It's only when I hung up the phone with him, that I realized my butterfly had escaped. Yet again. And once more, I can only blame Archer and Cormac Ascott, aka, my late father's despicable and unscrupulous half-brothers for screwing me over.
After a few failed attempts at catching some sleep, I decide to get out of bed.
If I keep my mind busy, I can't keep ruminating on this rubbish.
I pull the sheets off my tired body, swing my legs off the bed and sit there with my eyes glued on my erect cock. Fuck.
I breathe in deep.
I try to clear my mind and contain my anger.
I try to convince myself that the next time Tyler calls, he’ll have good news.
And more importantly, I try to pretend the fact that Charlotte hasn't responded to any of my text messages, doesn't annoy the hell out of me.
To make matters worse, I still don't know her room number.
With an aggravated growl, I get up and crawl to the bathroom.
I wank my straining cock, flashing back to last night and the intense passion I shared with my ex. Of course, I come roaring like an animal. Unfortunately, my cum lies at the bottom of the shower before the water washes it down the drain. Pity. Marking Charlotte’s mouth, skin, pussy or ass would’ve been so much sweeter. I wash up quickly, head back to the bedroom and slip into a pair of sport shorts.
"Five o'clock,” I grumble as I check the time on my iPhone on my way to the deck.
"I might as well watch the sun rise," I say out loud. I add an inflection to my voice hoping it will travel throughout the rest of me, but alas, I’m not much of an actor. My peevish mood doesn’t lighten up much.
Luckily, when I step outside, the cool morning breeze instantly revives me. I breathe in deep, flaring my nostrils and filling my lungs, and I mentally coax myself to temporarily set my worries aside.
Enjoy this.
The first hours of the day are always my favorite, but when you have Athens at your feet, it's even more magical.
Surprisingly, the majestic sight of watching a new day dawn calms me and allows me to forget this unbearable weight I’m carrying on my shoulders. After a few minutes of silent contemplation, I decide to get some work done. I walk back inside the suite and sit behind the dark ebony desk.
“This is going to be a bloody long day,” I say, opening up my laptop.
Before I attack my workload, I navigate to the Daily Mail’s website to catch up on the latest news. When you have celebrities, wealthy playboys, and CEO’s of mega corporations as clients, you want to know what the tabloids have to say.
I’m just about to click on the entertainment tab to read up on how the media is bashing Jason, when my eyes catch an unbelievable headline on the front page.
“No fucking way!” I shout.
And to think, my already challenging morning just took a nosedive.
CHAPTER 24
Barrett
“Ha, Barrett,” Ilis exclaims when he opens the door. He extends a hand and I take it.
Instead of shaking it like a man, Ilis tries to establish his dominance by clamping a hand on top of my shoulder. He takes it a step further by twisting my hand so his is on top of mine. In other words, he’s sending a clear message that I’m in his courtyard.
I rebuff a smirk.
I study him.
Another pissing contest.
Too bad he doesn’t know I rarely lose at those. And too bad for him I stand an inch taller.
With a swift movement, I flip our wrists—so mine is now on top—and I take a long step back, forcing his hand to slide off of my shoulder.
Much better.
“Ilis,” I say with an exaggerated wide smile.
He narrows his eyes at me—dark brown missiles shooting at me.
Whatever.
He got the message.
“It’s good that you came." Notice how he didn’t say, "I'm glad you came." Tosser.
"Thanks for the invitation," I say simply.
"Come in," he waves me in. "Everyone is in the backyard with drinks already in hand."
"It's been a brutal day for everyone."
"Yes, indeed. Why don't I give you a tour of my little modest abode and then we’ll go join the rest of the team," he says, closing the door behind me.
Little and modest? This should be interesting. Not.
I’d rather be nursing a drink right now, but my parents raised me better than that. Politeness requires that I follow him. I can’t stand the guy, but I still have manners.
"That sounds good," I say.
He starts walking and I follow right behind him.
I'm dying to ask him if Charlotte has arrived, but I refrain. I don't want to give this guy any ammunition.
"Christos’ suggestion for us to divide and conquer was a smart one. What a catastrophe!" Ilis comments.
"He was right. There were too many fires to put out for us to sit idle in a boardroom debating all day long about our options," I say.
I spent the day traveling between Christos’ office and the precinct while Charlotte worked with Ilis’ team. At his office. With him. Basically, we were apart all day and not surprisingly, she continues to do a smashing job at ignoring my calls and texts.
As much as I hate to admit it, there was no other way for us to get a handle on this publicity bomb that blew up in our faces.
Bibi is suing Jason for discrimination, mental anguish, and trauma, after the pop star told a reporter, and I quote, Had I known my escort had more manly parts than I did, I would've kept driving until I found a willing pussy. The shitty part is, I can't even get my money back since Bibi required to get paid up front. I’ve been conned. I paid for pussy, not a cock.
Idiot. He just doesn't know when to shut up.
Is this all preposterous?
Absolutely, but now the Jason drama is the top trending news in the world and this lawsuit threat has the record company execs breathing down my neck.
In other words, Bibi just detonated an atomic weapon and I’ve been summoned to fix things.
As if I needed more pressure in my life.
What’s been nagging at me is how that reporter got to Jason when it was nearly impossible for us to see our own client on Thursday. I have the same question about Bibi.
"Well," Ilis stops walking then turns to face me. "Charlie was able to do some good damage control," he says with conviction. "She was infuriated at Jason for talking to the press in her absence." I'm sure she must’ve ripped the stupid teenager a new hole. She wouldn’t stand for rubbish like that. “Tsk.” Ilis lets out a loud sigh. "What an extraordinary woman." He shakes his head. He opens his mouth to say something, but at the last minute, changes his mind. He closes his eyes and drops his index finger against his lips. He pulls his lips downwards and takes a few pained breaths. It's almost as if he’s in communion with God. What the hell? Finally, after his melodramatics, he speaks. “I'm so impressed by her—beauty, brains, and strength. What a perfect package." Thanks for telling me something I don’t already know. "We worked very, very closely together.” That’s two ‘verys’ too many. “I feel lucky that I was able to get to know her much better," he grins from ear to ear.
And yes, I want to knock that grin right off his face.
That said, punching him wouldn’t solve anything between Charlotte and me.
“I see," I say. "I worked with her very, very closely late last night. Good thing I already know her." Ilis and I stare at each other like two bulls sizing each other up in a bullring somewhere in Spain. After a few long dueling seconds, I speak again. "Why don't we get on with that tour of your house? You wouldn't want to make your guests wait."
"Hmph.” He smirks. Yeah, mate, you’ve been played. “You’re right," he flashes me an icy grin. "Let's start with the gym in the basement. I even have a boxing bag and all. I train with a top-notch coach three times a week —a former Russian champion. At some point in time, I thought I might turn pro."
Was that a silent t
hreat?
“I was in the British Navy. We used to recreate some scenes from the film Fight Club, just for fun… bareknuckle and all. I still can’t believe how many mates I’ve knocked out. That’s the problem when you play to win."
I even wave my fists in the air for show.
Ilis’ eyes grow wide before he turns around and starts walking again.
You're not such a tough guy, after all, asshole.
* * *
What Ilis considers modest is a fucking mansion complete with gym, sauna, nine bedrooms, nine bathrooms and two partial baths.
That's a lot of cleanliness.
Did I mention the house sprawls over three floors and two basements?
Who the hell needs two fucking basements?
Just when I thought I was going to die of boredom from him going on and on about his little modest abode, the doorbell rings.
Thank the fuck God.
"I should run and get that," he says.
"Sure," I reply nonchalantly. "I'll make my way to the backyard."
"Good idea," he throws over his shoulder.
A chorus of voices and cheers guide me to the backyard. Just like the rest of the house, it's ostentatious.
Christos walks towards me when he sees me strolling towards him.
“Barrett!” he says.
“Mate,” I say, extending a hand.
“You came,” he shakes it and pats my shoulder.
“You had your doubts?” I chuckle.
“You could say that. Even a blind man can see that you and Ilis can’t stand each other,” he laughs
“Right.” I'm not going to even deny that.
"It’s about Charlie?”
I frown. "I didn't realize it was that obvious."
"Other than Dialina, I think it's pretty obvious to everyone else. Even Kostas mentioned that his overzealous business partner must have a death wish for hitting on a woman he has no business considering."
I masterfully avoid answering that last part. "Speaking of the devil," I say, looking for Christos’s senior lawyer in the crowd. "Where is Dialina?"
"She got a better offer—from the sergeant from the precinct." I widen my eyes in surprise. Man, that woman is easy. "Since you've been blatantly turning down her advances, she jumped at the chance."
“Better him than me.”
We both laugh.
"Come on, let me introduce you to my beautiful wife and to the others. Then, we need to get you a drink.”
"Spoken like a true friend," I grin back.
* * *
Not that I care, but it's been a solid forty minutes since Ilis ran to get the door.
Maybe he got lost in one of his many bathrooms or perhaps he locked himself up by mistake in the wine cellar located in the second basement.
I chuckle at the visual.
"Another drink, sir?" a waiter asks, interrupting my thoughts.
"With pleasure. Thank you," I say, picking up another glass of champagne.
I was hoping for something stronger, but apparently Ilis shuns strong liquor because it would sabotage his diet and interfere with his training towards boxing world championship dominance. Ridiculous. Any intelligent person knows that champagne contains an indecent amount of calories.
"More shrimp kebabs?" a waitress asks as she passes by me.
"Absolutely!"
"Look who I found, everybody," Ilis shouts from behind me. My back is facing him and I don't even bother turning around. I prefer to keep savoring my appetizer. Then he says, "I just gave Charlie an extended tour of my little abode. She absolutely loves it. Don’t you, sweetheart?”
“You have a lovely home,” Charlotte says simply.
“And you look absolutely perfect in it,” Ilis adds.
Motherfucker.
That last part definitely gets my attention. I turn around. My movements are so calculated, you'd think I was moving in slow motion.
When I take her in, I grip the stem of my glass a little tighter to avoid moaning.
I’m so stunned by her beauty that words fail me.
Charlotte.
Looks.
Fucking.
Hot.
I mean, incredibly hot.
Ridiculous hot.
Dangerously hot.
My cock hardens so fast I forget to breathe. I even close my eyes for a beat, hoping to relieve the pain. To no avail.
Jesus.
She’s wearing a flowing yellow strapless dress that hits her mid-calf. A fashionable ruffle adorns the front bringing attention to her shoulders. The bright color only brings out her blonde hair that falls softly over her shoulders even more. Her subdued make-up is on point. When my eyes travel to her feet, I nearly bite the side of my fist. She’s wearing a pair of ridiculously high sandals with a wide buckle cinched at her ankles. Yellow, of course. Her red clutch adds a fiery element to an already incendiary outfit.
It doesn’t hit me immediately, but when it does, my worried eyes land on her wrists. I chuckle. Charlotte concealed the evidence of our kinky night by wearing the ruby and diamond bracelet I offered her last year on her right wrist. I’m glad it’s wide enough. She wrapped a scarf in a kaleidoscope of colors around her other wrist. Smart girl.
“Hello everybody,” Charlotte waves. She scours the garden careful to avoid making eye contact with me.
She looks annoyed. I’m not sure if it’s with Ilis or me.
“I'm trying to convince Charlie to come back tomorrow to enjoy my Olympic-sized pool. What better way to spend a lazy Sunday?” Ilis says. His eyes are defiantly staring at mine until he shifts them to my right.
Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that. His massive pool is complete with ancient Greek marble pillars and statues of gods and goddesses. In other words, it's the height of tackiness.
"Christos, you have to help me convince her to say yes," Ilis pleads.
This moron has zero game.
He doesn't deserve to have a cock between his legs.
More importantly, when will he take the hint? When my fist is punching all of the veneers out of his crass fucking mouth?
Christos shoots me a furtive glance before speaking. "Ilis, best to keep me out of this. I love my wife and I love my life. I'm not meddling in something that doesn't concern me."
"Oh, you’re such a softy,” Ilis replies with a cackling laugh.
No, I don't mean a laugh. And I don't mean a chuckle. I mean a laugh like an excited twelve-year-old girl.
What a wimp.
In the midst of this debate, Charlotte finally locks gazes with me.
I frown, silently asking her, “What the fuck?”
She responds by lifting her chin.
Goddamn.
CHAPTER 25
Charlie
That went well. Not.
I thought I could handle seeing Barrett, but I was dead wrong. The predatory way he looked at me with hunger burning in his eyes had my pussy clenching like crazy. In other words, mission, I can handle him, was a complete bust. Like always, I’m the little lamb and he’s the big bad wolf. There’s a slight twist in this story, though. Judging by Barrett’s unimpressed stares, I’m willing to bet that he thinks Ilis is the joker. I can't blame him.
My stomach did a series of medal-winning somersaults the second I spotted Barrett. He oozes with his dangerous trademark sex appeal clad in a pair of loose-fitting white jeans that screams New York City fashion, stylish black shirt and expensive looking modern loafers. The omission of socks makes the look casual, yet incredibly fashionable.
Bloody hell, he’s delicious.
Why does Barrett throw me off so completely every time I'm near him? He’s just a man. I know. But by God, he's a man who could make me bend to his will with a simple arch of his eyebrow. Damn him. You’d think he had god-like powers.
After a tense welcome, Ilis suggested we eat.
Honestly, I was grateful for the distraction and I was grateful I wasn’t seated across from Barrett. Since arriving, I cou
ld feel his gaze burning my skin and I doubt I could’ve handled it throughout the meal. I’m sure he’s upset. Good. That makes two of us.
We’re all huddled in different groups chatting our heads off. I’m in an animated conversation with Ezio Mitroglou—the third partner at Ilis’ PR firm—and his wife Rhea, while Barrett is talking to Christos and his wife Irini. Ilis is cracking jokes left, right and center entertaining Kostas and his wife Doukissa.
Everything is going smoothly until Ilis shouts, “Isn’t that right, Barrett, Greek men are better lovers than Brits.”
Everyone goes silent. All eyes shift at the same time to the opposite end of the table.
"I beg your pardon?" You can’t miss the hint of irritation in Barrett’s voice.
The two men are butting heads again.
"When it comes to sex, Greeks leave Brits in the dust,” Ilis says with a snort.
Oh God, this isn't going to end well.
“Really?”
“Yes,” Ilis grins before pumping his chest out. "An online study on Glamour Greece’s website—”
“Your reading of choice?” Barrett mocks.
“I was checking something out and simply landed on that article by accident,” Ilis explains.
“Right.”
“As I was saying, Glamour Greece revealed as such."
"Very scientific," Barrett scoffs so hard, I’m certain he’s going to bust an artery.
“It was a bona fide survey,” Ilis defends.
Barrett waves a disinterested hand. “You really believe in that rubbish?”
"They interviewed thousands upon thousands of women,” Ilis counters. “And I'm not surprised by the results. You British men are sooooooo phlegmatic. Of course, it translates in bed."
Honestly, Ilis must not value his life.
“And you know that from personal experience?” Barrett shoots back with a lethal smile that doesn’t reach his narrowed eyes. "I thought you were straight," Barrett sneers. “Just so we’re clear, it’s your prerogative to be gay… or bisexual. I didn’t think you swung that way." He punctuates his sentence with a one-shoulder shrug and a smirk.
You're All I Think About_Second Chance Romance Page 17