The Heir: A Standalone Greek Billionaire Romance

by Laurence, Selena

Cass gets out of the car and I follow. “What’s the problem?” she asks, opening the tiny hatch so I can get my luggage. I hoist one bag out and she wiggles her fingers for me to hand it to her.

  “I’ve got an internship with Stephanos Shipping. I’m supposed to start in their accounting section on Monday.”

  Cass laughs as she helps me arrange my other bag on my shoulder. “Well, you’ve already made an impression on your new boss then.”

  “The boss’s son, you mean,” I correct. “And I’ll probably never see either of them anyway. I’m sure the CEO’s office wing is nowhere near my intern desk.”

  Cass looks at me with sympathy. “Oh, you poor thing. You’re right that Niko’s high up in the company, but he’s not in the CEO’s offices. He’s the CFO, the head of finance. He really is your new boss.”

  Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

  Niko

  Sweat is pouring off of me and I’m starting to get a headache from the pounding bass and flashing lights. I let my hands wander over the hips of the girl I’m grinding behind, and she arches into me in response. The only problem is, I feel nothing. I’m not turned on, I’m not intrigued, I’m bored out of my fucking mind, and all I really want to do is go home and sit in front of the TV for a couple of hours.

  “I’m taking a break, why don’t you go dance with my friends,” I shout into the girl’s ear. She throws me a pouty face over her shoulder, then shakes her money maker off toward my buddies, the Agripas brothers, who are dancing a few feet away. Gabriel grabs her and pulls her into him, grinding on her like there’s no tomorrow. He looks across the dance floor at me and gives me a chin lift in thanks for the enthusiastic prize I sent his way. I give him a thumbs-up and make my way back upstairs to the VIP table we’ve been camped at all night.

  Even as crowded as it is, people part and move to the sides as I go across the room. It’s a perk of being both tall and filthy rich. Everyone on the island knows who I am, and none of them want to get in my way. When I reach the table I throw myself down on one of the padded leather benches and lay my head back, staring at the ceiling. My cousin, Christos, slides a tumbler of something across the table to me.

  “What’s the matter with you? She looked plenty willing, why’d you leave her down there?”

  I sigh. How can I explain the way I’ve been feeling lately? I certainly can’t complain. Not about anything. I have the perfect life. More money than any one man could spend in two lifetimes, women of all sorts at my beck and call, good friends and family who worship me. I even have a pretty kickass job, all things considered. But I’m bored, and sometimes I even approach miserable. I’m tired of the parties, tired of the superficial hookups, and God forbid my father ever hear me say it, but I’m even kind of tired of the company.

  “I don’t know, man,” I tell Christos. “Just not feeling it.”

  He looks at me thoughtfully. He’s my cousin, but also my best friend. Really more like a brother. I’ve got four sisters, and a ton of cousins, but Christos is the one I’m closest to. We’re only eight months apart in age, and his father is my dad’s brother. We spent virtually every waking moment together as kids. We shared a tutor until we were old enough to go to boarding school in Athens and London. After that we went to Miami University and both played on the soccer team. Then we came back to Georgios and Dad made me CFO, and Christos the Manager of Accounts Receivable, one of the dozen departments that report directly to me.

  “This is the third weekend in a row you don’t want to party. What gives?”

  This, right here, is why I don’t complain. Christos and the family, they have these expectations of me. That I’ll be the golden boy, happy, charming, surrounded by women, magnanimous to all. Georgios is a moderate-sized island, and for generations the Stephanos family has been the de facto kings here. We own a majority of the land, we run the island’s principal employer, we have more money than the rest of the islanders combined. We have more money than much of the rest of the world combined actually.

  And because of that, because we have that money, and that history, and because my father is like the patron of Georgios, I’m treated like its prince. But with that comes expectations. Expectations that I’ll behave like a benign dictator, taking what’s mine, giving scraps to the peasants, assuming my place in the family dynasty, and one day, when my father is no longer able to rule the kingdom, I’m destined to take over. My entire life has been mapped out for me since the day I was born, but I’m not sure it’s the life I actually want.

  And I can’t tell Christos that. Because as much as my life’s mapped out, so is his. He has the role of second son. He’s my right-hand man, the guy whose job it is to keep me happy and safe. When we’re not on Georgios I have bodyguards who travel with me, and Christos has been in charge of them since we were sixteen. Yeah, a sixteen-year-old boy was given the responsibility of keeping the heir to a multi-billion-dollar fortune safe. He had a whole slew of security specialists advising him of course, but my dad said Christos needed to settle in to his role as my deftheri, my closest advisor, the role he’s expected to continue for life.

  “Do you ever wish you had more choice?” I ask him, evading a precise answer to his question.

  “What do you mean? More choice in girls?”

  “No. God, get your brain out of your dick. More choice in life. Do you ever wonder what you’d do differently if you weren’t a Stephanos? If you could choose where to live and what job to have.”

  He snorts as if it’s the dumbest suggestion he’s ever heard. “Hell no. Why would I? If I had a choice I’d choose to be a Stephanos and do exactly what I’m doing now.” He waves an arm around the discotheque we’re in, flashing lights, writhing bodies, booming bass. “It doesn’t get much better than this, bro.”

  I give him a tight smile, knowing he’ll never understand what I’m feeling. No one in my family will. They do things the same way, generation after generation, and I love them, but more and more lately I’m not sure I love my life. Something is missing. I crave a challenge, a change of some sort.

  Unbidden, an image of the girl I ran into at the docks yesterday pops into my head. Her blonde hair floating around her head in the breeze. Her sweet curves as she struggled with those bags that were as big as she was. I saw her long before she fell into my arms, in fact, I delayed the run I was going on because I saw her on the deck of the ferry.

  There was something about her—she was so different than the girls I come into contact with every day. I see two basic types, the ones who are good Greek girls, raised to marry good Greek men, and the ones who are here at this club. Who will fuck me anytime I want them to, who are vapid and superficial. In a sense they’re a modern version of the other type. Still spending their lives doing something to please the world around them. Marry me or fuck me, it all comes from the same place. Make the prince happy.

  But I could tell that the blonde on the ship didn’t fall into either of those categories—and not simply because she wasn’t Greek—no, she was something different. You could see with one look that this girl knew exactly who she was, what she was doing, where she was going. Even her little outburst about the rules for disembarking was confident. Secretly I agree with her—there’s no point in having the damn sign up if the rules it displays aren’t going to be enforced, but I argued with her because it was a thing of beauty to watch her convictions. To see someone who was so secure in who they were and what they believed that they’d argue with a perfect stranger in a foreign country mere moments after landing.

  And she left me thinking that I have no idea who I am or what I believe, because I’ve never had the chance to find out. Everything in my whole life has been handed to me on a platter. My interests, my occupation, my values, my very identity. Handed to me. No one ever asked, and that’s what it comes down to. No matter how rich the prize, no one ever asked if I wanted it. I wish I could be as sure as Christos that this is where I belong, but lately I’ve been full of doubt, and that’s fucking scary as
hell, because I don’t know that I’ll ever have another choice.

  * * *

  Sunday morning means church in my family. Christos and I avoid it as much as possible—one, we’re usually hungover from Saturday night, and two, Greek Orthodox church is a fucking nightmare of never-ending ceremonies and relatives pouring out of your ears—but at least once a month we have to show up, and today is that day.

  “God my head hurts,” Christos bitches as he adjusts his sunglasses while we hike up the walkway to the church. “I thought I’d never get Alexina out of my bed this morning. Her voice made my head pound like someone was hammering inside of it.”

  I stretch, exaggerating every movement and sound. “Yeaaah, those solid eight I got were sure restful. Whole bed to myself. Nice clean sheets. No screechy women.”

  “Dude. I got laid,” Christos reminds me. “You had to jack off first thing this morning.”

  “Fuck off,” I say right before I look up and see my mother standing on the church steps in front of me.

  “Niko!” she snaps, giving me the look that’s been guilting me into moderately good behavior for twenty-four years.

  “Sorry, Ma. I’m sorry.” I lean in and give her a kiss on each cheek. “Good morning. How are you?”

  She smiles, placated by my chagrin, and then greets Christos too.

  “I’ve got to go find my mom,” he says. “She thought I’d never come to church again. I had to prove her wrong.”

  “And he gets sucked in by the reverse psychology yet again,” I say to no one in particular.

  “Let’s go in,” my mother says, hooking her hand through my elbow. “Daddy and the girls are seated already.”

  I’m about to follow her when I hear a husky voice behind me. “Niko. Fancy meeting you here.”

  I turn to find myself face to face with a very unhappy Juliet Papadous, my receptionist, and the woman I’ve been screwing for the last few weeks.

  “Uh, Ma, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I say, knowing that what’s coming shouldn’t take place inside a house of worship.

  My mother gives me a tight smile and looks at Juliet like she’s something that came off the sole of a shoe. Then she moves inside the building, and I gently walk Juliet a few feet away from the church doors, out of the main traffic path. I see all the older women in the congregation giving me the side-eye though, so I hope this doesn’t get too ugly.

  “Thanks for the phone calls,” Juliet says without preamble.

  I scratch the back of my head. I hate this crap. I don’t run through women like Kleenex the way Christos does, but I also don’t have girlfriends, so anyone who wants to chill with me should understand that. Juliet is hot, and I had fun with her, but it’s not like I ever implied we were dating.

  “Yeah, I’ve been tied up with things,” I lie.

  “Funny, because my friend Lisa said you were out clubbing with Christos last night.”

  “Look, Jules—”

  “Don’t you dare,” she hisses. “Don’t you dare give me some speech about how I should have known the score and you never promised me anything. Guys make promises in all kinds of ways, Niko. You didn’t use words, but you’ve been sleeping in my bed and eating the food I cooked for you and sticking your hand up my skirt at work for the last three weeks. That implies certain things.”

  Yeah, I’m not seeing it, but whatever, she obviously has a different view.

  “Look, I’m sorry if I misled you in any way. It wasn’t my intention,” I tell her. “The fact is, I’m just too busy for a real relationship right now. I like you, Jules, but I don’t want a girlfriend at the moment.”

  Her eyes narrow and from the corner of my eye I see her arm draw back. No way is she going to fucking slap me on the church steps.

  I grab her wrist before she can hit me, then I get close to her face, keeping my voice low, but putting every bit of future CEO I’ve got into it.

  “Listen up, because I won’t say this again. It was fun, but we’re done. I have no problems with you, but if you have one with me that you can’t get control of, then you know where the door is. I’ll give you a glowing recommendation, but I won’t put up with bullshit from you at work, or home, or in front of the goddamn church.”

  I think I may have just completely blown my chances at getting into heaven. I really need to control my language.

  Juliet’s eyes get wide, and I see her lip quiver ever so slightly. She’s tough this one, but I can tell I’ve pierced the armor. I didn’t want to do it, but it’s better to nip this shit in the bud.

  She wrenches her wrist from my hand and nods once. “Yes, sir, Mr. Stephanos,” she whispers. Then she marches into the church, smoke practically rising from the earth she scorches when she goes.

  It’s going to be a long week at Stephanos Shipping.

  Tess

  I spend the next couple of days getting settled into my new place with Cass. It’s a darling apartment on the third floor of a building that’s probably a few hundred years old. We’ve got a living room with a tiny kitchen attached, a bathroom that we share with the old lady across the hall, and a bedroom that has space for two single beds, two dressers, and a wardrobe for hanging clothes.

  Cass has made some space for my things in the wardrobe, but even with the meager amount of stuff I brought we realize we’re going to have to find another place to hang things. I’m so glad Cass has the car because we end up driving to the hardware store and getting a wooden rod that we suspend from the ceiling next to the wardrobe. That then becomes my closet. It’s all super boho, but I don’t mind.

  When Monday morning rolls around I’m unpacked, I know where the nearest grocery store is, and I’m relieved that my roommate is easy to get along with, plus has a boyfriend with his own place so I get plenty of “alone” time.

  “Oh good, you’re still here!” Cass cries out as she comes slamming into the apartment first thing in the morning. I’m drinking a cup of coffee and eating tiganites, which are Greek pancakes. She made them for me yesterday and there were extra which I’m now chowing down like this is my last meal.

  I struggle to swallow before I answer her. “I don’t have to be there until nine.”

  She tosses her purse on the table by the front door. “I wanted to be here to wish you good luck on your first day.”

  “Thank you,” I say, once again thinking how lucky I was to get Cass for a roomie. “I’m glad I chose to start the internship a week earlier than school. I’m nervous enough about this as it is, I can’t imagine if I had to start classes today too.”

  She sits down at the kitchen table and snatches a piece of food off of my plate. “I cooked these for Anton this morning,” she says, referring to her boyfriend whose place she slept at last night. “He ate the entire batch in five minutes.”

  I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Boys,” I say. “When my brother, Nate, was in college he used to come home for breaks and I’d find him in the kitchen with a box of cereal, a half gallon of milk and a mixing bowl. He’d pour the entire box in, the whole carton of milk, and then eat it all with a giant serving spoon. Yet, he sill weighed less than most of the girls on the soccer team.”

  “If I ate like that—” Cass grabs another piece of my tiganites and I push the plate toward her. I’m too nervous to eat much anyway. “—I’d be the soccer team.”

  Talking about my brother reminds me of the email I read from him when I woke up this morning. Nate’s an FBI agent. Not the kind who goes around in dark cars with RayBans on, but one who sits in front of a computer and watches hackers and pedophiles as they try to use the Internet to further their criminal enterprises. He does with technology what I hope to do with numbers. Nate must have seen something about Stephanos Shipping at work because he wrote me a cautionary email:

  To: TessR@chiu.edu

  From: NR280@fbi.gov

  Hey Mess (yeah, he turned Tess into Mess early on in my life),

  Hope everything’s good in Greece. Mom said you got there oka
y. I’m glad you have a roommate, you can’t be too careful alone in a foreign country (and yes, he’s in law enforcement and I’m his baby sister, hence the overprotectiveness). Mom also told me about the company they’ve got you interning at. I’m not so sure your school’s done their research. If it were up to me you’d skip the internship and stick to the classes while you’re there.

  Now here’s where the problem comes in. Nate can’t talk about things he knows from work, it’s all classified information. But sometimes he finds out things that relate to friends or family—a hotel that’s broken gambling regulations, a pediatrician who’s being investigated for improprieties—things that he desperately wants to warn people about and can’t. So, he uses as many generalizations as possible. He warns people without actually warning them. It’s tricky.

  If you do keep that internship, make sure you tell me how it’s going. Send me an email at work if there’s anything at all that doesn’t seem right. You know what I’m saying, Mess, right?

  Also, don’t go anywhere with any Greek guys. I mean it.

  You suck,

  Nate.

  As I recall his email, it makes me even more nervous about my first day of work. It’s probably something stupid like he’s found out Stephanos didn’t pay a tariff when they entered US waters, I really shouldn’t give it a second thought. I try to shake off the nervousness his email left me with. I remind myself that Nate is way overprotective. I’m not going to skip meeting Greek guys because of his warnings, why would I quit my totally awesome internship because of them?

  “Earth to Tess,” Cass says with a smirk on her face. “Thinking about your new boss?”

  I snort. “No. God. I probably won’t even see him. I’m sure he only deals with the senior accountants, not college interns.”

  “Well, you know there are a lot of stories about interns and their bosses—Monica Lewinsky, Cecilia West…”