The Heir: A Standalone Greek Billionaire Romance

by Laurence, Selena

I wiggle around, trying to get comfortable on the second-hand sofa that’s some kind of crushed velvet and scratchy as hell.

  “Trust me, he can be. But yeah, he’s not always.”

  “He likes you.”

  Cass is ever-blunt, and I feel my cheeks heat.

  “We’re just friends. You know that’s the deal.”

  “But it doesn’t change the fact that he likes you. As more than a friend.”

  I turn the volume up on the movie. Then back down. Then up again.

  “Teh-ehs,” she says in a singsong voice.

  “What?” I squirm some more.

  “Are you going to ignore it forever. Hang out together and never admit that you both have huge crushes?”

  “What do you want me to say, Cass? Our crushes don’t matter—they can’t matter. I need the job, he understands that. His dad even said he doesn’t want him dating the staff. We’d both get in trouble.”

  She sniffs and looks at the television for a few minutes. “You guys just seem really cute—”

  “Stop!” I laugh, throwing a pillow at her head. “We would be really cute, but we can’t, so just stop. It’s hard enough as it is.”

  “Okay, okay. But for the record, I think you’re nuts.”

  “For the record, I do too,” I mumble, tucking my feet up under me and laying my head down on the arm of the sofa. “Certifiable.”

  * * *

  Later that night while I’m in bed reading for my economics course, my phone chimes. I pick it up off the nightstand and look at the glowing screen.

  Niko: Thought you’d like to know that Cara’s party is a success.

  He’s attached a picture of his little sister in front of an elaborately decorated table full of food and fancy, iced cakes. She has her arms slung around two other girls, and all three of them are in formal dresses. Lanterns and streamers hang from the ceiling behind them.

  Me: Look how pretty! You’re such a good big brother. No teens trying to get it on in the bunks or whatever you have on a yacht?

  Niko: I busted up a couple of boys trying to light a doobie out on deck, but no sex so far.

  Me: Kids these days. We would have totally snuck into the bedrooms.

  Niko: Oh yeah? And what would teenage Tess have done with the boys in a dark bedroom at a party?

  My heart beats with excitement, imagining Niko and I in a room like that, the fear of getting caught making everything seem so much more urgent.

  Me: Depends on who I was with.

  The response is slow to come, and I think that maybe he’s gotten distracted, or knows we’re treading in dangerous territory, but then the phone chimes again and I’m almost afraid to look.

  Niko: Maybe it was a teenage Niko.

  My lungs constrict. I can imagine all too well the kinds of things teenage Tess would have done with teenage Niko. I think about my response for a long while, reminding myself that we are supposed to be friends. And while friends can flirt a bit here and there, I shouldn’t let this go too far. No matter how much I’d like to.

  Me: I think teenage Tess would have been tempted to do most anything with teenage Niko.

  His response is immediate.

  Niko: But is grown up Tess tempted by the same things?

  I gasp, heat flowing through me, my core tingling in response to the thoughts that invade my mind. His body and mine, sliding, slick, hot, writhing. Tongues and fingers, silk and steel.

  Before I can answer he texts again.

  Niko: Sorry. That was out of line. Please forgive me.

  I shake my head trying to dispel the lust that’s taken over my rational side.

  Me: Nothing to forgive. My fault too. I’m glad your sister’s having a good time. I’ll see you on Monday.

  Niko: Thanks again for the boat party. I had a great time.

  Me: You’re welcome. I had fun too.

  Niko: Good night, Tess. Sweet dreams.

  Me: Good night.

  Niko

  Touching Tess.

  It’s all I can think about. I remember the feel of her slick skin under my hands as I held her in the ocean. I remember the scent of her hair as I lowered my head to her shoulder in the nightclub. I remember the warmth of her gaze as I clutched her hand on the table at lunch. My mind is overrun with thoughts of touching Tess.

  Which might explain why I’m late to work on Monday morning and my father is sitting in my office waiting for me.

  “Pop,” I say as I enter the room and set my laptop bag down. “You’re here early.”

  He gives me a kiss on each cheek before gently cuffing me upside the head. “I’m not early, you’re late.”

  “Yeah, sorry. You can ask Annais, I’m normally here before this. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  He makes a motion with his hand as if brushing away the issue of my tardiness. “Eh, you didn’t sleep well because you didn’t come to church or Sunday dinner like your mother asked.”

  Shit. I should have known skipping both was likely to bring down the wrath of Ari.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll make sure to come to both next week, how’s that?”

  I take a seat behind my desk while my dad continues to walk around the room looking at things on my walls—my diploma, photos of me playing soccer at Miami, an article about me that was in the Athens newspaper last year when I came to work full-time for the company.

  “You haven’t talked to me about work lately,” he states, with no segue.

  I shrug. “Nothing much to talk about. Everything’s running like it should be. No one seems to have any big complaints—at least not that I’ve heard.” I look at him, wondering if something’s gone wrong that I don’t know about. He wanders back to my desk and finally sits down in one of the chairs facing me.

  “I hear nothing but good things,” he says, and I feel that rush of breath that happens when you’ve been holding it without realizing you were.

  “Well, we aim to please here in Finance,” I joke.

  He shifts in his chair and watches me for a moment. As rough as he might appear, and as well-known as he is for being hard-nosed in the business world, my dad has never been anything but gentle and loving with my sisters and me. He’s like a big, gruff teddy bear. The only time he’s ever raised his voice in our house was when I was a teen home from boarding school for the summer, a little too full of myself and my own importance. I made my mother cry when I stayed out all night with Christos and some girls we met at the beach that day. My father called me into his office at the house the next morning after I wandered in hungover, having spent most of the night banging Athena Papadous.

  My sisters told me later that they could hear Dad yelling clear out at the pool, his deep voice booming throughout the property as he told me that he didn’t care how old I got, how big I got, how many women I screwed, or how much money I earned, if I ever made my mother cry again he’d kick my ass across the island and disown me to boot.

  Needless to say he scared the crap out of me, and I never tested my mother’s rules again.

  “I heard that you went down to the docks the other day,” he says, almost too nonchalantly.

  I think for a moment. “Oh, yeah. I saw some of our guys loading these weird crates onto a tanker. I couldn’t figure out what kind of cargo it might be, didn’t look like anything that we’d normally put on a tanker so I thought I’d check up on it.”

  He nods, thoughtfully. “And what did they tell you?”

  “It was medical supplies they said. But they were going from LA to Syria. Why would they stop and unload and reload that stuff here? Isn’t that odd to you? I’m worried that someone might be padding shipping costs and skimming the difference.” I lean my elbows on my desk, thinking how strange it is to have him sitting in front of the desk and me behind it, and I can’t help but wonder why one simple visit to the docks has brought my father here from his CEO suite first thing in the morning.

  His blue eyes look tired, and for the first time that I can recall, he looks his
age, the fifty-one years of life displayed in his skin, his graying temples, and his worn posture. My heart skips a beat and for a moment the idea that he might be ill flashes through my mind. It scares me, more than I’d ever admit to another human being. My father is my anchor, the thing in this world that keeps me grounded. It doesn’t matter if I see him every day or once a year, if he’s down the block or thousands of miles away, he’s the touchstone that I use to remember who I am, what I have, and how incredibly fortunate I am in this life. He’s my role model in all things. A brilliant businessman, a kind and generous boss, a loyal husband, and loving father—I’m not sure I could live in a world that doesn’t include my dad.

  “I’m proud of you,” he says softly. “It makes my heart warm to know that you love this company as much as I do, as your grandfather did. You notice the small things, and you care enough to ask about them. That’s the mark of a leader. You’ll lead this company to even greater things than I have.”

  I smile, warming under his praise, which he doesn’t give unless he genuinely believes it.

  “But a great CEO cannot spend his time dealing with those little things,” he continues. “You need to learn to delegate more, this is why I have people working for you. And believe me, it will go much better for someone on your staff to go down to the docks and ask the questions than for you to do it.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. When I showed up did it scare them? Make them nervous? I didn’t mean it to. Once again though it sounds like Tess is right about me—I don’t very often put myself in the shoes of others.

  “I’m sorry, Pop. I didn’t think about how it might come off to the staff. I’m not used to thinking that the boss is scary to a lot of people.”

  He gives me a tight smile. “It’s okay. You’re learning every day. Now you know, so next time you have a concern like that you just take it to Christos, he’ll handle it for you, that’s his job. You let him talk to the staff, you have other things to do with your time.”

  I know he’s trying to help, and I realize that he’s right about the front line staff being a little uncomfortable with me in their business, but I also can’t help but feel a sliver of something unpleasant. Like the possibility that my father trusts Christos more than he trusts me. Given some of the things Christos has said to me recently I’m not sure he warrants it. Then there’s the possibility that I’m so protected and coddled and surrounded by family all the time not because I’m the heir, but because my father doesn’t view me as capable.

  I swallow the bitterness. “Whatever you say, Pop. I’ll let Christos handle things like that from now on.”

  He nods and smiles, looking ten times more relaxed than when he came in. “That’s my boy,” he stands. I do as well and walk around the edge of the desk to his side. “You bring this face home to your mother next Sunday, yeah?” He pinches my cheeks before giving one a light tap.

  “Yeah. I will,” I answer.

  “Good. I’ll see you on Sunday.” He pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket and looks at the screen, swiping it to rearrange whatever he’s seeing. He glances up, distracted. “I’ll tell Mama you’re coming to church, she’ll be happy all week.”

  “All right, see you then.”

  After he’s exited my office, I’m left with the lingering odor of Polo cologne, and the lingering realization that my father didn’t even flinch at the possibility that someone might be stealing from his company.

  * * *

  After my dad’s visit, Monday and Tuesday at the office fly by. We’ve got several new accounts, and our Middle Eastern fleet is undergoing annual maintenance, so there’s a lot of shuffling of schedules and shipments that has to occur to accommodate the new customers.

  Wednesday I finally get a chance to catch up on my regular paperwork, signing off on invoices, answering emails, and tying up loose ends on some of the reports staff have been preparing for the quarterly audits.

  It’s past eight p.m. when I finally throw my pen down on my desk and take a moment to rest my tired eyes. I’ve been sitting in one spot for hours, and I realize that I’m hungry, thirsty, and stiff. I stand and stretch before deciding to wander to the kitchenette down the hall and make myself some coffee.

  There’s a desk lamp light on at Tess’s desk, and I assume she or one of the maintenance people left it on. I go through the reception area and am headed to the kitchen when I hear the copy machine running and notice the light shining from under the door of the printer room. I rap on the door twice before turning the knob and sticking my head in, hoping that Annais isn’t here this late. Her husband will never forgive me for keeping her here through dinner.

  I’m greeted by the sight of Tess bending over the copier loading more paper into the industrial-sized tray at the bottom of the machine. She’s wearing a pair of those shorts that women wear to the office, they come to mid-thigh, and they’re tailored like men’s dress pants, but they’re white, and she has a deep red t-shirt in some sort of silky material on with them. Her shoes are red also, and have a high platform heel. Tess always wears super high heels to work, and I know it’s because she’s self-conscious about being short, but I won’t complain because they make her legs look so fucking sexy it takes my breath away.

  I stare at her ass for a moment as she works to get the paper in the drawer of the copier. She might be small, but she’s got a perfect ass—round, firm, and begging for me to take a bite out of it like a juicy apple. She stands and I can’t help but grin at the image.

  “Knock knock,” I finally say, knowing I can’t be a creeper anymore without her catching me.

  She whirls around, her hand at her throat. “Oh! God, you startled me. I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t know you were here either. Are we giving you too much work?”

  She punches the button to start the copier up again, and smiles. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the sun had leaked into this windowless room.

  “Not at all. I needed the presentation software you have here for some schoolwork, then I decided to take care of this copying Annais wants for a meeting tomorrow morning so I wouldn’t have to come in early.”

  “The school doesn’t give you the apps you need?” I ask, thinking that we should buy her whatever she needs so she can do her schoolwork at home like a normal college student.

  “No. I think it’s a really common program here in Europe, but we don’t use it in the States. I’m sure they figure everyone has it.” Her face suddenly falls. “Oh my gosh, should I not be using the company computers for homework? I am so sorry, I had no idea.” Her cheeks turn pink and she clenches her hands together. “I asked Annais and she said it was fine, but I didn’t even think that I should check with you. Oh my God, I can’t believe this—”

  I stride to her in one large step and capture her wringing hands in mine. “Shh, princess. It’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  She stops, her breath hitching a little as her eyes search mine. “I didn’t?”

  I can’t help but chuckle. My poor little rule follower. “Not at all. You’re our intern, you’re here to learn—from us, from school, from living in a different country. When we take on an intern we do it because we want to support their education, that includes letting you use the company equipment.”

  She sighs in relief, gently pulling her hands from mine, which causes my heart to squeeze like a sponge that’s being wrung out. Suddenly everything inside of me feels dry and desolate.

  “In fact,” I continue, “I want you to have the programs you need at home. Bring your laptop in to the IT guys and have them load anything you need on it so that you don’t have to stay late here.”

  “Seriously?” Her eyes are lighted up and all I can think is that I’d give her the whole damn company if she’d look at me like this every day.

  “Yes, for sure.”

  “There’s not a rule against that is there? I mean, you won’t get in trouble for giving me something you don’
t give everyone else?”

  I shake my head. She still doesn’t get it. “Princess, I’ve got an IT budget that I can do whatever I want with. Including give my staff the tools they need to do work outside of the office. Lots of staff have company software loaded on their laptops that they use at home.”

  “Okay. Oh, that’s good. Wow, and thank you so much. I can’t believe how generous that is.”

  I lean back against the counter across from the copier and stuff my hands in my pockets so that I won’t reach for her. Gratitude is a good look on Tess. I’d like to do all sorts of things to earn her gratitude, starting with my mouth on hers and ending with my mouth somewhere much lower. I shift, trying to stem the rising tide in my dress pants. Time to shift gears.

  “Have you had dinner?” I ask.

  “No. I was hoping that Cass left something in the fridge at home. She usually stays at her boyfriend’s on Wednesdays, but she also cooks a lot and leaves me the leftovers.”

  “Come with me,” I tell her as I reach over to the copier and collect her stack of papers. “We’ll drop these off on the way.”

  A few minutes later we’re in the office kitchen, an odd assortment of items spread out on the counter.

  “Olives, rice pilaf, tangerines, and some sort of bacon bits.” Tess surveys the mish mash of food. “You think we can make a dinner out of this?”

  “Sure,” I say, sounding a lot more confident than I am. “Watch.” I take the rice pilaf and toss the bacon bits on top of it, then the olives before I put it in the microwave and hit the minute heat button. Then I open the refrigerator again and dig around until I come up with a jar of tzatziki sauce. Tess watches me with an amused look on her face, obviously committed to letting me make a botched mess of this whole thing.

  The microwave dings and I pull out the rice, bacon, olive mess, drizzle the tzatziki sauce over the top, then slice the tangerine in half, putting each half on small plates before scooping the rice mixture onto the plates as well.

  I put the plates on the table we keep for staff to eat lunch at, then I bow deeply. “Your dinner is served mademoiselle.”