Doukakis's Apprentice

by Sarah Morgan

  ‘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

  ‘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 gr
ip, 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.’