legs and youthful attitude as her dress swung tantalisingly round the tops of her thighs and the spiked heel of her boots tapped the floor.
Hauling his gaze away from the seductive curve of her bottom, Damon slammed the lid on that part of him that wanted to flatten her to the boardroom table and indulge in raw, mindless sex. ‘And do something about the way you dress. Theé mou, you look like a flamingo in your hot pink tights. I expect the people working for me to look professional.’
‘So you don’t like what I do and you don’t like the way I look.’ Her back to him, she stood frozen to the spot. ‘Anything else?’
He wondered if she kept her back to him as a gesture of defiance or because she was close to tears.
There was something disturbing about the fragile set of her narrow shoulders, but Damon was out of sympathy. If she really cared about the staff, the business wouldn’t be in the state it was in. Because of this woman and her father Prince Advertising was in a pitiful state and a hundred people now risked losing their jobs. A hundred families risked having their lives shattered. A chill spread down his spine as he contemplated the possible fall-out from that scenario. ‘I want all the system passwords handed over to my team so that we can access everything. If I’m going to unravel the mess you’ve created here I need to know what I’m dealing with. That’s it. You can go.’
He could have told her that he considered redundancies a sign of failure. He could have told her that he understood his responsibilities as an employer better than anyone and that he ran his business according to his own rigid principles.
He could have told her all of that, but he didn’t.
She’d contributed to this shameful mess.
Let her suffer.
‘I’m going to kill him. I’m going to put my hands round that bronzed throat and squeeze until he can’t utter another sarcastic word and then I’m going to cut holes in his perfect suit and squirt ketchup on his white shirt …’ Feeling powerless, Polly lowered her head onto her hands and thumped her fist on the desk. ‘What do women see in him? I cannot imagine voluntarily spending a single minute in his company. He’s a heartless, sexist monster.’ But that hadn’t stopped her being hyper-aware of him all the way through their confrontation. There was a sexual energy between them that seriously unsettled her. How could she find him attractive?
‘I don’t know about him being a monster. The man is smoking hot.’ Debbie put a stack of empty boxes onto the floor and started clearing the office. ‘At least we still have our jobs. Let’s face it, the figures are so bad he could have dumped us all and no one could really have blamed him.’
Knowing that it was true, Polly lifted her head and stared at her friend in despair. ‘Trust me, that might have been the better option.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I don’t know what I mean, but I know I can’t work for that man.’ Exhausted and stressed, she tried to blot out images of his cold, handsome face. Cold, she reminded herself. Cold, with no sense of humour. ‘I’m not going to last a week. The only thing in doubt is whether I kill him before he kills me.’
‘You can’t walk out! The future of the staff depends on you staying!’
‘How do you know that?’
‘We were listening at the door.’
Polly sank down in her chair. ‘Have you no shame?’
‘This was a crisis. We needed to know whether to ring the job centre or not.’
‘Ring them anyway. You won’t want to work for him for long.’ Trying to galvanise herself into action, Polly tugged open the drawer in her desk and stared down at the jumble of belongings. ‘I need a different pair of tights. Hot pink clearly isn’t his favourite colour. I cannot believe I’m about to change my clothes because a man asked me to. How low can a girl go? I should have told him where to stuff his dress code but I’d already antagonised him more than I should have done.’
‘He didn’t like the tights?’ Debbie raised her eyebrows. ‘Did you tell him you’re wearing them because—?’
‘Tell him?’ Polly rummaged through the drawer. ‘No one tells Damon Doukakis anything. They just listen while he commands. This is a dictatorship, not a democracy. How the hell does the man keep his staff?’
‘He pays top rate and he looks bloody gorgeous.’ Debbie stacked books into the boxes. ‘Calm down. I know you’re angry, but look on the bright side—he fired the board. And you were brilliant.’
‘I lost my temper with Michael the Moron.’
‘I know. You were amazing. You really let him have it. Pow. Smack.’ Debbie abandoned the packing and punched the air like a boxer. ‘Take that you sexist pig. No more looking up our skirts. No more demanding cups of coffee while we’re all running round like demented baboons doing the work he’s too lazy to do. We were all cheering.’
‘There’s nothing to cheer about. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase out of the frying pan into the fire? Damon Doukakis is a macho control freak with serious anger issues—’ Polly silenced the internal voice that reminded her that he was protecting his sister. That was no excuse to go completely over the top.
‘You can forgive a man a lot when he looks like that.’
‘I’m not interested in the way he looks.’
‘Well, you should be. You’re young and available. I know you’re anti-marriage because of your dad, but Damon Doukakis scores a full ten on the sexometer.’
‘Debbie!’
‘Oh, chill, will you? You’ve been uptight all week. It’s bad for your blood pressure.’
Polly had her nose back in the drawer. ‘I don’t have any boring black tights.’
‘Just wear leggings. Here’s a box—start packing.’
She took the box and forced herself to breathe slowly. Even though she’d grown up knowing that sex and love were two different things, the sexual tension between her and Damon horrified her. ‘I wouldn’t touch the man with a long pole. Apart from the fact that I can’t be attracted to a man who doesn’t smile, I wouldn’t want to have sex with a guy who is about to make a load of innocent people redundant. It doesn’t show a caring personality.’
‘You can’t expect him to smile when he’s taking over a company as unusual as ours.’ Debbie closed the box she was packing and started on another. ‘Most people just don’t get the way we work here. I mean, I love it, but we’re not exactly conventional, are we? Nothing about your dad is conventional.’
‘Don’t remind me.’
‘Relax. When your dad finally emerges from wherever he is this time, at least he’ll still have an intact company even if it does belong to someone else. If Demon Damon was thinking of making everyone redundant immediately he wouldn’t be mobilising an army of removal people to transport us from economy city to Doukakis World.’ Debbie carefully lifted a plant. ‘I’m excited. I’ve always wanted to see inside that building. Apparently there’s a fountain in the foyer. The plants are going to love that. So are the fish. Running water is very soothing. He must care about his employees to give them something as lovely as a fountain.’
‘It’s probably there so that despairing employees can drown themselves on their way out of the building.’ Polly walked across to the noticeboard she had on her wall and started taking down photographs.
‘You always say that everyone has a sensitive side.’
‘Well, I was wrong. Damon Doukakis is steel-plated. There’s more sensitivity in an armoured tank.’
‘He’s super-successful.’
Polly stared at a photograph of her father standing on a table at a Christmas party with a drink in one hand and a busty blonde from Accounts in the other. ‘Whose side are you on?’
‘Actually, Pol, I’m on the side of the person who pays my salary. Sorry if that makes me an employment slut, but that’s the way it has to be when you have dependants. Principles are all very well, but you can’t eat them and I have two cats to feed. Careful with those photographs.’ Debbie looked over Polly’s shoulder and gave a nostalgic sigh. ‘That was a good night. Mr Foster had one too many. He’s been nice to me ever since that party.’
‘He’s a lovely man but he’s not a very good accountant. He won’t last five minutes if Damon Doukakis decides to analyse what he does.’ Overwhelmed with the responsibility, Polly carefully slid the photographs into an envelope. ‘I’m sure the Doukakis financial department are killer-sharp, like the boss. They’re not going to be impressed when they see Mr Foster using a pen and a calculator. It will destroy him to lose his job.’
‘Maybe he won’t. You’ve been teaching him to use a spreadsheet.’
‘Yes, but it’s slow going. Every morning I have to go back over what we did the day before. I was hoping we could sneak him past the inquisition without anyone actually wanting to know what he does but it isn’t going to be easy. I bet Doukakis knows if his staff stop to draw breath.’ The responsibility swamped her. ‘Debs, we can’t give him a reason to let anyone go. Everyone has to pull their weight and if they can’t pull their weight then we have to cover for them.’
‘So this probably isn’t a good time to tell you that Kim’s child-minder is sick. She’s brought the baby into the office because that’s what she always does, but …’ Debbie’s voice tailed off. ‘I’m guessing Damon doesn’t have a soft spot for babies.’
Swamped by the volume of work facing her, Polly tipped the contents of a drawer into the box without bothering to sort it. ‘Tell Kim to quietly take the rest of the day working from home, but get her to try and find childcare for tomorrow.’
‘And if she can’t?’
‘We’ll give her an office and she can hide in there. I suppose it’s a waste of time asking if my father has phoned? I’m going to fit him with an electronic tagging device. Did you phone any of those hotels I gave you?’
‘All of them. Nothing.’
‘I wouldn’t put it past him to have bribed some blonde hotel manager to keep his booking quiet.’ Polly put the photographs into a box. ‘We need to get the rest of this packed up. The barbarian hoards from Doukakis Media Group are going to be descending on us any minute to help us move.’
‘The takeover is headlines on the BBC. You dad must know by now.’
Polly paused to swallow two painkillers with a glass of water. ‘I don’t think he’s exactly watching television, Debs.’
‘Do you have any idea who he’s with this time?’
Yes.
Her father was with Arianna, a girl young enough to be his daughter.
Humiliation crawled up her spine as she anticipated the predictable reaction from everyone around her. Polly was no more eager to share the information with the world than Damon Doukakis.
For once in his life, couldn’t her father have picked someone closer to his own age?
‘I try not to think about my father’s love-life.’ Dodging the question, she crammed the lid onto the box. ‘I just don’t see how we can move our entire office in the space of a few hours. I’m exhausted. All I want to do is go to bed and catch up on sleep.’
‘So go to bed. You know how chilled your dad is about flexitime. He always says if the staff don’t want to be there, there’s no point in them being there.’
‘Unfortunately Damon Doukakis is about as chilled as the Amazon jungle. And he wants me in his office at two o’clock.’
Debbie’s eyes widened. ‘What for?’
‘He wants me to start working for my money.’
Debbie stared at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. ‘Sorry, but that’s so funny. Did you tell him the truth?’
‘What’s the point? He’d never believe me and he’s made it his personal mission in life to make my life hell.’ Polly ripped off a piece of tape and slammed her foot down on the bulging box to flatten the lid. ‘So far he’s succeeding beyond his wildest fantasies.’
Debbie picked up a stack of prospectuses from universities. ‘What do you want me to do with these?’
Polly stared at them and felt slightly strange. ‘Just shred them.’ If Damon Doukakis found those on her desk, he’d laugh at her. ‘Get rid of them. I should never have sent off for them in the first place.’
‘But you’ve always said that what you want more than anything is to—’
‘I said, shred them.’ She resisted the impulse to grab them and stow them carefully in a box. What was the point? ‘It was just a stupid dream.’
A really crazy dream.
Numb, she watched as her hopes and dreams were shredded alongside the paper.
Five hours later, exhausted from having supervised the packing of the entire building and seen the staff safely into the coaches laid on to transfer them to their new offices, Polly took her first step into the plush foyer of the Doukakis Tower. The centrepiece was the much talked about water feature, a bubbling monument to corporate success, blending seamlessly with acres of glass and marble. Blinded by architectural perfection, Polly could see why the building was one of London’s most talked about landmarks.
Directed to the fortieth floor by the stunning blonde on the futuristic curved reception desk, she walked towards the glass-fronted express elevator. From behind her she heard the bright-voiced receptionist answer the phone. ‘DMG Corporate, Freya speaking, how may I help you?’
You can’t, Polly thought gloomily. No one can help me now. I’m doomed.
Everywhere she looked there was evidence of the Doukakis success story.
Used to staring at a crumbling factory wall from her tiny office window, she felt her jaw drop in amazement as she saw the view from the elevator.
Through the glass she could see the River Thames curving in a ribbon through London and to her right the famous circle of London Eye with the Houses of Parliament in the distance. It was essentially a huge glass viewing capsule, as stunning and contemporary as the rest of the building. Damon Doukakis might be ruthless, she thought faintly, but he had exceptional taste.
Depressed by the contrast between his achievements and their comparative failure, Polly turned away from the view and tried not to think what it would be like to work for a company as progressive as this one. Everyone employed by him probably had a business degree, she thought enviously.
No wonder he’d been less than impressed with her.
She stared at herself in one of the two mirrored panels that bordered the doors of the elevator and wondered how she could prove to him that she knew what she was doing.
She was now working for the most notoriously demanding boss in the city of London. She still wasn’t really sure why he’d kept her on instead of just firing her along with the board. Presumably because he saw her as his only possible link with her father.
Or possibly just to torture her.
Once the shock of seeing the board of directors leave the building had faded, the staff had erupted into whoops of joy, relieved to still have their jobs. Surprisingly, even the thought of moving to new offices didn’t seem to disturb people. Everyone seemed excited about the prospect of a move to more exciting surroundings.
The only person not celebrating was Polly.
She didn’t know much about Damon Doukakis, but she knew that he didn’t do anyone favours. He was keeping people on for a reason, not out of kindness. When it suited him to let them go, he’d let them go. Unless she could persuade him that the staff were worth keeping.
All morning she’d multitasked, talking to clients via her wireless headset while packing up boxes and masterminding the move. Somewhere in the middle of the chaos she’d stripped off her pink tights and replaced them with black leggings. It was her one and only concession to the strict Doukakis dress code.
Now, she wondered if she should have avoided conflict altogether and worn a suit. Trying to summon sufficient energy to get through the rest of the day, she slapped her cheeks to produce some colour and ignored the hideous squirming in her stomach.
First days, she thought grimly. She hated first days. It was like being back at school. Whispers behind her back. Is that her? The humiliation of her father driving her to school in a flashy car with his latest embarrassingly young wife installed in the front seat. Giggles heard across the length of a playground. Mysterious collisions in the corridor that sent her books flying and her self-esteem plummeting. Standing alone in the lunch queue and then finding an empty table and trying to look as though eating alone was a choice, not a sentence.
Polly glared at her reflection in the mirror. If those days had taught her anything it was how to survive. No matter what happened, she was not going to let Damon Doukakis close down the company. Not without a fight.
Somehow, she had to impress him.
Wondering how on earth you impressed a man like Damon Doukakis, she pressed the button for the executive floor and the doors of the elevator slid closed. But at the last minute a gloved male hand clamped itself around the door and they opened again.
Her hope for two minutes peace dashed, Polly squashed herself back against the far corner as a man dressed in motorbike leathers strode into the lift. She caught a glimpse of wide, powerful shoulders and realised that it was Damon Doukakis himself.
Their eyes clashed and she had a sudden urge to bolt from the lift and use the stairs.
The temperature in the tiny capsule suddenly shot up.
He didn’t even have to open his mouth, she thought desperately. Even the way he stood was intimidating. Irritated by the fact that he looked as good in leather as he did in fine wool, Polly raised an eyebrow.
‘I thought we were supposed to wear suits?’
‘I had a meeting across town. I used the motorbike.’ He wore his masculinity like a banner, overt and unapologetic, and Polly was horrified to feel her insides liquefy.
‘So you don’t change into leather just to beat your staff.’
The glance he sent in her direction was both a threat and a warning. ‘When I start beating my staff,’ he said silkily, ‘you’ll be the first to know because you’ll be right at the top of my list. Perhaps if you’d had some discipline at fourteen you wouldn’t have turned out to be such a disaster. Evidently your father didn’t ever learn to say no to you.’
Polly didn’t tell him that her father had abdicated parental responsibility right from the beginning. ‘He had trouble handling me.’
‘Well, I won’t have trouble.’ His tone lethally soft, he took in her appearance in a single glance. ‘I’ll give you marks for being on time and for changing out of those fluorescent tights.’
For some reason she couldn’t fathom, his derision brought a lump to her throat. She had blisters on her hands from carrying boxes that were too heavy, her feet ached, her back ached, and she hadn’t slept in her bed for four nights. And just to add to her frustration her phone had stopped ringing. All morning clients had called her, but now, when she was desperate for a senior client to ring her for advice so that she could sound impressive and prove to Damon just how good she was at her job, it remained silent.
And there was no point in telling him, was there? He’d made up his mind about her based on that episode in her teens and the state of her father’s company.
The whole situation was made a thousand times worse by the fact that a small part of her knew she was deserving of his contempt. It was because of her that Arianna had been excluded from school. It didn’t surprise her that he had such a low opinion of her. What surprised her was how much she cared. It shouldn’t matter what he thought of her. All that mattered now were the jobs of the innocent people who worked for her father.
‘The headlines on the one o’clock news were pretty brutal. They’re calling you the hatchet man.’
‘Good. Perhaps it will bring your father out of hiding.’ His sensuous mouth curved into a grim smile as he hit a button on the panel and sent the lift gliding upwards.
Transfixed by his mouth, Polly felt her stomach drop. His features were boldly masculine, from the hard lines of his bone structure to the subtle shadow that darkened his jaw. Desperate, she looked for evidence of weakness but found none. ‘My father isn’t hiding.’
‘Miss Prince—’ his voice was a soft, dangerous purr ‘—unless you want to experience first-hand experience of the impact of my temper in an enclosed space, I suggest you don’t force me to think about what your father might currently be doing.’
Polly instinctively retreated against the glass. ‘I’m just saying he isn’t hiding, that’s all. My father isn’t a coward.’ London slowly grew smaller and smaller until it lay beneath them like a miniature toy town. By contrast, the tension in the capsule rocketed.
‘He’s allowed his business to decline rather than make the difficult decisions that should have been made. He needed to make serious cuts but he chose not to do it. If that isn’t cowardice, I don’t know what is.’
‘You shouldn’t make judgements on something you know nothing about.’
‘I run a multinational corporation. I make difficult decisions every day of my life.’ His innate superiority infuriated her almost as much as the fact that he was right. Her father should have made some difficult decisions. But the fact that it was Damon Doukakis who was now pointing that out somehow made it more difficult to hear.
‘I’m sure it gives you a real feeling of power to fire people.’
It happened so fast she didn’t see him move, but one moment she was standing with an aerial view of London and the next she was staring at wide shoulders and a pair of fiercely angry eyes. ‘Never before have I had to restrain myself around a woman, but with you—’ He drew in a shaky breath, clearly struggling with the intensity of his own emotions. ‘You are enough to provoke a saint. Trust me when I say you do not want a demonstration of my power.’
Polly stared at him in appalled fascination, wondering why everyone thought he was Mr Cool. He was the most volatile man she’d met. He simmered like a pan of water kept permanently on the boil. And he smelt incredible … ‘I was just making the point that you really work this whole I’m-the-boss-and-you’re-going-to-do-it-my-way routine.’ Please let him step away from her before she gave into the temptation to bury her face in his neck and just breathe. ‘We’re used to a more relaxed approach when we work. Frankly I’m not sure how well we’ll do under a reign of terror.’
Outrage rippled across his shoulders and his jaw clenched. ‘That relaxed approach has sent your company plunging towards bankruptcy. If any redundancies come from this disaster then you and your father will be responsible.’
Brain-dead with exhaustion, Polly felt a perverse sense of satisfaction at seeing him so angry. She wanted him to suffer too. Not just for giving her the most hellish week of her life, but also because she had a desperate urge to crush her mouth to his and feeling that way aggravated her in the extreme. ‘You’re obviously not enjoying having us as part of your business,’ she said sweetly. ‘Next time perhaps you should check out your prey before you swallow it. We’re obviously giving you indigestion.’
He released her as suddenly as he’d trapped her, stepping back with an exclamation in Greek that she was sure wasn’t complimentary.
‘The press have somehow guessed that your father and my sister are together.’ Lifting a hand, he yanked down the zip of his jacket as if it were strangling him. ‘Unless you enjoy fuelling gossip, I suggest you don’t talk to them. I’ve instructed my people to put out a statement on the takeover, concentrating on our corporate vision and goals. I’m trying to focus attention on the fact that your company fits logically within my current business.’
‘You mean you don’t want to admit publicly you’re a megalomaniac who bought a company just so that you could threaten the man having a relationship with your sister.’ But she was horrified by the news that the press now had the story. She knew it wouldn’t be long before they were digging for reasons and she didn’t even want to think about what that would mean. She’d been there before and she loathed it. Everyone wanting to know how it felt to have a stepmother the same age as her. Everyone appalled and fascinated by the ridiculous antics of her father.
‘Take a tip from me, Miss Prince.’ Those thick dark lashes descended until the look in his eyes was virtually obscured ‘even in this age of sexual equality, no real man wants to spend time with a bitch or a ball breaker. Try and cultivate a softer, more feminine side and who knows? You might find yourself a boyfriend. Possibly even one who owns a company that you can play in.’
Polly was so shocked she couldn’t speak. She didn’t know what appalled her most. The fact that he had this entrenched image of her as a lazy waste of space, the fact that he’d clearly asked someone about her sex-life, or the fact that part of her was wondering how he kissed.
Putting it down to tiredness, she promised herself a really early night. ‘I’d never be interested in a man who couldn’t cope with a strong woman.’
‘There’s strong and then there’s strident, which is presumably why you’re still single.’
Only the knowledge that she’d be confirming his less than flattering assessment of her prevented her from launching herself at him. Instead she smarted furiously and kept her eyes fixed on the streets shrinking beneath their feet. This is good, she told herself. If he keeps this up all I’m going to want to do to him is kill him and that feels better than sizzling chemistry. ‘If the doors opened to the outside, I’d push you.’
His laugh lacked humour. ‘If I thought we’d be working together for long, I’d jump.’
Boiling inside, Polly was saved from thinking up a response by the muted ‘ping’ of the doors as they glided silently apart, revealing a cavernous, light-filled office space.
Damon propelled her forward and she stepped into an open-plan office area like nothing she’d ever seen before.
Taken aback, momentarily forgetting their heated exchange, she stopped walking and just stared.
Despite everything she’d heard and read about Damon Doukakis, nothing had prepared her for the bustling efficiency of the Doukakis corporate headquarters. ‘Oh …’ She looked at the bank of desks, each with a video phone, a laptop plug-in and a printer. Most were occupied and there was no questioning the industry of those working. Barely anyone looked up from what they were doing. ‘Where—?’ Puzzled, she turned her head and looked around her at the clean, uncluttered workspace. ‘Where’s their stuff? Where do they keep books, magazines, family pictures—personal things. It’s all very Spartan.’
‘We operate a hot desk system.’
Her mind preoccupied, Polly suddenly had an image of everyone burning themselves when they sat down to work. ‘Hot desk?’
‘Employees don’t have their own fixed office space. They come in and sit at whichever work station is free. Office space is our most expensive asset and most offices only use fifty percent of their capacity at any one time. We lease the lower ten floors of this building. It’s a highly profitable way of maximising the space.’
‘So people don’t actually have their own desks? That’s awful.’ Genuinely appalled, Polly tried to envisage her friends and colleagues existing in such a sterile environment. ‘But what if someone wants to put up a photograph of their baby or something?’
‘When they’re at work they should be working. They can stare at the real live baby on their own time.’ Damon Doukakis urged her through the floor, occasionally pausing to exchange a word with someone.
Polly examined the faces of the people, wondering what it must be like working in such soulless surroundings. Granted, you could have sold tickets to look at the view from the windows, but nothing about the office space was cosy. ‘There’s nothing personal anywhere.’
‘People are here to do a job. They have everything they need to do that job. People who work for me are adaptable. Technology allows for workforce mobility. Commuting is time-consuming and expensive. I’d rather my people worked an extra two hours than spent those hours sitting in traffic. Some people work flexible hours—start late, finish late. They’ll be sitting down at a desk when another person is leaving it. If they’re out of the country for a meeting, then the desk is used by someone else. This is the office template of the future.’
Except that Damon Doukakis had brought the future into the present.
Polly thought about the office she’d just left. Until they’d been forced to strip it bare, the walls had been covered in framed copies of their advertising campaigns, photographs and pictures of past office parties. On her desk she’d kept numerous objects that cheered her up and made her smile. And she had Romeo and Juliet.
Here, there were no walls on which to put photographs. No cosy staffroom with soft armchairs and a gurgling coffee machine. Everywhere she looked there was chrome, glass and an industrious silence.
Hoping fish weren’t afraid of heights, she stared around her. ‘So is this going to be our floor?’
‘No. I’m showing you an example of efficiency in action. Take a good look around, Miss Prince. This is how a successful company looks. To you it probably feels like landing on an alien planet.’ His sensuous mouth curved into a sardonic smile. ‘In order to cause minimum disruption to the rest of my operation I’ve allocated a separate floor to your operation.’ Without waiting for her response, he pushed open a door and took the stairs two at a time. Polly poked her tongue out at his back and followed more slowly, envying his athleticism.
Following him through another set of doors, she found herself on another floor, completely circled in glass.
All the boxes and equipment had already been transferred from her old offices and the staff of Prince Advertising were laughing and joking together as they unpacked.
As they waved to her, Polly felt her eyes sting. They were so optimistic and excited. They had no idea how fragile their future was.
The responsibility almost flattened her.
‘This is yours.’ Damon gestured across the floor with his hand. ‘There are meeting rooms over there, all of which can be used for sensitive phone calls that can’t be made in open plan.’ As he finished speaking the lift doors opened and Polly saw Debbie and Jen stagger out of the lift carrying boxes. After a series of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ as they saw the view, they put down the boxes.
‘This is the last of it. Now we can start settling in. Won’t take us long to make the place home. Not that my home looks anything like this,’ Debbie said cheerfully. ‘Where’s the kettle?’
Polly caught sight of the shock in Damon Doukakis’s eyes and realised that the only way she was going to stand a chance of preserving jobs was if she kept everyone as far away from the boss as possible. She had to protect them. ‘Mr Doukakis, I haven’t had a chance to send that presentation through to you. I copied it onto a flash drive so you can open it up on your own computer. Debs, if you could supervise the unpacking, that would be great.’
‘Sure thing. I’ll have to work out which of the plants like sunlight because there’s a lot of sunlight in this building.’ Deb tugged off her shoes and prepared to get stuck into the work. ‘This place is epic.’
‘Whatever you need to do.’ Deciding that the reason the staff appeared to have no internal radar warning them of danger was because they’d worked for her father for so long, Polly frantically tried to distract their new boss. ‘Perhaps we should have the meeting in your office as there is going to be some disruption on this floor.’
‘Disruption appears to be a comfortable working environment for you. Are those—’ he did a double take as Debbie reached into another box and, together with Jen, lifted out a huge bucket ‘—fish?’
Oh, God…
‘You gave us four hours’ notice of an office move,’ Polly muttered. ‘There wasn’t time to negotiate relocation. We’ll have the tank set up in no time and no one is even going to know they’re here.’
‘Tank?!’
‘You’re the one who insisted the whole company move here. The fish are part of the company.’
‘You keep fish?’
‘Look at it this way. They’re not going to bother anyone and you don’t have to pay them. They’re motivational without being costly.’
Her feeble attempt to lighten the situation fell flat. Damon Doukakis didn’t smile. Instead he turned his gaze on Polly. Silence spread across the room and Polly was hideously aware that everyone was listening.
The atmosphere changed from one of carnival to one of consternation.
Pinned by that intense, dark stare Polly felt his disapproval slam into her with lethal force.
‘My office,’ he growled. ‘Right now.’
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_ee69c775-268b-56c6-8f37-ac3f301242da)
‘TAKE my calls, Janey.’ Dropping his phone onto his PA’s desk, Damon strode into his office with Polly following close behind.
The moment he heard the door close, he turned, intending to launch a blistering attack on the sloppy, unprofessional attitude of her staff, but the sight of her swaying in the centre of his enormous office killed the words before they left his mouth.
He’d never seen anyone more miserable or more ex hausted.
Whatever else was going on, he could see Polly Prince had had one hell of a week. It couldn’t have been easy watching her cushy life slip through her fingers. A few more strands of that shiny blonde hair had escaped from the restraining clip on top of her head, there were black smudges under her violet eyes, and her cheeks were the same pristine white as his shirt.
Standing in the centre of his enormous office, she reminded him of a lone gazelle that had lost the rest of its herd.
‘What?’ She was watching him warily. ‘Do you think you could stop frowning at everyone? It’s really hard to operate in an atmosphere of terror.’
‘I do not create an atmosphere of terror.’
‘How do you know? You’re not the one on the receiving end.’
‘We do three-hundred-and-sixty-degree reviews here. If staff feel afraid, they have the opportunity to say so.’
‘Unless they’re too afraid to say so.’ Tiredness laced itself through her voice and suddenly her shoulders drooped slightly, as if the effort of maintaining all that attitude was just too much. ‘Look, I know you think I’m a complete waste of space and actually …’ She paused and pushed her hair away from her face. ‘Actually, I don’t completely blame you for that because all the evidence points in that direction, but sometimes things aren’t entirely as they seem.’
‘Your company is a circus. What exactly isn’t as it seems?’
‘We may look chaotic to you, but we work well in a relax, informal atmosphere. It helps us be creative.’
‘If that’s your way of asking if you can keep the fish, the answer is no. I don’t allow pets in my offices.’
‘Romeo and Juliet aren’t pets, exactly. They’re an integral part of the workforce. They cheer people up and staff motivation is hugely important. I’m asking you to relax your rigid principles for five minutes. You might be surprised what a bit of work enjoyment does.’
‘What I think,’ Damon said slowly, ‘is that the way you do business is sloppy and unprofessional.’ And the irony was, he wasn’t even interested in the business. He’d taken control in a desperate attempt to flush Peter Prince out of hiding but so far it hadn’t worked. There had been no contact.
The knowledge that Analisa could have called him and hadn’t added layers of pain and anxiety to his anger. She always accused him of being over-protective, and maybe he was, but was it really being over-protective to want to prevent someone you loved from being hurt?
The affair was doomed, and the thought of having to deal with a heartbroken Arianna sent a cold chill through his body.
Once before he’d held her as she’d sobbed and he never wanted to do that again. Never wanted to see his sister that sad.
Polly was frowning at him. ‘Look, I know this whole thing is a mess, but give me a chance.’ There was a desperate note to her voice. ‘Now that you’ve got rid of the board, I know I can turn this company around.’
‘You?’ Her astonishing claim momentarily distracted him from thoughts of his sister.
‘Yes, me. At least let me try.’
For the first time since he’d walked into the Prince headquarters, Damon felt like laughing. ‘You’re asking me to give you free rein to do more of what you’ve been doing?’
‘I know you won’t believe me but I do know what our business needs to make it successful.’
‘It needs someone at the helm who isn’t afraid to take tough decisions. The fish have to go. I’m not running an aquarium. All you need to do your job is a laptop and an internet connection. I assume you have heard of both those things?’
But he had to admit he was surprised by her vigorous and ongoing defence of the staff. She appeared to care passionately whether they lost their jobs or not.
Presumably it had finally come home to her that if the company crashed, she’d be out of a job and an inheritance.
So pale she looked as though she might pass out, she walked towards him and put a flash drive on his desk. ‘The file you want is on there. Look at the numbers. Ninety percent of our expenses were attributed to one percent of the staff. You just got rid of that one percent. Those same people were on the highest salaries but made the smallest contribution to the company. You just made a massive saving on our operating costs.’
Damon found himself distracted by the tempting curve of her lower lip. ‘I’m surprised you even know what an operating cost is.’
‘Please open the file.’
Ruthlessly deleting thoughts of sex, Damon slid the flash drive into his computer and opened the document. ‘Do I read from the beginning of this fairy story?’
‘It isn’t a fairy story. You’ll see from this that we’ve pitched for six new pieces of business in the last three months. We won all six accounts. One of those was against your own advertising team. We beat them. The client said our pitch was the most creative and exciting he’d seen.’ There was an energy and confidence about her that was at odds with his impression of her and Damon was genuinely surprised.
‘Creative and exciting doesn’t send a company bankrupt.’
‘No, but high overheads can. And so can bad management. We suffered from both.’
‘Your father was in charge. Who exactly are you blaming?’
‘Blame is a waste of time. I’m just asking you to look at the facts and help us move forward.’ She hesitated. ‘I know you’re good at what you do, but we’re good too. Together we could be incredible. I’ll be downstairs helping the staff settle in if you want to talk about this. Start by looking at these figures.’ She leaned across his desk and pressed a key on his computer and a strand of that rebellious hair floated against his cheek, soft as down.
Damon lifted a hand to brush it away at the same time she did and her fingers tangled with his. Scarlet-faced, she jumped back, clearly as horrified by the contact as he was.
‘You don’t need my help with this—just—it’s self-explanatory.’ She tucked the offending strand behind her ear and Damon watched, transfixed by those delicate fingers tipped with painted nails.
‘Is that—?’ His attention caught, he narrowed his eyes and squinted at her nails but she quickly whipped her hands behind her back.
‘Just take a look at that presentation.’
‘Show me your hands.’
There was a mutinous flash in her eyes but she stuck out her hands. ‘There.’
‘You have a skull and crossbones painted on your nails.’
‘It’s called nail art. I use different stencils.’
‘And you chose a skull and crossbones for today?’
She gave a tiny shrug. ‘It seemed appropriate. Look, I know you think this is all frivolous but one of our clients owns a major brand in nail colour. We did a fantastic cover mount on one of the big women’s glossies last summer, and—Never mind—it’s all in the figures. What are you doing?’ The stream of nervous chatter died as he took her hands firmly in his.
Making a sound in her throat, she gave a little pull but Damon tightened his grip. Her hands were smooth and delicate and he was blinded by a sudden image of those slim fingers closing around a certain part of him.
Raw sexual awareness burned through his body, brutal in its intensity. He felt her hands tremble in his. The confidence and assurance melted away from her, leaving confusion in its place.
Damon wondered if the air-conditioning in his office had broken. The atmosphere had suddenly become heavy and oppressive.
Even as he was in the process of reminding himself that this girl’s father was the source of his current problems, she snatched her hands away and stepped back. ‘I’ll leave you to read the presentation.’
Damon felt mildly disorientated.
What the hell was he doing?
‘Yes. Go.’ If she hadn’t already been leaving of her own free will he would have ejected her from his office with supersonic speed. Not wanting to examine his own behaviour too closely, he dragged his gaze back to the document on the screen but all he saw was golden hair and long nails.
Forcing himself to focus, he concentrated on the first slide. One glance told him that it had been prepared by someone computer literate and numerate. In fact it was the first sign of professionalism he’d seen since he walked through the doors of Prince Advertising.
He stopped thinking about Analisa and analysed the data in front of him.
‘Wait—’ He stopped her as she reached the door. ‘Who did this?’ His rough demand was met by a long, pulsing silence and then she turned to face him.
‘I did.’
‘You mean Mr Anderson gave you the information and you collated it.’
‘No, I mean I put together the information I thought you’d need to be able to make an informed decision about the future of the company.’
Damon glanced at the complexity of the data on the screen and then back at her. ‘I consider it a serious offence to take credit for someone else’s work.’
A wry smile tilted the corners of her mouth. ‘Really? It makes a refreshing change to hear that from someone in authority. Maybe we’ll work well together after all.’
Damon stared at the spreadsheet, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. ‘What exactly was your official role in the company?’
‘I was my father’s executive assistant, which basically means I did a bit of everything.’
A bit of everything. ‘So this isn’t Mr Anderson’s spreadsheet?’
‘Mr Anderson couldn’t switch the laptop on, let alone create a spreadsheet.’
Damon leaned back in his chair. ‘So you’re good with computers?’
‘I’m good with a lot of things, Mr Doukakis. Just because I wear pink tights and have fun with my nails it doesn’t make me stupid any more than wearing jeans would make you approachable.’ She still had her hand on the door handle, as if she was ready to run at a moment’s notice. ‘I need to get back downstairs. Having your future in someone else’s hands is very traumatic for everyone. It would mean a lot if next time you go down there you could maybe smile or say an encouraging word.’
‘They should be grateful I’ve taken control. Without me your business would have been bankrupt within three months.’ And in an attempt to protect his sister he’d landed himself with still more responsibility for jobs and lives. He felt like Atlas, holding the heavens on his shoulders.
‘We’ve had problems with our cash flow, but—’
‘Is there any part of the business you haven’t had problems with?’
‘The clients love us because we’re very creative.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘All I want is your assurance that there will be no redundancies.’
‘I can’t make that assurance until I’ve unravelled the mess your father has created.’
‘I know parts of the business have problems. I’m not going to pretend they don’t. But I’m asking you to look deeper and learn about how we work before you make an irrational decision.’
‘Irrational?’ Brows raised with incredulity, Damon leaned forwards in his chair. ‘You think I make irrational decisions?’
‘Normally, no. But in this case—’ she breathed slowly ‘—yes. I think you’re so angry with my father, and you feel so helpless about your sister, you were willing to do anything that might give you back some element of control. And as for the way you feel about me—you haven’t forgotten I’m the reason your sister was permanently excluded from school at fourteen. I really messed that up, I admit it, but don’t use something I did ten years ago to punish the staff. That wouldn’t be fair.’
Damon sat still, forced to acknowledge that there was at least a partial truth in her accusation. Had he been unfair to judge her on something that had happened when she was still young? ‘Go and settle the staff in downstairs.’ His tone was rougher than he’d intended. ‘I’ll call you if I have any questions.’
An hour later he had more questions than he had answers. Exasperated, he hit a button on his phone and summoned his finance director. ‘Ellen, can you come in here?’ His eyes still fixed on his computer screen, he drummed his fingers impatiently on the desk. ‘And bring the salary details for the Prince people. There’s something wrong with the numbers.’
Moments later he was staring at another set of figures that still didn’t make sense. Trying to unravel the puzzle, he stood up abruptly. ‘According to this information, all of these people took a salary cut six months ago. And his daughter has barely been paid a living wage for the past two years.’
‘I know. I’ve been going over the figures too.’ Ellen spread the summary pages over his desk. ‘The company is barely afloat. It’s a small agency with the overheads of a big agency.’
‘But the board are primarily responsible for those overheads.’ Polly Prince had been right in her assessment, he thought grimly. The board had been sucking the company dry. First-class flights. Elaborate lunches. Thousand-pound bottles of vintage wine… The list went on and on.
‘They’re in serious financial trouble. They’ve been hit by the economic downturn but made no compensatory moves. Peter Prince badly needed to trim staff. Instead they appear to have agreed to take a cut rather than allow anyone to be laid off.’ Ellen adjusted her glasses. ‘The business is a mess of course, but you knew that when you bought it. On the plus side they have some surprisingly good accounts and somehow they’ve just won a major piece of business with the French company Santenne. Their leading brand is High Kick Hosiery. That’s going to be huge. Didn’t our people pitch for that?’
‘Yes.’ The news that they’d lost out to Prince Advertising did nothing to improve Damon’s mood. ‘So how did Prince win it? They’re the most shambolic operation I’ve ever encountered.’
‘That’s true. Financially and structurally they’re a disaster. Creatively—well, I assume you’ve seen this?’ A strange light in her eyes, his finance director handed him a folder she’d brought with her.
‘I haven’t seen anything.’
‘But you always research companies so carefully.’
‘Well this time I didn’t.’ His tone was irritable and Ellen looked at him calmly.
‘We’ve worked together a long time, Damon. Do you want to talk about this?’
‘No.’ Damon shook his head and lifted a hand. ‘Don’t ask.’
‘I’m guessing this has something to do with your sister.’ Her tone was sympathetic. ‘She’s lucky to have you looking out for her.’
‘I wish she felt the same way.’
‘That’s because she takes your love for granted. Which is a compliment. It means she feels secure. Trust me, I know. I have teenagers. You’ve done a good job.’
It didn’t feel that way, but the prospect of discussing it horrified him almost as much as the situation itself. ‘About this company—’
‘It’s not all bad news.’ Fortunately Ellen took the hint and changed the subject. ‘There is a creative brain at work there. You just need to harness it.’
Damon opened the file and slowly flicked through the pages. Pausing, he lifted a glossy advert featuring a teenager in a nightclub. ‘That’s clever.’
‘It’s all clever. And creative. The customer profiling is spot on. Their use of social networking is astonishingly astute. My eldest has been nagging me to buy this for months, all based on the pester power generated by their campaign.’
His interest piqued, Damon flicked through rest of the folio. ‘The creative thinking is original.’ He frowned down at the tagline under a famous brand of running shoes. ‘“Run, breathe, live.” It’s good.’ Staring at the work, he remembered Polly’s words.
‘Clients love us. We’re very creative.’
‘Their sales have quadrupled since that campaign went live. They tapped into the whole lifestyle thing. There is no doubt that Prince Advertising is a mess, but there’s at least one person in the company who is exceptional. I’d go as far as to say they’re afloat purely because of the talents of their creative director. Who is he?’
‘His name was Michael Anderson and I fired him.’ Damon was staring down at the pages in front of him. ‘And there’s no way these ideas came from him. The man didn’t have an original thought in his head.’
‘Maybe it was Prince himself?’
Just thinking of Peter Prince sent Damon’s tension levels shooting skyward. ‘He’s in his fifties and he’s notorious for abandoning the company when it suits him. From what I can gather he treats it more as a hobby than a business. This stuff is young. Fresh. Visionary.’
Ellen smiled. ‘And fun.’
Fun.
Damon thought of the skull and crossbones on Polly’s nails. The hot pink tights. The fish on the desk. The party atmosphere that hit him every time he went near the staff. ‘They certainly have an interesting work ethic.’
‘So if it wasn’t the creative director, who’s coming up with the ideas?’ Ellen gathered up the papers. ‘Thanks to their creativity they have some major pieces of business. Their billing is haphazard, their cash flow is a nightmare, but we can sort that—’ she shrugged ‘—and absorb them into our business. Just make sure we don’t lose the brain behind these campaigns. We need to find out who it is and lock them into a watertight contract. Any idea who it could be?’
‘No.’ Mentally scrolling through the people he’d met, Damon closed the file. ‘But I intend to find out immediately. And I know just the person to ask.’
By seven o’clock Polly was the only one left on her floor of the office. She’d spent the latter half of the day juggling problems and soothing frayed nerves while taking endless calls from anxious clients who had seen news of the takeover on the TV.
‘Mr Peters, I think we should be reviewing the whole media mix.’ Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she talked into her headset so that her hands were free to unpack the last of the boxes, ‘Yes, it’s true that Mr Anderson has gone.’ She retrieved a packet of balloons from the bottom of the box and slid them into her desk. ‘But there are other people more than qualified to advise you on the best strategy.’ Like me, she thought, rescuing the charger for her BlackBerry and adding it to the stuff accumulating in the drawer. ‘I’m going to schedule a meeting in your diary, get the team to put together some ideas and then we’ll present them to you. I promise you will be blown away by our ideas … Uhuh … mmm, definitely … absolutely top priority.’
When she finally hung up, she keyed in the task to the ever-growing to-do list in her BlackBerry and carried on sorting out her desk area. The rest of the staff had gone home hours before, all apparently excited by the prospect of riding down to street level in the glass elevator.
Left alone, Polly removed her boots and settled down to an evening of hard work. Darkness spread slowly over the city as she worked her way steadily through her calls. After a few hours she glanced up at the towering panes of glass and saw that the view had changed from daytime city-slick to nighttime sparkle and she paused for a moment, captivated by the wide-angled view of London at night. The moon sent a sliver of light across the River Thames and for the first time in a horrid, hideous week she felt peaceful.
Maybe, just maybe, this could turn out to be a good thing. Damon Doukakis was probably one of the few people with the talent to turn the company round, providing he didn’t fire all of them first.
Romeo and Juliet seemed happy enough in their new surroundings and Polly had discovered that there were enough workstations for everyone without having to operate the Doukakis ‘hot desk’ system. She wondered how his employees must feel, coming to work every day and sitting down at an empty, featureless surface, greeted by nothing more than a power point and a phone socket.
Damon Doukakis was focused on the success of his business to the exclusion of everything else.
She paused in the middle of deleting an e-mail.
Well, not quite everything else.
Her cheeks burned and she stared down at her hands, remembering. The attraction had been like a searing blade, driven straight through her. And she was pretty sure he’d felt it too.
He’d looked horrified, she remembered, which should have dented her ego except that she was a realist. There was no way he would sully himself with a mongrel like her. She’d seen enough pictures of him in the gossip columns to know that the women he chose were sleek and groomed. Elegant. Dignified. Controlled. Everything about his life was ruthlessly controlled, from work to women.
Polly looked down at herself. The women he dated would no more dream of sitting shoeless and cross-legged on the floor unpacking a box than they would be seen in public without perfectly blow-dried hair.
Wondering why she was wasting time thinking about what sort of women Damon Doukakis dated, Polly finished emptying the box and put it ready for recycling.
Her desk was covered in pink sticky notes with various phone messages taken by Debbie while she’d been on the phone to other people.
Urgent. Call Vernon White about the Honey Hair campaign.
Ring the media buyer at Cool Campaigns about the media strategy for Fresh Mouth mints.
David Mills from Fox Consumer wants to talk urgently …
Urgent, urgent, urgent. It was all urgent. She felt a rush of panic as she contemplated all the work she still had to do. Everyone had heard the news of the takeover and was wondering whether Prince Advertising was going to exist in a month. And she couldn’t give them an answer. She had no idea what Damon Doukakis intended to do so all she could do was sound positive and up-beat.
Knowing that if all her clients walked in the opposite direction then the staff would definitely lose their jobs, Polly peeled off the notes one by one and added the calls to the list. Then she settled back into her cross-legged position on the floor and worked out a priority for the morning.
She was wondering whether it would be any help to get a second phone, when she heard the swish of a door opening and saw Damon Doukakis striding towards her.
Her confidence melted away like chocolate held in a child’s palm.
When it came to work she was more than ready to fight her corner but she had no idea how to fight these other feelings that squirmed inside her whenever she was in the same room as him.
Once glance at the exquisitely cut black dinner jacket and bowtie told her that his plans for the evening were infinitely more exciting than hers and she held her breath as he approached. His startling good-looks made it impossible to do anything but stare when he was in the room. It didn’t help that he carried himself with that inborn confidence that seemed genetically embedded in people born into wealth. It had been years since she’d felt that awful creeping sense of inferiority but she felt it now as she stood trapped by those glittering dark eyes.
Polly’s head began to spin and suddenly she was glad she was sitting down, because at least sitting down didn’t require strength in one’s legs. It was just the tiredness, she told herself. Nothing more. He wasn’t that gorgeous.
As he stood looking down at her from his formidable height, she was forced to revise that opinion. OK, so maybe he was gorgeous. To look at. But it was all on the surface.
Feeling out of her depth, she made a vague attempt to defuse the crackling tension. ‘Nice outfit. I didn’t know you had a second job as a waiter.’
There was no answering smile and she felt a flash of relief. There was no way she could ever find a man without a sense of humour remotely attractive, even if he did have an incredible body that did miracles for a dinner jacket. She told herself that the flutter of nerves in her stomach was down to the ominous look in his eyes as he scanned her appearance.
‘Theé mou, why are you sitting on the floor? Where are your boots?’
‘Under the desk. I was emptying boxes and my heels kept catching in my hem—’ Realising that his eyes were fixed on her legs, she felt her body heat. ‘Never mind. I promise to wear shoes when I see a client, so save the lecture.’
‘You have absolutely no—’ He broke off in mid-sentence, his attention snagged by the dramatic transformation of his previously ordered office space. ‘What happened here?’
‘You told us we could do what we wanted with the space.’ Knowing that she sounded defensive, Polly scrambled up from the floor, acutely conscious of his height now that she wasn’t wearing her heels. She followed his appalled gaze and saw the calendar of half-naked firemen someone had stuck to one of the steel rods that supported the ceiling. Oops. ‘That was a project we did for one of our clients. It’s a photographic masterpiece, don’t you think? We put it up because it helps us to think creatively.’
A dark brow lifted in mockery. ‘The more I discover about your creative process, the more fascinated I am.’
Polly shrugged awkwardly. ‘I accept we’re a bit more—er—informal than you, but to be honest the whole “hot desk” thing doesn’t really work for us. I think we’re very possibly cold desk people. Or maybe lukewarm desk. We like knowing where we’re going to sit instead of playing musical chairs when we come to work every day. We like having a home. A little space to call our own.’
‘The place looks like a Sunday market.’ He picked up the pink fluffy pen she always kept on her desk, his gaze incredulous. ‘What do you do with this thing?’
‘I write with it. If I’m brainstorming ideas I need to doodle on paper. It helps me think.’ Exhausted, her head throbbing, Polly wished she’d hidden the pen. ‘It’s my happy pen. I like it. It makes me smile and I’m more creative when I’m happy.’
‘Well, that’s good, because obviously your happiness is my first priority.’ His silky-smooth tone held a deadly edge. ‘Talking of happiness, how are the fish settling in? Are they homesick? Enjoying the view? Anything I can get them to make them feel more comfortable?’
She decided to ignore the sarcasm. ‘Just don’t get too close. They’re afraid of sharks.’
‘I am not a shark, Miss Prince.’
‘You just gobbled up my father’s company in one mouthful so forgive me if I disagree with you.’
‘We both know I have no interest in your father’s business.’
‘Which is a shame, because you’re stuck with us now.’ Suddenly she appreciated the irony of it. ‘You’re stuck with our pink, fluffy, fish-loving approach to business and we’re stuck with your empty-desk-eyes-forward-don’t-anybody-laugh ethos. Interesting times ahead.’
Suddenly, Polly was too tired to fight and she surreptitiously slid her pink notebook under a file in the hope that it wouldn’t draw his attention. ‘Can I please have my pen back? It’s a lucky pen. All my best creative ideas have come while I’m holding it.’
The bold curve of his brows came together in a frown and she wondered what she’d said this time. He obviously thought she was a complete numbskull. ‘Could you stop frowning? It’s so unsettling. We’re used to working in a positive atmosphere.’
He studied her for a long moment and then dropped the pen back on her desk. ‘Have you heard from your father?’
‘No.’
‘Doesn’t the man ever call you?’
With that single sentence he unwittingly dug a knife into the most vulnerable part of her. Afraid he might see the hurt, Polly kept her eyes down. ‘We live independent lives.’ And not for anything would she betray how much this latest episode was upsetting her. She wasn’t going to give Damon Doukakis the satisfaction of knowing she was as miserable about the whole thing as he was. ‘Was that all? Because I’m pretty busy.’
There was a brief silence and then he surprised her. ‘You look exhausted. You need to stop for the day.’
The fact that he’d noticed sent a flicker of warmth through her body and that feeling frightened her more than the power he wielded. The last thing she needed was to think of him as sympathetic. ‘I can’t stop for the day. My boss thinks I’m a lazy slacker and I have another million phone calls to make before I go home.’
‘You can’t go home.’ He picked up a stuffed bear she kept on her desk and studied it with an air of baffled incredulity. ‘There is a mob of journalists outside just waiting for one of us to leave so that they can bombard us with questions.’
Polly snatched the bear out of his hands. ‘I’m not scared of journalists.’
‘I’m not talking about a few intrusive questions.’ He was still looking at the bear as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. ‘I’m talking about a horde of people hungry for juicy scandal. You and the stuffed bear can stay in the apartment tonight.’ He reached into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew a plastic card. ‘Take the lift up to the top floor. This opens the door. The security is more sophisticated than the Bank of England. You’ll be safe there.’
He was offering her sanctuary from the press?
The unexpected gesture destabilised her. Staying in the apartment would mean she could carry on working and clear some of the backload. ‘Well, that’s—if you’re—thanks,’ she said gruffly. ‘How do you plan to avoid them?’
‘My car is in the underground car park.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I have to go, but tomorrow we’re going to talk about that presentation of yours. I have questions.’
‘Right. But I can’t talk tomorrow. I’m going to Paris for a client meeting.’
‘What time is your flight?’
‘I’m not flying, I’m catching the train. It leaves at seven- thirty. The meeting is in the evening.’ Realising how that sounded, she coloured. ‘They moved the meeting after I booked my train.’
‘And you thought you’d have a day in Paris.’ The brief moment of harmony had been blown away and contempt was stamped on his hard, handsome face.
His continued censure was too much for her after a long and stressful day and she glared at him defensively. ‘It was an economy ticket. I couldn’t move it.’
‘I’ve seen the company expense account.’
‘No, you’ve seen the directors’ expense account.’
‘Who are you meeting in Paris?’
‘Gérard Bonnel, the Vice President of Marketing for Santenne. He was there when we pitched for the business. Now he wants to go over our ideas.’
‘You cannot meet someone of Gérard’s seniority on your own. I’ll come with you. And for God’s sake wear a suit before you come face to face with a client.’
Polly opened her mouth to argue but he was already striding across the floor towards the elevator.
Her confidence well and truly punctured, she stared after him and decided that she’d rather stab herself in the eye than sleep in his apartment. So what if a few journalists were waiting for her outside? She’d dealt with journalists before. And she was so tired and moody they’d probably take one look at her face and realise the danger of getting too close.
Exhausted and dejected, Polly worked for another hour and then pushed her feet into her boots, dropped her phone into her pocket and enjoyed the silent, panoramic downward glide in the elevator. The thought of Damon Doukakis joining her on her trip to Paris horrified her. She just wanted to get on with her work and avoid him as much as possible.
She was just wondering whether there was some way she could lose him at the train station when the lift doors opened onto the foyer.
Glancing towards the security guard who was occupied with a group of people at the desk, she stepped out onto the street and was instantly mobbed.
‘Polly, do you have a statement about Damon Doukakis taking over your father’s company?’
‘Have you heard from him?’
‘Is there any truth in the rumour that he’s with Damon’s sister?’
An elbow lanced her kidneys and Polly winced and turned. ‘Ow! Just mind where you—’ Jostled and pushed, she lost her balance and her head smashed against something hard and cold. There was a blinding flash and something hot and wet trickled down her face.
Blood, she thought dizzily, and then the world went black.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_af909b7a-0f4f-5e1e-8957-042a871ceb78)
‘SHE what? Which hospital?’ Abandoning his date in the middle of dinner, Damon pocketed his phone and strode out to the limo, his security team clearing the throng of journalists who haunted his every move. ‘How badly is she hurt?’
‘The hospital wouldn’t give details, sir.’ Franco, his driver, manoeuvred skilfully through the heavy London traffic. ‘Just told me it was a head injury, but they’re keeping her in overnight so it must be bad.’
Undoing his bow tie with a few flicks of his fingers, Damon leaned back against the seat of the car and attempted to rein in his frustration.
Why the hell had she left the building? He’d left precise instructions that she should stay in the apartment. Instructions she’d apparently ignored.
The girl was an utter disaster.
Part of him was tempted to leave her to suffer for her own stupidity but another part was acutely aware that she was on her own in hospital and no one knew how to contact her father.
A thought suddenly occurred to him. ‘Ring the press anonymously, Franco. Make sure they know she’s in hospital.’
His driver glanced in the rearview mirror. ‘They put her there, boss.’
‘I don’t mean the tabloids, I mean broadcast media. Ring the news desk. Tell them that Miss Prince has been badly injured in an accident and we don’t know how long she’ll be in hospital. Keep it vague and worrying. I want the story on the next news headlines. With pictures, to make sure they know which hospital.’
Surely hearing news that his only daughter was in hospital should flush Peter Prince out from hiding?
Optimistic that this latest development could be turned to his advantage, Damon forced himself to relax as they negotiated traffic but his underlying concern for his sister was growing with every hour she failed to make contact.
Arianna had been six years old when their parents had died. Landed with the towering responsibility of caring for her, Damon had grown up overnight. He’d understood that she was now his responsibility. That it was his job to prevent his little sister from being hurt. What he hadn’t realised it was that the biggest threat to her happiness would come from Arianna herself.
What if she did something stupid like marrying the guy?
Fifteen minutes later his limousine pulled up in the ambulance bay of the large city hospital and Damon sprang from the car and strode into the emergency department, relieved to be able to focus on something other than the dubious life choices made by his sister.
The hospital was heaving but the crowd of people at the desk took one look at him and parted like the Red Sea.
The receptionist immediately sat up straight and smoothed her hair. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I’m looking for a friend of mine.’ Damon bestowed his most winning smile on the dazzled woman. ‘Polly Prince. She was knocked out and brought in by ambulance. I expect she’s on a trolley somewhere.’
‘Prince—Prince—’ Her expression glazed, the girl finally dragged her eyes from his face and checked the records. ‘Cubicle One. But you can’t—’
‘Is that left or right?’ Well aware of the effect he had on women, Damon wasn’t afraid to use it to his advantage when it suited him. ‘I’m so grateful for your help.’
‘Left through the double doors,’ she said breathlessly. ‘The doctor is with her.’
‘Efaristo. Thank you.’ Flashing her a smile, he strode through the doors before anyone had time to challenge him and found himself in a cubicle, empty except for a doctor who looked as though she were about to explode.
Damon felt a flash of empathy. ‘Don’t tell me. You just had an encounter with Polly and now you need to go to anger management classes.’ In one glance he took in the empty trolley and the bloodstained bandage. ‘Where is she?’
‘She just discharged herself against medical advice. We wanted to admit her for twenty-four hours observation but she says she can’t possibly stay because she has things she has to do. She’s certainly a strong minded young woman.’
Damon thought back to that day at the school when Polly had stuck out her chin and resolutely refused to explain her outrageous behaviour to anyone. Strong-minded was a polite description. ‘Why did she discharge herself?’
‘She said she had too much to do, but what she should be doing is lying down and resting. She’s had a nasty bang on the head.’ Clearly annoyed, the doctor slipped her stethoscope back into her pocket. ‘She mentioned a trip to Paris and a meeting with an important client. We couldn’t get her to let go of her phone. It was welded to her hand right the way through my examination.’ The doctor relented. ‘I have to admit her dedication impressed me.’
Struggling to reconcile the word ‘dedication’ with Polly, Damon wondered if he and the doctor were talking about the same person. ‘So you’re saying that you advised her to stay in, but she walked out?’
‘That’s right. She’ll probably be all right at home as long as she isn’t on her own. Just make sure you know what to look out for and you can bring her back in if anything about her condition unsettles you.’
Damon didn’t waste time correcting the doctor’s assumption that he’d be spending the night with Polly. Instead he scanned the exits. ‘Which way did she go?’
‘She went out of the ambulance entrance. She said she had a lift home.’ Puzzled, the doctor looked at him. ‘I assumed that was why you were here?’
But Damon was already on his way out of the door, his phone in his hand as he instructed his driver to bring the car round. ‘Have you seen Polly Prince?’
‘No.’
Damon swore fluently and then looked around him. Even this late in the evening the hospital was buzzing with activity. There was no sign of Polly. ‘Which is the nearest underground station?’
‘I believe it’s Monument, boss.’
Following a hunch, Damon slid into the car. ‘Let’s go. Take the most obvious pedestrian route.’
Within two minutes he saw her, walking with her head down and her shoulders hunched, looking as though she were going to collapse at any minute.
‘Pull over.’ Damon sprang from the car and was next to her in three strides. ‘Theé mou, do you have a death wish? First you leave the office when I warn you about the mob, and then you discharge yourself from hospital against doctor’s orders. What is wrong with you? Why do you have this urge to do the opposite of what you’re told?’
‘Damon?’ Bemused, she turned her head and he saw the bloody streaks in her blonde hair and the purple shadow darkening one side of her face.
‘Maledizione. They hit you?’
Looking distinctly disorientated, she glanced from him to the limousine and then back again. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were on a date.’
‘I was told you’d had an accident.’
‘But what is that to do with you?’
‘Naturally I immediately went to the hospital.’
‘Why “naturally”? Why would you even care that I was in hospital? You’re not my next of kin.’
Frustrated that she would question what had been a natural decision to him, Damon raked his hand through his hair. ‘Your father is absent and clearly you couldn’t be left to cope with something like that alone.’
‘I deal with things on my own all the time. And, frankly, from the way you’ve been speaking to me all day I was under the distinct impression that given half a chance you’d put me in the hospital yourself. Are you telling me that you abandoned your date because you heard I was hurt?’
‘I didn’t “abandon” her,’ Damon breathed. ‘I arranged for her to be driven home.’
‘But you deprived her of the pleasure of your company and the promise of bedroom athletics. Wow.’ Her mouth tilted into a crooked smile. ‘Poor her.’
Ignoring her flippant tone, Damon lifted a hand and touched the side of her head. ‘What the hell happened?’
‘They jostled me and I lost my balance and fell into a camera. It had hard edges. But I’m fine. It was kind of you to check on me, but I can get myself home.’ She tried to dodge past him and he caught her arms in tight grip. Her body brushed against his and the subtle scent of her perfume wound itself around his senses.
He gritted his teeth, wondering why control was such an effort when he was with her. ‘You cannot travel on the underground and you’re not supposed to be sleeping alone tonight.’
‘Are you volunteering to sleep with me?’ She gave an awkward laugh. ‘I wish you could see your face. Relax. I know you’d rather cuddle up with a bed bug than have me in your sheets.’
Damon, who had a disturbingly clear idea of what he’d do to her if she were in his sheets, ignored that comment. ‘Why did you discharge yourself?’
‘I have to go to Paris tomorrow and I still have some ideas to finish off.’
‘Obviously you won’t now be going to Paris in the morning.’ Damon drew her towards him as a group of passers-by jostled them.
‘Yes, I will.’
‘If your father were here, he’d stop you going.’
She didn’t look at him. ‘No, he wouldn’t. I make my own decisions about what I do, and I’m going to Paris.’ Twisting herself out of his grip, she turned and carried on walking towards the underground station.
Never having encountered anyone quite as stubborn as Polly, Damon stood for a moment, his emotions veering between exasperation and concern. Clearly she wasn’t prepared to listen to reason so what was he supposed to do? Fling her over his shoulder?
Noticing two men staring hard at her legs, Damon decided that wasn’t a bad idea. In four strides he caught up with her. ‘Why is it so important that you get to Paris tomorrow? Are you sleeping with the client or something?’
A choked sound came from her throat and she stopped dead. ‘You really do have a high opinion of me, don’t you?’
Heat crawled up the back of his neck. ‘I know Gérard. Like most Frenchmen, he appreciates a beautiful woman. And you are arriving nine hours before your meeting.’
‘Which naturally means I’m leaving plenty of time for afternoon sex before we move from bedroom to boardroom, is that it?’ Ignoring the flow of people around them, she fixed those blue eyes on him. ‘Make up your mind. This morning you told me I looked like a flamingo and now you think I’ve turned into a femme fatale? Or does a bruised head suddenly make you feel all protective and macho or something?’
He wasn’t sure what he was feeling and Damon certainly didn’t need her to question behaviour that he was already questioning himself. ‘I’m just asking myself what makes this meeting so important that you’d discharge yourself from hospital against medical advice.’
‘Everybody’s jobs are under threat. He’s a new client and I work in the service industry!’ Hauling her bag more firmly onto her shoulder, she glared at a man who brushed past her. ‘And before you make another insensitive remark, not that sort of service industry.’ She turned away again but this time Damon shot out a hand and halted her escape.
‘You are intentionally misunderstanding everything I say to you.’
‘There is another interpretation for the phrase “you look like a flamingo”?’
‘I was commenting on the inappropriateness of your dress. I never said you weren’t beautiful.’ The words launched themselves from some unidentified part of his brain and his own shock mirrored the confusion he saw in her eyes. He released her immediately, disconcerted by the lethal sexual charge that seemed to power every contact, no matter how small. ‘Look—you can’t be on your own tonight and any minute now the press waiting in the hospital will realised you’ve legged it out of the back door. Get in the car before you’re mobbed for a second time.’
‘I don’t need a lift. And I have to go back to my house to get my things for the meeting tomorrow.’
‘I’m trying to help you.’
‘And I’m trying to tell you that I don’t need help. I handle things myself. I always have.’
‘Well, tonight I’m handling them.’ Damon held out his hand. ‘Give me your keys. Franco will drop us and then go on to your house to get whatever it is you need. You can make him a list in the car. I’ll decide if you’re well enough to go to Paris in the morning. Until then you’ll stay in the penthouse. If you’d done that the first time you wouldn’t be in this mess now.’
There was a stunned silence and then she gave a strangled laugh. ‘Do you always take control?’
‘When the situation demands it, yes.’
‘So you’re inviting me to stay at your place?’ Her eyes glinted a beautiful sapphire blue. ‘Aren’t you afraid I’ll throw a wild party? Sully the place with my wanton ways? You know me—I can’t resist any opportunity to indulge in men and alcohol.’
He ignored her reference to the incident at school. ‘Hopefully a bang on the head will quell your intrinsic desire to cause havoc. I’ll take the risk.’ Even as he said the words, part of him was wondering what the hell he was doing creating a situation where they’d be in close contact.
‘I appreciate the gesture, but I’m fine. I’m used to looking out for myself.’ She added that last observation in a gruff little voice that made him wonder exactly what role her father had played in her life.
Damon was about to probe further when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. ‘We have company. Let’s move.’
With that, Damon scooped her up and deposited her in the back seat of the limo, slamming the door shut just seconds before the press pack descended. ‘Drive.’
Polly had conflicting emotions as she stepped out of the car in the underground car park of the Doukakis Tower. Smarting at being literally dumped in the car, but relieved at having escaped the hungry press pack, she eyed the high security steel doors that had closed behind them. ‘The place is like a fortress.’
‘It can be a fortress when it needs to be.’ Without looking at her, Damon strode towards the elevator, his footsteps echoing on the concrete.
Polly followed more slowly, and not just because her whole body was starting to ache from her fall.
What was the matter with him now?
It was obvious that he was angry but she had no idea why.
Having locked her safely in the car, he’d proceeded to converse in Greek with his driver, leaving her to stare out of the tinted glass and stew in her own emotions.
‘Are you angry because I ruined your evening or because I don’t slavishly follow orders? Because I didn’t ask you to come to my rescue. I would have been fine.’
‘Which bit would have been fine, exactly?’ He strode into the elevator like a man on a mission and thumped his palm against the button. ‘The bit where you were knocked unconscious or the part where you discharged yourself from hospital against medical advice?’
‘I’m capable of making my own decisions.’
He looked unimpressed. ‘Anyone can make a decision. The skill is making the right one at the right time.’
‘That’s what I do.’
‘What you do, Miss Prince, is disagree with me on principle.’
‘That isn’t true.’
‘Isn’t it? You were about to be mobbed by journalists for a second time in one evening. Would you have got into the car if I hadn’t forced you?’
She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly realising just how much she’d inconvenienced him. ‘Yes, I would. If you’d given me time to think about it.’
‘We didn’t have time to debate options.’ His savage tone intensified her growing guilt.
‘I’m sorry! I loused up your evening and I feel bad about that. And I’m grateful to you for helping me out. I’m not just not—well, I’m not used to accepting help. It feels strange.’ Polly felt as small as a field mouse. Not only had he come to her rescue, he’d abandoned a hot date to come to the hospital and all she’d done was give him grief.
When had anyone ever come to her rescue before?
When had anyone given her any help?
A strange, unfamiliar feeling spread through her and she wondered whether the bang on the head had been worse than she’d thought. Suddenly she was relieved he’d forced her into the car. It felt as though a heavy metal rock group was rehearsing inside her skull and she was wondering whether discharging herself had been such a clever idea. Was it normal to feel this bad?
But she had to get to Paris, didn’t she? Winning the High Kick Hosiery account was crucial to the business. And they couldn’t afford to lose that business.
‘P?’ Polly focused her gritty, tired eyes on the glowing panel as the lift moved upwards. ‘P for prison? P for punishment?’
‘Penthouse.’
‘Of course. Penthouse. You live above the shop.’ Looking at him, she saw how tightly he held onto control and wondered what it took to make him snap. ‘I really am sorry I ruined your evening.’ Gingerly, she touched her fingers to her head. ‘I didn’t realise they’d be that eager for a story. How did you find out?’
‘My head of security rang me. He was close enough to see it happen, but not close enough to stop it. Why didn’t you stay at the hospital?’
‘I can’t stay in hospital. I have a very unsympathetic boss. He told me to take my lazy, useless self and do a proper day’s work.’
‘So I’m to blame for your decisions?’
‘Well those were your words but no, you’re not to blame. I would have done the same thing regardless of what you said. The meeting is important.’ The movement of the elevator was starting to make her feel sick. ‘It’s tough out there. If I don’t deliver, Gérard will just pick up the phone to the next agency on his list. I don’t want that to happen.’
‘I am not an unsympathetic boss.’ He spoke the words through gritted teeth. ‘And anyone with any sense would take time off after an injury like that. Or are you trying to impress me?’
‘I’m not stupid enough to think I could ever impress you.’ She wondered why being trapped in a confined space with him should make it hard to breathe. ‘I’m just trying to get the job done. The meeting tomorrow is important. With everything so unstable, I can’t not turn up. We worked hard to win that business and we need to show them that we can do a good job. Do you have any painkillers in your fancy apartment?’
He breathed deeply. ‘Yes.’ Even with his top button undone and his bow tie dangling round his neck, he looked sleek and handsome. He also looked supremely irritated.
Polly wondered about the woman he’d abandoned halfway through a date. Who was she? Someone exceptionally beautiful, obviously, who wouldn’t dream of wearing hot pink tights or writing with a fluffy pink pen.
She stole a glance at his profile.
No one had ever come to her rescue before. Even the time she’d come off the trampoline at school and broken her arm she’d had to get a taxi home from the hospital because no one had been able to contact her father. Confused by her own feelings, Polly looked away quickly. She was so used to rescuing herself that it felt strange having someone else step in. Thanking someone for help was a whole new experience. ‘You could go back and spend the rest of your evening with whoever she is. It isn’t too late. I don’t need a babysitter. I’m just going to have a bath, wash off the blood—that sort of thing. Go and finish your date.’
‘Since you seem determined to launch yourself from one disaster to another, you need supervision.’
Polly laughed and then wished she hadn’t because the movement amplified the pain in her head. Supervision? She hadn’t been supervised since she was a toddler. Right from the moment she could walk, her father had expected her to sort her own problems out.
Find a way, Pol.
‘Unless you’re planning on lying down on the bed next to me, I don’t see how you can supervise me.’ As his eyes met hers, she wished she hadn’t used those words. It was uncomfortably easy to think about sex around this man and she wasn’t used to thinking about sex. ‘I’m going to be fine. I just need painkillers and sleep, that’s all. I don’t need company for that.’
But the comfort she felt at knowing he was going to be close by shook her. Why did it matter? She’d never been a dependent sort of person. Just because the man had broad shoulders, it didn’t mean she had to lean on him.
Seriously unnerved, Polly was relieved when the elevator doors finally slid open and she could put some space between them.
Like everyone, she’d heard whispers and speculation about the duplex apartment that graced the top of the building. Everyone had. When the Doukakis Tower had been under construction there had been hushed talk of the penthouse with its three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of London, roof garden and glass enclosed heated swimming pool. None of the rumours had prepared her for reality.
‘Oh—’ Stunned into silence, she stared at the sparkling cityscape that stretched in every direction. The architect had created a space to maximise the view and yet had managed to merge contemporary with homely by dividing that space into distinct living areas.
Polly had never seen so much glass in one place. ‘Well—no one is ever going to suffer from claustrophobia here,’ she said faintly. ‘It’s amazing. Seriously cool.’
‘I like the feeling of space. My villa in Greece is modern. I like light.’
It was the first personal thing he’d said to her and Polly stood awkwardly, realising just how useless she was at making small talk with men. ‘You have a villa in Greece? Lucky you.’ God, what a lame response. No wonder he thought she was a complete idiot. He was obviously regretting playing nursemaid instead of continuing his date with someone who was no doubt a master at sophisticated conversation.
Chewing her lip, she decided to pretend he was a client. She never felt tongue-tied or awkward talking to clients, did she?
Damon gestured to the end of the room where the space narrowed. ‘You can use the guest suite at the end of this floor. I’ll show you where.’
Polly took one look at the thick white rugs covering the polished wooden floor and automatically tugged off her boots. Padding after him, she felt like a stray dog that had wandered into someone’s home. ‘It really is incredible.’ Gazing longingly at the deep, luxurious sofas, she followed him through the apartment. Despite the glass and the space it was surprisingly cosy and she felt a stab of envy. This man didn’t lie awake at night worrying about how to keep his company afloat and protect people’s jobs. He was so phenomenally successful his only worry about money would be how to count it all.
She caught a glimpse of a futuristic-looking kitchen and he intercepted her look.
‘Are you hungry? I can ask my chef to make you something.’
‘Not unless he does pasta with painkiller sauce. Honestly, I couldn’t eat. But thanks for the thought.’ For the first time Polly noticed the spiral staircase rising from the centre of the room. Cleverly lit by tiny spotlights, it looked like something from a fairy tale. She’d never considered herself remotely romantic, but suddenly she was wondering if he’d ever carried a woman up that transparent staircase the way he’d carried her to the car …
‘Polly?’ His rough tone cut through her daydream. Scarlet-faced, she followed him through to a large guest suite and caught her breath. Flames flickered in a sleek, contemporary fireplace and the bed was positioned to take advantage of the spectacular view. It was as if someone had twisted a million fairy lights around every building in London.
Any guest staying here would never want to leave, she thought wistfully.
‘The bathroom is through that door. You have blood in your hair—’ He lifted a hand and then lowered it again as if he was unsure whether to touch her or not.
The relentless pull of sexual awareness was like an invisible rope dragging them together.
With a faint frown he took a step backwards and they both started to talk at the same time.
‘I don’t expect—’
‘Do you want help?’
No one had ever asked her if she wanted help before and it threw her—but nowhere near as much as the sudden urge to say yes. It was only the thought of stripping off in front of him that kept her from accepting his offer. ‘I’ll be fine now. I appreciate you bothering.’ Part of her wished he hadn’t. By helping her he’d tipped the balance of emotion. To feel angry with him was ungrateful, but to feel grateful was uncomfortable. It felt strange, she realised, to know that someone was looking out for her, even if only because of a sense of duty. It turned out that his advice not to leave the building had been sound and when he’d heard she’d got herself in trouble he’d come straight to help her.
Maybe he was ruthless, but he was also decent.
And horribly, terrifyingly attractive.
Damon reached forward and pressed a button by the bed. The cuff of his shirt shifted, the movement revealing a strong wrist dusted with dark hairs. A television screen appeared in the wall but Polly didn’t notice. She was transfixed by the contrast between white silk and bronzed male skin.
She swallowed hard. This was worse than she’d thought.
She was in a seriously bad way if she found a man’s wrist sexy.
‘I’m expecting news of your accident to hit the headlines within the hour. If your father is watching, then he’s going to get in touch. If he tries to contact you I want you to dial two on the phone by the bed. It goes through to the master suite.’
Her mind was so busy creating an image of what he would look like naked that it took Polly a moment to process what he was saying. News of her accident? ‘There weren’t any TV cameras there. They were just photographers and a couple of reporters. It’s not going to be on the news.’
‘Yes, it is.’
His words sank slowly through her bruised skull. ‘But—you told them?’ Images of him naked vanished in an instant. It was as if someone had pulled the power cord on her brain. Sickness rose inside her and her cheeks flamed as she acknowledged her own gullibility. ‘Oh, my God—you used my accident as a publicity stunt.’
‘I was not responsible for your accident. You made the decision to leave the building and take on a pack of gossip-hungry journalists.’ His cool response was the final straw.
Reeling from the discovery that his help had been driven by a desire to flush her father out of hiding, Polly grabbed the door to the bathroom to steady herself. ‘And to think that just for a moment there I thought you were a nice guy who didn’t want me found dead on my own in the house.’ Her light tone painted a thin veneer over the hurt. ‘You should have talked to me before you went to all that trouble. I could have told you that it won’t make any difference to my father. I could be in Intensive Care and he still wouldn’t come.’
His dark brows were already locked in a deep frown as he digested her emotional confession. ‘You’re saying that your father would see the news that you’re in hospital and still not get in touch?’
His appalled response drove her mood lower still. If there was one thing worse than having a parent who didn’t care, it was the world knowing about it.
Why on earth had she told him that much?
It was the headache, she thought miserably. ‘Look, just leave me alone. I’ve had enough of you to last me a lifetime. I hope your conscience doesn’t keep you awake.’
He stared at her for a long moment and it was obvious he wanted to say more. Instead, his mouth tightened. ‘Don’t lock the door. If you collapse, I want to know.’
‘Why? So that you can call the paparazzi and have them take close-ups?’ Feeling worse than she’d ever felt in her life, Polly stalked into the bathroom, slammed the door and defiantly turned the key in the lock.
Damn.
Discovering that tears stung the cut next to her eye, she ground her teeth and held back the emotion, knowing that a crying fit would simply add to her throbbing headache.
‘Miserable man—vile, inhuman machine—’ Venting in front of the mirror, she wet the corner of a towel and gingerly touched her head. ‘Oww.’ Gritting her teeth, she tried to analyse why she felt so let down. She was used to looking out for herself, wasn’t she? She’d always done it. She didn’t need Damon Doukakis flying to her rescue.
So why did she feel so let down? Why did it matter that his reasons for dumping his date to come and find her had been self-serving?
Polly stared at her white face in the mirror.
Because, just for a moment, she’d been taken in by those distracting flashes of chemistry. Just for a moment she’d forgotten this was all about his sister and made the mistake of thinking he cared about her a little bit.
That was what you got for dropping your guard.
Trying to ignore the pain, she took her time in the bathroom, wanting to make sure he’d gone before she emerged.
When she finally opened the door, the room was empty.
On the bed was a suitcase, presumably packed with the clothes she’d put on the list.
Fantastic Franco obviously worked fast.
On the table next to the bed were painkillers and a jug of water.
Polly sniffed, determined not to be grateful. Delivering painkillers didn’t make him thoughtful.
She swallowed them and then pulled on the lacy shorts and camisole she wore to bed, trying not to think about the serious-faced Franco packing her clothes. Digging out her BlackBerry from her bag, she checked her e-mails. Having satisfied herself that there was nothing that couldn’t wait until the morning, she settled on top of the bed, pulled out her notebook and started to scribble down thoughts for the following day’s meeting. Determined to show Gérard that he’d done the right thing appointing them as his agency, she sketched out a few new ideas until drowsiness got the better of her and she flopped back onto the pillows.
His hand locked around a glass of whisky, Damon watched the news report from the hospital. There were stills of Polly being lifted into an ambulance, blood visible on her face, and an interview with the doctor who refused to comment on her patient’s condition. It was enough to drive to most laid-back parent to the nearest telephone.
But the phone remained ominously silent.
What would it take, he wondered, to flush Peter Prince out of his love nest? Clearly more than an injured daughter.
What sort of man saw that his daughter was in hospital and still didn’t call her?
Contemplating that question, Damon drained the whisky. Responsibility towards family flowed through him, as much a part of his being as the blood that was his life force. He could no more abdicate that responsibility than he could stop breathing.
From the moment the police had broken the news about his parents he’d buried his own feelings and focused all his energies on providing for his sister.
Clearly Peter Prince felt no such sense of obligation.
Damon thought back to that day a decade earlier when he’d received the call from the school. He’d walked out of an important meeting to go to his sister and, yes, he’d given her a hard time. Children, especially teenagers, needed rules and discipline. But his abiding memory of that day wasn’t anything to do with Arianna. It was of Polly Prince, standing in one corner of the office, alone and defiant as he’d torn strips off her. Alone. There had been no sign of her father. At the time, Damon had taken that evidence of lax parenting to be the reason his daughter had slid so far off the rails.
Now he was wondering whether ‘lax’ should be replaced with ‘absent’.
Just what part had the man played in Polly’s life?
His phone buzzed. As he answered the call Damon glanced towards the guest room but the door remained firmly closed and he wondered uneasily if he should have checked on her again. The doctor had told him she needed someone around.
Trying to block out an unsettling image of Polly stretched unconscious on the floor of the guest bathroom, he spoke to his pilot an then terminated the call and considered his options.
Of course she wasn’t unconscious.
The girl was tougher than Kevlar.
But the image stayed with him as he gave a soft curse and strode through the apartment towards the guest suite. One look, he promised himself. As long as she was breathing, he’d leave her alone.
Pushing open the door, he saw her curled up in a ball on top of the bed, a notebook face down on the white silk cover, ink from a discarded pen spreading black blotches across the delicate fabric.
But it wasn’t the ink that caught his attention. It was the exceptional pallor of her face. Remembering the doctor’s comment that she should have stayed in hospital, he crossed the room swiftly, his overriding emotion one of concern. Was the wound bleeding again? He gently pushed her hair away from her face and the soft strands flowed over his hand like liquid gold, the scent of it distracting him from his purpose.
Reminding himself that he was supposed to be checking her head, he stroked her hair back and studied her face.
There were dark violet shadows under her eyes and the livid bruise on her forehead was an angry smudge. Asleep, she looked younger than ever.
How did she feel, he wondered, knowing that her father didn’t care enough to call?
Staring down at her, he remembered the words she’d thrown at him in the boardroom.
‘If there’s an emergency, I’m expected to handle it.’
To her credit, she’d been trying to handle it all day. Whatever he might think of the way he used office space, there was no denying that she’d worked hard to help settle the staff into their new surroundings and she’d defended them with a passion that had surprised him.
Wondering how anyone so small could be so monumentally aggravating, Damon gently removed the offending pen from her limp fingers and put it on the table next to the bed.
As he leaned forward and pulled the duvet over her, the pink notebook tumbled onto the floor.
Damon retrieved it, smoothed the crumpled pages, and was about to close it when something caught his eye.
Run, breathe, live…
She’d scribbled the words over the pages of her notebook in scrawling, loopy handwriting but what caught his attention were the other combinations.
Run, live
Run right
Live to run
Feel alive
She’d obviously been playing with a million combinations in an attempt to come up with a tagline that worked for the brand.
His attention still fixed on the book, Damon sank onto the side of the bed. With no qualms about delving into her privacy, he flicked back to the beginning, reading what she’d written.
One thing stood out with startling, unsettling clarity.
He’d been completely and utterly wrong in his assessment of Polly Prince.
The creative brain behind every brilliant campaign belonged to the girl lying on the bed.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_3d8db3b9-6a8b-5855-9f31-b5a98a801010)
POLLY woke to an insistent buzzing sound. Cracking open one eye, she was dazzled by an intense beam of light and she gave a moan and stuck her head under the pillow. ‘Turn that spotlight off.’
‘It’s the sun.’
‘Well, what’s the sun doing up at this time?’ Irritable, she stuck her head under the pillow and then howled with pain as it brushed against her wound. ‘Ow. That hurts. And that noise is—’
‘You set the alarm on your phone.’ A strong bronzed hand appeared in front of her face and he picked up her BlackBerry and silenced the noise. ‘It’s six o’clock.’
‘Nooooo. It can’t be …’ Her voice was muffled by the pillow. ‘Go away.’
‘You are welcome to turn over and go back to sleep, but you’ve slept without moving all night and I wanted to know you were alive.’
‘I’m not alive. No one is ever truly alive at this hour of the morning.’ She gave a whimper and huddled under the covers. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘You feel ill?’ His voice was tight. ‘I will call the doctor and ask him to come.’
‘I don’t need a doctor. I’m always like this in the morning whether I’ve banged my head or not. I’m not a morning person. I have to wake up slowly in my own time. What are you doing in my room anyway? I suppose you’re sitting there planning new methods to use me to flush my father out of hiding. I’m just a worm on a hook.’ All the horrors of the night before rushed down on her and Polly touched her fingers to her forehead. ‘Did you put your hook through my head?’
‘No, but that’s still on my list of possible actions.’ He sounded exasperated. ‘Just for the record, I’m in your room because I was worried about you.’
‘How long have you been there?’
‘Most of the night. I slept in the chair. I wanted to be sure you didn’t develop any of the signs the doctor mentioned.’
Carefully, so that she didn’t brush her wound again, Polly cautiously removed the pillow and looked at him. Some time during the night he’d changed out of his tuxedo, discarded his bloodstained shirt and showered. Casually dressed in black jeans and a polo shirt, he looked every bit as striking as he did in a suit.
‘You don’t look like a guy who slept in a chair.’ He looked sickeningly energetic, she thought gloomily, resentful at being forced to start her day confronted by all that vibrant masculinity. ‘You watched me sleeping? Isn’t that a little creepy?’
‘It’s boring. You’re not very exciting when you’re asleep.’ Despite the mockery in his tone, his words jarred uncomfortably with the forbidden thoughts she’d been having.
‘So why did you watch me? Were you afraid your hostage might die?’
‘You are not my hostage.’
‘You brought me here so because you’re hoping my father will come and find me, not because you care about me, so stop the saint act. That makes me your hostage.’
Stunned by the discovery that he’d spent the night watching over her, Polly sat up slowly and noticed the cup of coffee on the low table next to the bed. The aroma of fresh coffee seduced her brain, sliding underneath her defences. ‘Oh—is that for me?’
‘Yes. I’m fast learning that your preference is for pink, but I’m afraid I don’t own a pink cup.’
She didn’t know which irritated her more—his dry tone, or the fact that he radiated vitality while she felt like a wet rag.
‘Of course you don’t. You’re the sort of man who has to constantly prove his masculinity by bossing everyone around. A real man isn’t afraid to have pink in his life. It’s a very happy colour. Real men often wear pink ties or pink shirts.’
‘Real men?’ His sardonic smile was the final straw and she glared at him over the rim of the mug.
‘Yes. And by that I don’t mean all that muscle and testosterone stuff. ‘Her eyes dropped to the hint of dark stubble that was already shadowing his jaw. ‘Masculinity isn’t just about looking as if you can split a log with one swing of an axe.’ Which he did. Oh, God, how could a man look so incredibly good first thing in the morning? Particularly after he’d slept in a chair. Stubble on most men just looked unkempt. On Damon Doukakis it simply amplified his ferocious sex appeal. It wasn’t fair.
‘I’ve split logs in my time, but I confess I’ve never done it wearing a pink shirt.’
Assailed by an unsettling image of those broad shoulders swinging an axe, Polly was about to put the mug down when she spotted the ink on the bedcover. ‘Oh, no! Did I do that? I’m so sorry. I must have fallen asleep holding my pen.’
‘Your pink, fluffy, happy pen. The one that is necessary for all your creative thinking.’
Something in his tone didn’t sound quite right but Polly was too mortified by the damage she’d caused to work out what. She licked her finger and rubbed at the stain. When that didn’t work, she looked at him apologetically. ‘I’ll buy you another duvet cover. I know you have a low opinion of me but damage to property isn’t on my usual list of crimes. I really am sorry.’
‘Compared to most of the disasters that appear to happen when you are around, I would say I escaped lightly. Get dressed. I want to talk to you.’
‘What have I done this time?’
‘That’s what I intend to find out.’
Polly racked her brains to think of something he could have discovered that might have got her into trouble. Was this something about the way they’d decorated the office? ‘It’s not a great time to talk right now. I need to get going if I’m going to make my train to Paris.’
‘A moment ago you were all but unconscious. You’re not going to Paris.’
‘I slept like the dead because I’m really tired, not because I banged my head. I haven’t slept properly since you rang me to tell me that you were about to ruin my life. And I have to go to Paris. The staff are depending on me to keep that account.’ Trying to wake herself up, Polly pushed her hair away from her face and winced as she encountered the bruise. ‘If I hurry, I can still make it.’
‘Why are you so determined to protect the staff?’
‘What sort of a question is that? Because I care about them, that’s why. I don’t want them to lose their jobs—especially because part of the blame for the current mess lies with my father. I feel responsible. They’ve always been kind to me. And helpful. When I first started in the company I’d just left school—I was clueless.’
‘You didn’t go to university?’
Polly thought wistfully of the prospectuses they’d shredded. ‘I went straight to work in my father’s company when I left school. I learned on the job. You can learn a lot about something by doing it.’ Knowing that someone like him was never going to agree with her, she slumped back against the pillows. ‘Anything else you want to know?’
Her notebook landed on the bed next to her and she stared at it, her cheeks hot as she mentally ran through all the secrets that might have been revealed from that book.
He waited a beat. ‘Well?’
‘Well, what?’
‘It made for extremely illuminating bedtime reading.’
‘It’s very bad manners to read someone else’s private notes,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I suppose you also peep through keyholes and listen at doors.’
‘Yesterday I asked you who came up with the creative ideas. Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?’
‘I told you it was a team effort. That’s the truth.’
‘The tagline and thinking behind the running shoe campaign came from you. If this notebook is to be believed, you’re responsible for every decent creative idea that has come from Prince Advertising in the past three years. I’ve been looking through the portfolio and your company accounts—’
Polly flinched. ‘More bedtime reading? You obviously like a good horror story.’
‘More like a mystery. My financial director, Ellen, has unpicked the finances and those numbers make for interesting reading. Why did everyone agree to take such a drastic pay cut?’
‘You have a female financial director?’
‘Don’t change the subject.’
‘Why did we take a pay cut? Because no one wanted anyone to be made redundant. Close your eyes while I find something decent to wear. You’re right, I can’t have this sort of conversation in my pyjamas.’ Sliding out of bed, Polly grabbed something from her suitcase and shot towards the bathroom. ‘As I said, we’re a team. We’re in this together.’
‘You clearly have significant creative talent. Why wasn’t it recognised?’
The compliment stopped her in her tracks. Her smile faltered. ‘You think I have talent?’
‘Answer my question.’
Holding the clothes in front of her like a shield, she shrugged. ‘You met the board.’
‘When you hinted that they’d stolen your work, I assumed you were talking about the spreadsheets.’
Polly just looked at him and he sighed.
‘They claimed credit for all your ideas, didn’t they? When they pitched for business, you were part of the team?’
‘I had to be. No one on the board was able to present the ideas. So they went along as the figurehead and I did the talking.’
‘And you won High Kick Hosiery.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘We should have won that account.’
‘We were better. Which just goes to show that even a hot desk doesn’t always produce hot ideas. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a train to catch.’ The mere thought of battling her way through the train station made her want to lie down in a dark room, but she’d rather walk to Paris in bare feet than admit that to him.
‘You’re not travelling on a train. A doctor will examine you and then if he says you’re fit to fly then we’ll go to Paris on my jet.’
‘Your jet? Er—why?’
‘Because I don’t travel by train.’
‘No, I mean—’ She licked her lips. ‘Why are you coming? I’m assuming you’re not joining me for a romantic mini-break.’ She hoped that being flippant would break the tension between them.
It didn’t.
He was obviously as aware of it as she was because he narrowed his eyes.
‘I make you nervous. Why?’
Her stomach curled and her mouth dried. What was she supposed to say to that? Because you have monumental sex appeal. ‘You’re the boss. You can fire me.’
His eyes held hers. ‘That isn’t why you’re nervous.’
Wondering why she was such a mess when it came to men, Polly gave what she hoped was a dismissive shrug. ‘Look, there’s a lot going on, OK? Gérard’s business is important. He has one of the largest marketing budgets in Europe. It’s not just about this brand, it’s about the rest of his portfolio. If I do well in this meeting, he might give us more business.’
‘That’s why I’m coming with you. You shouldn’t be seeing someone of his seniority on your own.’
‘You mean you don’t trust me not to mess it up.’
‘On the contrary. I want to watch you in action. I want to know more about your novel creative process.’ Infuriatingly calm, he glanced at his watch. ‘Get dressed. We’ll finish this discussion later.’
‘Well, that’s something to look forward to. Yippee.’ She subsided as he shot her a warning look.
He walked towards the door and then paused. ‘You ought to know that an hour ago I had a call from the private investigator I hired to track your father. It seems that he’s also in Paris.’
‘Oh?’ Was it wrong not to be pleased that he’d been tracked down? Her mouth was dry and she wondered whether it was the bang on the head that was making her feel sick or whether it was the thought of weathering the reality of her father’s next relationship. And this time it would be worse because the woman in question was Arianna. Her friend. Damon’s sister. ‘He could be in Paris. My father is a romantic person.’
‘There is nothing romantic about a relationship between a fifty-four-year-old guy and a twenty-four-year-old girl.’
‘You don’t know that. You’re very judgemental.’
‘When it comes to protecting my family, yes, I’m judgemental.’ His voice was suddenly hard. ‘And, talking of judgemental, I hope you put ‘formal business wear’ on the list you gave Franco. If you’re going to take on the responsibility of a high-flying business executive then you need to look like one. You may be used to flouncing into work in party clothes, but if you’re meeting a vice president of marketing you need to clean up your image. The French appreciate chic. The look you should be going for is high-class and elegant.’
Smug in the knowledge that there was so much more he yet had to discover about her, Polly couldn’t resist a dig of her own. ‘Is that how your team was dressed when they didn’t win the pitch? You’re very traditional. Maybe the client didn’t want traditional. He said he was blown away by our creativity and individuality.’
‘Presumably he wasn’t referring to your appearance.’ Polly gave an innocent smile. ‘Or maybe he just has a thing for flamingos. I’ll get dressed and meet you in the living room. I need to make some calls before we leave. And for goodness’ sake get changed into something more rigid and formal. I’m not taking you to Paris wearing those jeans.’ Without giving him the chance to reply, she escaped into the bathroom and bolted the door.
‘This is the wrong hotel. I booked myself somewhere cheap and miserable.’ Prepared for something seedy, Polly blinked at the glamour and elegance of the luxurious hotel foyer. After seeing the inside of Damon’s private jet she’d thought that nothing could ever impress her again. Evidently she’d been wrong. ‘Unless the place has had a major upgrade in the past twenty-four hours, this definitely isn’t the place I chose.’ Light shafted off gold, marble and glass and every person who glided through the revolving doors looked like a multi-millionaire. A sense of inferiority nibbled the edges of her confidence and she stood up a little straighter and tried to look as if she belonged.
No matter how many times she told herself that she deserved to be here she still felt like a fake. It depressed her that she could still feel that way.
The moment Damon set foot in the exclusive hotel there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere. Heads turned, staff straightened uniforms and descended on him with just the right degree of discretion and deference. Smiles were plentiful. Nothing was too much trouble.
Accustomed to staying in cheap hotels, checking in with grumpy, overworked staff and hauling her ancient suitcase up endless stairs only to find herself in an airless room with a window overlooking a grim car park, Polly was fascinated by the contrast.
The staff were attentive to the point of smothering. Damon’s presence had an electrifying effect on those around him. He barely acknowledged them, accepting the fawning attention with the same arrogant assurance he displayed in every other part of his life.
This was his normal.
‘I can’t afford to stay here.’ Seriously worried, Polly was mentally running through the budget. ‘I could never charge this to the client.’
‘I think we both know that finances aren’t your strong point. From now on you can leave that side of the business to me. You just concentrate on the creative side, which apparently is your forte.’ Leaving his security team to sort out the details with the hotel staff, Damon strode through the foyer. ‘I’ve booked out a floor for us.’
A floor? ‘Could you slow down? Just wait a minute.’ Worried that her ‘creative side’ might have gone on vacation, Polly jogged to keep up with him as he strode towards a bank of elevators. ‘I can’t ignore the finances. I have to think about it.’
‘You’re the one who mentioned teamwork. This is teamwork. We each do the bit we do best. For you, that’s scribbling in your pink notebook. Leave the money to me.’
‘Yes, but—’ Her phone buzzed and she paused outside the elevator. ‘Wait a minute. I need to answer this … Bonjour, Gérard, ça va? Oui … d’accord …’ When she finally finished her call, Damon was standing inside the elevator, watching her through those thick, dusky lashes that tipped his looks from handsome to spectacular.
Her heart skittered and bumped as she joined him. ‘Sorry about that, but I couldn’t exactly put a VP of marketing on hold.’
‘I didn’t expect you to put him on hold. I also didn’t expect you to speak French.’
‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I have hidden talents.’
‘So I’m discovering.’ That disturbingly acute gaze didn’t shift from her face. ‘You haven’t stopped e-mailing and talking to people since you woke up. When did you learn to speak French?’
‘We had a seriously hot French master at school. It was the only lesson we were all awake in—’ Remembering too late that mentioning school probably wasn’t a good idea, Polly flushed. ‘Just kidding. I promised myself that if a gorgeous Frenchman ever whispered sweet nothings in my ear I wanted to be able to understand him.’
‘If he’s whispering nothing it would probably be better not to understand him,’ Damon said dryly and his words made her laugh.
Then she realised she was laughing and stopped instantly. But the connection remained. A connection she didn’t want or need and yet still it sucked her in, driving her heartbeat faster. The sudden darkening of his beautiful eyes told her he felt it too and rejected the unwanted chemistry as completely as she did. Perversely, that rejection didn’t hurt as much as aggravate. Her emotions spun and suddenly she wanted to press her mouth to his and kiss away the sarcasm and cynicism that flowed from him.
The impulse was so alien to her that if she’d been in possession of a thermometer she would have taken her own temperature. Was she ill?
Alarmed by her own thoughts, Polly was relieved when they reached the palatial suite.
‘C’est magnifique.’ Grateful for the size of it, she walked the length of the spacious living room and out thought the open glass doors to the roof terrace. The fresh air brushed away the claustrophobic cloud that had smothered her in the confines of the lift. That crazy impulse to kiss him faded and she breathed a sigh of relief as she stared over the rooftops of Paris. Enjoying the moment of relative calm, she tensed as she heard his footsteps behind her.
‘Where would your father stay?’
‘He’d stay somewhere no one would think to look for him. That’s the sort of guy he is.’ Thinking wistfully that it would be nice to enjoy the luxury of the hotel and the romance of Paris without having to think about work or her father, Polly turned from her contemplation of the city. ‘This isn’t just about my father, you know. It’s also about your sister. She hasn’t been on the phone to you, has she? That sort of implies that she doesn’t want to be found.’
‘She’s very impulsive and easily led.’
Polly clenched her jaw. ‘If you’re still going on about that episode at school, can I remind you that I was fourteen? That was ten years ago. She’s an adult now.’
‘She doesn’t behave like an adult. She doesn’t always make good decisions.’
‘Isn’t that part of growing up? You have to make some bad decisions in order to discover they’re bad.’ Polly attributed the sudden warm flush on her skin to the hot French sun shining down on the terrace. ‘Didn’t you ever make a bad decision? Or were you born doing the right thing? I suppose life just fell into place for you.’
The fruits of that success were all around him. Not just in this hotel and the private jet that had transported them to Paris in such luxury, but in his lifestyle. He owned an island in Greece, didn’t he? A penthouse in New York and a ski chalet in Switzerland. People fell over themselves to befriend Damon Doukakis and his sister. They walked through life without hindrance, doors swinging open to welcome them.
‘You think I was born into this? You think I had it handed to me?’ His voice held a raw, rough edge that increased her tension. ‘My father worked for an engineering company. A badly managed engineering company. When he was made redundant, he was so ashamed that he’d let his family down that every morning he kissed my mother goodbye and left to go to work. Only instead of going to work he used to sit in the library and hunt for jobs. But there weren’t any.’
Shocked into silence by that unexpected revelation, Polly simply stared at him. When she finally managed to say something it came out as a croak. ‘D-did he get another job?’
‘No. My father was Greek. Proud. Not being able to provide for his family was the ultimate failure. Overwhelmed with the responsibility of it, he drove his car off a bridge.’ The words were emotionless and matter of fact. ‘I was waiting for them to come home when the police knocked on the door.’
Polly couldn’t breathe. ‘Them?’
‘My mother was in the car, too. No one understood why he did it. Whether he lost all hope and decided to take her with him—whether she even knew what he intended—’ His eyes were blank as he stared over the city. ‘Do you know the worst thing? The redundancies weren’t necessary. I found that out a few years later when I’d learned a few sharp lessons about business. It was all down to bad decisions and I decided right then that I was never going to work for anyone else. I was never going to let someone else control my destiny.’
It explained so much. His ruthless approach. The rigid control with which he managed his business.
Polly realised that her impression of him was as false as his was of her.
It was as if the pieces of a jigsaw had been thrown in the air and, on landing, had created a different picture.
‘You were left to raise your sister.’
‘She was six.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I was sixteen years old and the only skill I had was with computers. I was always in trouble at school for hacking, so I decided there had to be a way of turning that to my advantage. I developed a way of analysing data that every company wanted.’ He shrugged. ‘Right place, right time. I was lucky.’
‘But your business isn’t computers now—’
‘Something else I learned—diversify. That way if one part of the business is in trouble, another part may be performing well.’
He’d thought it all through. Done everything he could to provide security for his sister.
Feeling a strange ache behind her ribcage, Polly turned away. She shouldn’t envy someone who had suffered such a tragic loss, but she did. Even without parents, they’d been a family. Everything he’d done, everything he’d achieved, had been driven by his love for Arianna. Protecting her had been his priority from the moment she’d been left in his care.
‘It must have been very hard losing both your parents like that.’
‘Life can be hard. It happens.’ He glanced towards her, his expression unreadable. ‘What happened to your mother? Presumably she was divorce number one?’
The ache behind her ribs didn’t fade. ‘She walked out when I was a toddler. Being a mother didn’t suit her. Or maybe I was just hard work. Whichever—my dad hated being on his own. Whenever a relationship fell apart, he moved onto the next woman.’
Even now, at twenty-four, she found her father’s behaviour still had the power to embarrass her and she hated that. She hated the mixed-up feelings that came with every new relationship he started.
‘The women are always younger?’
Hearing the judgement in his voice, Polly felt her face heat and wanted to fall through the floor. ‘Mostly.’
‘Is that embarrassing?’
‘Hideous.’ In the face of his startling honesty about his own background there didn’t seem any point in lying about her feelings.
He let out a long breath. ‘So you don’t approve of his relationship with Ana?’
‘You didn’t ask me if I approved. You asked me if I found it embarrassing. The answer to that is yes. As for whether or not I approve—’ She broke off, wondering why on earth she was sharing her deepest thoughts with this man whose opinion of her was so low. He couldn’t possibly understand, could he? ‘He’s my dad and I love him. I just want him to be happy. Isn’t that what you want for Arianna?’
‘Yes, which is why I don’t approve of this relationship.’
‘I think all relationships are complicated and I’m not sure age makes any difference to that.’
‘When you see a twenty-four-year old girl with a fifty-four year old man, don’t you ask yourself why they’re together?’
Polly chewed her lip, wondering whether to confess that the entire relationship merry-go-round terrified her. The whole thing seemed designed to wreck lives. ‘This is the twenty-first century. Age of same-sex marriages, the toyboy and the cougar. Relationships don’t always conform to rigid tradition any more. Why does it bother you? You’re too big and tough to care what people think.’ But Damon Doukakis was rigidly traditional. Greek. If she’d learned anything about him over the past twenty-four hours it was that family was the most important thing to him.
‘I don’t care what people think. I do care that Ana will be hurt. Let’s face it, your father doesn’t have a great track record when it comes to commitment.’
Polly made a weak attempt to defend him. ‘You’re not exactly famed for long-term commitment.’
‘That’s different.’
‘You move from one woman to the next. Apart from the obvious—prenuptial agreements, huge payouts to lawyers etc—what’s the difference?’
‘Marriage is a responsibility and I have more than enough responsibilities.’ He took a deep breath as if the mere thought of it was enough to unsettle him. ‘In my relationships there are no broken promises. No one gets hurt.’
‘For a woman not to care when a relationship ends, the man in question has either got to be incredibly boring or a real bastard. What I’m saying is that I’m pretty sure plenty of women get hurt when you dump them. They probably just don’t show it. Pride and all that. And I don’t really see the difference between your serial relationships and my father’s. Not every relationship has to be about marriage.’ But the fact that he felt so strongly about responsibility and commitment made her feel strange inside. It was so different from her father’s approach.
‘If you’re about to say my sister’s relationship with your father is about sex then don’t,’ he advised in a thickened tone. ‘I don’t want to think about that.’
‘That makes two of us. He’s my dad and no one wants to think about their parents having sex. Yuck.’ Polly gave a dramatic shudder. ‘But you have to admit that Arianna is an adult. My father hasn’t kidnapped her against her will. They enjoy each other’s company.’
His brow lifted in a cynical arch. ‘Are you about to use the word “love”?
She didn’t tell him that she didn’t believe in love. She’d seen what happened to people who believed in love and she’d made it her golden rule never to allow herself to be sucked into that particular delusion. ‘They get on well together,’ she said lamely. ‘They laugh all the time. They talk. There’s chemistry between them. Maybe they know it’s crazy but find it impossible to resist.’
‘Chemistry?’ There was an ominous pause and she could see the thought appalled him. His eyes locked on hers and suddenly thoughts of her father and his sister faded into the background. In the distance she heard the insistent cacophony of car horns, the shriek of tyres as Parisians drove their city like a racetrack, but the loudest sound was the insistent thrumming of her pulse.
Suddenly it was hard to keep a grip on the conversation. ‘Chemistry,’ she croaked. ‘I’m just saying that chemistry can be a powerful thing.’ Or so she’d heard. Truthfully she couldn’t imagine a sexual attraction so strong that it overpowered caution but she wasn’t going to admit that to a red-blooded male whose sexual prowess was the subject of hushed rumour. ‘Perhaps it was something they couldn’t walk away from. I don’t know.’
There was a long silence and then his strong hands captured her face and he lowered his mouth to hers. Caught off guard, Polly tumbled headlong into the addictive heat of his kiss, her mouth colliding with his in a fusion of intimacy that was shocking in its intensity. The exploding heat was fierce enough to fuel a nuclear reactor, the hunger so all-consuming it devoured her preconceptions about just how a kiss could feel because this kiss was like no other. Damon kissed the way he did everything else, with the instinctive assurance of someone who knew he was the very best at everything. That clever, sensuous mouth drove everything from her mind and he controlled it all, from the angle of her head to the depth of the kiss, the skilled erotic slide of his tongue taking over her mind, her body, her soul. She didn’t feel him move his hands but he must have done because suddenly she was flattened against his hard thighs, the contours of their bodies blending as fiery heat licked through her. Burning up, she slid her palms over his chest, feeling male muscle and latent strength. Her mouth still fused with his, she slid her fingers between the buttons of his shirt, desperate to touch, frantic to feel. Instantly his hand tightened on her bottom as he brought her into firm contact with the hard ridge of his erection.
Liquid with longing, Polly moved against him but the moment she did so he released his grip on her and lifted his mouth, depriving her of the satisfaction her body craved. And that sudden deprivation was so sharply felt that she gave a faint moan of protest and swayed towards him. With a soft curse he locked his hands around the tops of her arms, holding her steady, as if he sensed she would not stay standing without his support. But he kept the distance and didn’t kiss her again. Slowly, the implications of that penetrated her foggy brain and she opened her eyes to find him watching her with those eyes as black as jet and unfathomable as a deep mountain pool.
Her body was screaming for more, refusing to adjust to the sudden withdrawal of pleasure. The craving was so intense she almost reached out and grabbed him just so that she could press her mouth to his again. She wanted to know why he’d stopped doing something that felt so perfect.
His breathing fractionally less than steady, he released his supporting grip on her arms and stepped away from her. ‘You want to know how you walk away from chemistry? This is how it’s done. It’s called self-discipline. You just say no.’ The chill in his tone was as lethal to her tender, exposed feelings as a late frost to an early spring bud.
Confronted by cool arrogance and an insulting degree of indifference, Polly wanted to say something flippant. Something dismissive that would indicate that the earth hadn’t moved for her. But it had. It hadn’t just moved, it had shifted—reformed her entire emotional landscape into something terrifyingly unfamiliar. And that shift strangled any words she might have spoken.
She wanted to slap his handsome face, but to show that level of emotion would be to betray what that kiss had done to her so she stood still and silent, holding everything inside. Fortunately she’d had decades of practice.
Insultingly cool, Damon glanced at his watch. ‘We’re meeting Gérard for dinner at the Eiffel Tower at seven.’ The ease with which he moved from nirvana to normal was another blow to her savaged pride. ‘Dress is elegant.’ Having delivered that lowering statement, he turned and walked back into the apartment—back into his world of pampered luxury and elegance where real life was filtered and sifted until it appeared in its most refined form.
Polly stood for a moment feeling displaced. Really, what had just happened? She was the same and yet she wasn’t the same. Opening her mouth a fraction, she traced her lower lip with her tongue.
Her first thought was that clearly the kiss hadn’t affected him as it had affected her, and yet she knew that wasn’t true. She’d felt the strength of his reaction.
However easily he’d walked away, it had definitely been mutual.
He’d kissed her to prove—what? That he could walk away every time? That lust was a decision like every other? She wondered whether the intensity of the chemistry had been as much of a shock to him as it was to her.
Anger flashed through her. How dared he kiss like that and then just walk away?
No doubt he was feeling smug and superior, having successfully demonstrated the practical application of ruthless self control, whereas she—Polly breathed in and out slowly—she’d demonstrated nothing except an embarrassing degree of feminine compliance. Compelled by his breathtaking sexual expertise, she’d been ready to go the whole way. Like Icarus, she would have flown straight at that hot burning sun, the ecstasy of the flight obliterating any sense of caution.
In proving his point, he’d made a monumental fool of her.
Furious and humiliated, she turned her head and looked back towards the luxurious suite, but there was no sign of him. Presumably, having achieved his goal with such spectacular success, he’d taken himself off somewhere to focus his sought-after attentions on some aspect of his global empire before the meeting this evening. A meeting during which he was clearly expecting her to embarrass him.
Dress is elegant.
He thought she was going to mess up.
Polly’s mouth tightened.
She knew how good she was at her job. If only she were half as good in her dealings with men he wouldn’t have played that trick on her. So far he’d made nothing but false assumptions and she’d been so focused on handling the immediate crisis that she’d done nothing to challenge him on his opinions.
But tonight that was going to change.
If Damon Doukakis thought he could control everything around him then he was in for a shock.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_e26bbce0-e780-5cb0-84d5-ec15d0f0161f)
‘I’ll lead the meeting.’ Damon sprawled in the back of the limo, grateful for a stack of e-mails that gave him a legitimate excuse to limit social contact with the woman next to him. An expanse of soft leather seat stretched between them like no man’s land as they both kept a wary distance.
Why on earth had he revealed so much about himself?
‘Why would you lead the meeting when you weren’t the one who won the pitch.’ Her tone was cool and when he risked a glance at her he saw that she was also on her BlackBerry, her slim fingers were flying over the keys with enviable dexterity as she responded to an e-mail. Not once did she look at him and Damon frowned, unaccustomed to such a lack of interest from a woman, especially a woman he’d kissed.
‘It makes sense that I’ll lead the discussion. I’ve known Gérard for fifteen years.’
‘Oh, I see. It’s the boys’ club approach. No worries. You just carry on and beat your chests and do all that masculine stuff, and when you’ve finished I’ll present my ideas.’
Damon didn’t know which infuriated him more—her words, or the fact that she didn’t bother looking up as she spoke them.
‘The way I conduct a business meeting has nothing to do with the “boys’ club”.’ He chose to ignore the anatomical reference.
‘There’s no need to be defensive. You don’t have to apologise for feeling the need to be the dominant male in every situation. I’m sure that basic flaw has proved fundamental to your success in business.’
‘Are you calling masculinity a flaw?’
‘Gosh, no. Not masculinity.’ Her fingers flew over the keys swiftly. ‘Just dominant controlling tendencies that prevent you from ever thinking another person with a different approach could be saying something worth hearing.’
Damon’s jaw ached from clenching his teeth. ‘I am always very receptive to fresh ideas.’
‘Providing they’re coming from someone dressed in a dark suit. Be honest—you took one look at me and dismissed me on the basis of my dress and my pink tights.’
‘That is not true.’
‘It is true. And once we’re in the restaurant the first thing you’ll discuss is the success of each other’s businesses, your various achievements and how many financial goals you’ve scored. He’ll acknowledge you as King of the Jungle, you’ll order an eye-wateringly expensive bottle of wine to prove your impeccable taste and his importance as a client, and once we’ve got all that alpha male posturing out of the way I can have my turn.’
Damon breathed deeply. ‘You’re being intentionally confrontational. You’re upset because I kissed you.’
That got her attention.
She glanced up. Her brows rose. ‘Why would that upset me? You’re a good kisser. No woman is going to object to being kissed by a man who knows what he’s doing. Although you might want to work on the ending—it was a bit abrupt. But better that than slobbery.’ Having delivered what she clearly considered to be useful feedback, she returned to her phone. ‘So—back to this meeting of ours. I just need to make sure I understand the ground rules. You need to have control of everything you do, and that’s fine. I don’t have a problem with that. I’ll take a back seat until you’ve finished with the whole ego-massaging thing.’
Still grappling with her matter-of-fact response to the kiss, Damon found himself unable to respond.
He wondered whether her choice of long coat had anything to do with her rejection of what had happened earlier. It covered everything from her neck to her ankles, leaving no part of her uncovered. There was nothing sexual about her appearance. Nothing provocative. Which made the fact that he wanted to haul her across that void all the more unfathomable and aggravating. His fingers burned to reach out and grab her, rip open those buttons and feast on the flavours he’d sampled earlier.
Acutely aware that he was entirely to blame for his current condition, Damon employed the last of his willpower and transferred his gaze from her face to the window. It was a mistake. Paris in darkness sparkled and glittered like a film set and lovers walked hand in hand along the banks of the Seine, creating memories that would be stored for a lifetime. Everything about the night suggested intimacy.
Exasperated by the direction of his thoughts, Damon turned his attention back to his phone, forced to admit that in an attempt to prove his self-control he’d found himself severely tested. Yes, he’d won. He always made sure he won whatever battle he fought. But it had required a strength of will he’d never before needed to apply to that type of situation.
When his driver pulled up close to the Eiffel Tower, Damon made a swift, smooth exit, relieved to be released from the claustrophobic confines of the car.
Polly emerged slowly and stood a safe distance away from him. ‘This seems an odd venue for a dinner meeting. I hope you didn’t misunderstand.’ She stared at the long queue of people waiting for the opportunity to go up to the top of the tower.
‘Gérard is trying to impress you.’ Damon noticed that this time the silky soft blonde hair had been twisted into a formal up do—severe rather than sexy. The sheen on her lips suggested a faint gloss but nothing too provocative. In fact, her entire appearance was understated. And her shoes were flat—perfect for cobbled Paris streets.
Clearly she’d paid attention to his instruction for ‘elegant’.
He waited to relax—for the strange tightness to leave his body.
It didn’t happen.
‘I’ve dined here before. The restaurant is up there.’
She followed his gaze and tilted her head, looking up at the iconic landmark, its metal latticework turned to gold by hundreds of tiny lights, the famous structure standing proud again the spectacular Paris sunset. ‘Gérard certainly knows how to impress a girl. Or was this your idea? Maybe this is all part of your God complex—you just have to be looking down on everyone else.’
Ignoring that remark, Damon urged her forward towards the private elevator reserved for those dining in the restaurant. Bringing a personal note to their relationship had been a mistake, he thought grimly. Thank goodness the evening would be about business. He and Gérard would discuss the transition of Prince Advertising into DMG and Polly could fill in any blanks on the previous management of the account and expand on her creative ideas for the brand.
As the elevator rose through the iconic building Damon kept his eyes forward. He was aware of Polly fidgeting beside him but he didn’t turn his head, determined this time to keep his focus.
As they emerged into the restaurant they were met by the maître d’ and by Gérard himself, who had evidently arrived just moments before them.
Long-time acquaintances and sparring partners, Damon and the Frenchman greeted each other warmly while the front of house staff took Polly’s coat. Deep in conversation about the strength of the euro, it took Damon a few moments to realise that he had lost his audience. Gérard’s thoughts on currency fluctuations had clearly been sublimated by some higher priority that could only be female. Amused and exasperated in equal degrees, Damon turned his head to see who could have caused that degree of distraction.
His attention arrested by the woman behind him, it took him a moment to realise that it was Polly, minus the coat that she’d handed to the hovering staff. In the few seconds he’d had his back to her she’d gone from understated to unbelievable.
Transfixed by the dramatic transformation, Damon suddenly understood why she’d chosen to cover herself from head to foot. Had he seen her outfit he would have locked her in their hotel suite and thrown away the key. Abiding by his instruction to dress elegantly, she’d chosen to wear a black suit, but all hint of compliance ended with the colour. The tailored jacket was fastened by a single shapely button. A hint of black lace camisole was peeping naughtily from under the V of the lapels. The skirt was short, her legs showcased in a pair of exotic black stockings that shimmered and glistened in the candlelight. Mesmerised by those incredible legs, Damon saw that the shimmer was created by a pattern of tiny hearts embroidered in glittering silver thread and spiralling up from ankle to thigh.
They were cheeky and sexy and perfect for a hot date. Which made them completely unsuitable for a client meeting in his opinion.
‘Mademoiselle est ravissant.’ Apparently disagreeing with him, Gérard took her hand in a typically Gallic gesture and lifted it to his lips. ‘Once again I am impressed. Your decision to showcase the jewel in our new product range in this high-profile venue is yet more proof that I was right to hire you. I love these. They are my favourite and I consider myself a connoisseur.’
Both of them looked down at her legs and Damon felt his core temperature rocket to dangerous levels. He was about to snap something when he realised they were talking about the tights, not her legs.
‘I love them.’ Polly beamed up at Gérard, paying Damon no attention whatsoever. ‘They’re special, sexy and so affordable. They can transform a plain boring black suit with no originality whatsoever—’ her eyes flickered briefly to Damon ‘—into an outfit that makes any woman feel like a princess. They’re the perfect day-to-night accessory and what’s more they’re within the budget of every discerning woman. I adore them. All the girls in the office are crazy for them. They’re so very now.’ The corners of her mouth dimpled as she smiled up at the captivated Frenchman. ‘We’re going to make sure they’re the next big thing.’
‘And you have ideas for me about how to turn that adoration into a worldwide campaign that will propel High Kick Hosiery into the must-have fashion statement of the decade?’
‘Tons of ideas.’ Reaching into her bag, Polly pulled out her pink notebook and waved it under Gérard’s nose.
The notoriously hard-nosed businessman laughed indulgently. ‘Ah, the famous notebook and even more famous pink pen. The deadly weapon with which Polly successfully defeats the opposition. Had Napoleon had you and your pink pen by his side, history would have been changed.’ Smiling, he took her arm and led her towards the table. ‘I want to hear your ideas. Given your love of pink, I’m surprised you didn’t opt for our hot pink tights this evening.’
‘Mr Doukakis isn’t a lover of hot pink.’ Balancing on impossibly high heels, Polly was almost as tall as the Frenchman. ‘Apparently it makes him think of flamingos.’
Absorbing the fact that the hot pink tights had been another product in the High Kick Hosiery line, Damon wondered at what point his own agenda had obliterated his usual ability to think clearly. She’d chosen to showcase the sparkling tights at one of the most high-profile venues in Paris. Not only that, she’d worn the long black coat simply because she’d known he would have disapproved.
The fact that she could easily have told him she was wearing her client’s products was something he’d raise with her later.
Poised to offer reassurance to Gérard on what the takeover would mean to his business, Damon found himself taking a back seat as Polly presented ideas for a global campaign—a campaign that left Damon speechless with its scope and creativity.
It slowly dawned on him that her contribution to the company was far greater than even his glimpse into her notebook had suggested.
Intercepting his stunned look, Gérard lifted his champagne glass. ‘Incredible, isn’t she?’ There was a speculative look in his eyes as he looked at Polly. ‘Much as it pains me to compliment a man whose ego is already robust, I salute Damon for his astute business sense in locking you into his company. Talented people are rare. With you, it is like finding a precious uncut diamond in a bucket of gravel. I admit that when my colleagues recommended that we invite Prince Advertising to pitch, I refused. But then the word spread about the girl with the pink pen and the creative brain. Only Damon Doukakis would be bold enough to take over an ailing company in order to secure one member of staff.’
Damon didn’t correct him. ‘She has some truly original ideas,’ he agreed smoothly, ‘and fortunately within the group we have the muscle to turn those big ideas into reality. We’ll put out top team onto your account.’
‘I don’t care who is in the team.’ Gérard dug his fork into marinated scallops. ‘I just want Polly. You’re a crafty dog, Doukakis. I was about to recruit her myself.’
Reflecting on the news that Gérard had intended to offer Polly a job, Damon frowned, but Polly had abandoned her meal and was scribbling over her pad, absorbed by the ideas she was creating.
‘We’ve plenty of time to agree tactics, but the overall strategy should establish the brand image. Then the emphasis needs to be on social media. It isn’t just about getting across a message and selling, it’s about relationship-building—engaging with our customer … I’ve got his brilliant idea for using YouTube—’ Her suggestions were clever and intelligent and she charmed her client so completely that by the end of the meal he’d agreed to triple the budget and hear her ideas for two other major brands.
Damon watched her in action, unable to think of anything other than how her mouth had felt under his. His view of her as his baby sister’s disruptive friend had somehow morphed into something dramatically different. He remembered the way she’d stood up to the board and challenged them. At the time he’d assumed her defence was driven by self-interest, but now he understood that her behaviour stemmed from the fact that she had a deep commitment to the people who worked for the company. Guilt stabbed him hard. It was gradually dawning on him that, far from being lazy, she worked every bit as hard as he did. She cared about the employees as much as he did. Even now, she was ignoring the throb in her head to honour a meeting with this important client when ninety nine percent of staff would have stayed in bed and called in sick.
Unaccustomed to being wrong about people, Damon was forced to admit that he’d allowed his anger with her father and his past experience of her to colour his judgement.
Brooding on how that could have happened, it took him a few moments to notice that Gérard was increasingly attentive to Polly. Recognising sexual interest when he saw it, Damon felt a flare of outrage. When Gérard suggested ending the evening with a trip up to the viewing platform, Damon immediately vetoed that idea, appalled at the thought of the notorious French playboy accompanying Polly to a destination favoured by those seeking romance.
Shaken by the depth of that primal response, a devotee of rational, logical decision-making, Damon shocked himself by launching himself out of his seat and demanded their coats. It wasn’t rational or logical, but he wanted her covered up as fast as possible. He wanted that coat back on, buttoned to the neck, concealing those amazing legs. The thought of the whole of Paris following the spiralling upward path of those tiny sparkling hearts made him sweat like a man running a marathon in a desert.
‘We’ll send you a full proposal in the next few days, Gérard.’ Taking control, he ended the evening and then guided Polly back down to the waiting limo.
As his driver opened the door for them she stopped and shook her head. ‘I want to go for a walk. It’s been a horrible week and it’s so beautiful here. It would be nice to get some air.’ Behind her the Eiffel Tower was illuminated against the dark sky and he saw her glance wistfully towards the tourist attraction. ‘You go. I can find my own way back to the hotel.’ Balancing on one leg like a stork, she removed her stilettos and replaced them with her flats.
Knowing that if he left her alone for two minutes she would be mobbed by Frenchmen, Damon took the shoes from her, handed them to his driver and held out his arm.
Her gaze lifted from his arm to his face and he acknowledged her astonishment with a faint smile.
‘Truce. I’m protecting my asset. Clearly I should have your pink pen insured for an astronomical amount.’
Her sudden smile knocked the breath from his body.
‘I know I ought to do it all electronically, and I do once I know what I’m doing, but I just can’t be creative on a screen—I need to draw. I was the same at school. The only way I remembered anything was by drawing spider diagrams and mind maps.’
She hesitated just briefly and then slid her arm through his. Dismissing his driver with a discreet movement of his head, Damon led her away from the crowds hovering at the foot of the iconic tower and across the road to the river. Strains of music and laughter drifted up from the Bateaux mouches as they floated under the bridge and Polly snuggled deeper inside her coat and stared down at the reflection of light on the water.
‘I always wanted to stand on a bridge in Paris in the sun set.’ There was a wistful note in her voice that drew his attention.
‘But with a lover, not your enemy.’
‘This may surprise you, but I don’t dream of lovers, Mr Doukakis.’ There was a brief pause and then she turned her head, the lights from the boat turning her hair to a gleaming shimmer of gold. ‘And I don’t see you as the enemy.’
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