Every. Single. Morning.
She shut her eyes and conjured him up, as he’d been that last night in Athens. Before the story had been broken by the press.
When she knew that she loved him. When they’d made love and he’d danced a hundred tiny kisses down her nose and body, tickling her and teasing her. And, as it turned out, adoring her. Had he really loved her? Her belly flopped as she remembered the way she’d slept that night, curled in his arms.
It had been perfect.
So perfect it just couldn’t last.
Sleep was definitely not a good idea, even though the heat had enervated all of her energy. She crouched down beside the bed and pulled out the misshapen shoe box that rarely saw the light of day.
With a wistful smile, she lifted the lid and peered inside. The photos were chaotic and made no sense, much like Bella Bradley. But they were beautiful. Picture after picture of Bella with different men. Women too – she’d had a wide circle of friends and had partied with an awe-inspiring commitment.
“Is this how it was for you?” Elle whispered, running her finger over her mother’s face. “Did you feel this with every guy you met?”
It certainly explained a lot. The perpetual highs, followed by the unbearable lows. The commitments she made on a whim that never panned out. Bella had been careless and every relationship had been a disaster, but she’d still picked herself up and run into the next one head-first.
“We really do look alike,” she said, shaking her head. Her fingers pushed through the box and caught the image she’d been looking for. The photo of her and her mother. They could have been sisters – Bella at this age, and Elle as she was now. It was uncanny.
She slipped the photo out of the box and carried it with her into the kitchen. Her kettle was noisy, and as she waited for it to boil she stuck the picture to the fridge.
Bella had been a terrible mother. Not abusive, not violent, but self-conceited to the point of pain. Elle and Filip had been lucky they had one another. And Hannah and Chip, Elle thought, as her eyes drifted to another picture on the front of the fridge. This one had been taken at high school graduation. Before Filip’s accident. The four of them stood, like a big, happy, blended family; smiles shining, arms wrapped around each other. The sun was a beam that perforated the centre of the picture, casting angel halos over their faces.
It could have been an advertisement for healthy, happy teenagers.
On that day, Elle had really believed she was only small steps from her dreams. From The Julliard, and hundreds of people just like her. People who understood that music was a life-force all of its own, sustaining and palpable.
She swallowed and turned away.
Far more important things had been lost in the accident than her own dreams. Filip had been a young man. A beautiful, strong boy with the world at his feet. He still is, she reminded herself. He would do whatever he wanted to. What she wouldn’t do for half of his strength and resilience.
The knock on the door sounded just as she was splashing milk into her tea. She padded towards it, pulling the t-shirt down so it fell to mid-thigh.
She looked through the keyhole, as any self-respecting New Yorker would know to do, and then took a sharp step backwards.
“Your feet are casting shadows beneath the door.” Christos’s accented voice was amused, but it was also very, very sexy. The blood in her body began to pound hungrily. Her nipples were taut against the soft cotton of the clothes.
“Hang on a second,” she said, pulling the shirt over her head and making a bee-line for her bedroom.
“Open the door, Elle, or I will bang it in.”
She shook her head. She was zipping easily from anger to desire to resentment. She reached for a pair of shorts and a singlet, and then moved quickly back through the apartment.
He was standing, a brooding expression on his handsome face, dressed immaculately as though the heat of the day had barely registered with him. A pair of jeans and a collared shirt that was jet black. He looked dangerous. Her stomach thrilled with anticipation.
“What are you doing here?”
“You have a singular talent for making me feel welcome,” he drawled, propping a shoulder against the wall.
“It’s a gift.” She swallowed, keeping her hand propped on the edge of the door.
“Is someone here?”
She furrowed her brow. “I’m tempted to lie and say ‘yes’.”
As always, she provoked a smile to his lips even when his mood was otherwise dark. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m alone. Why does that matter?”
“It doesn’t.” He arched a brow. “So, the normal protocol now would be for you to say: Would you like to come in?”
“Sure. If I were crazy. Which I’m not. Stay out there, thank you.”
He laughed softly and took a step towards her. “I could find less-polite ways to encourage you to let me in,” he murmured, dropping his mouth to within an inch of hers.
Her breath was burning in her lungs as she stared into his beautiful, dark eyes. “I’m holding a boiling cup of tea,” she warned him with assumed sweetness.
He grinned and dropped his lips lower, brushing them so lightly against hers that she doubted the contact had actually happened. She blinked with longing, hating the way her body jumped instantly.
“That’s not a good advertisement for why I should let you in,” she said softly. “I don’t want you to touch me.”
“Liar,” he lifted a hand to her waist and she made a noise of exasperation then spun on her heel. Her heart was pounding, her brain sluggish.
“Why are you here?” She pointed towards the sofa, indicating that he should sit.
“No, thanks. I prefer not to have springs sticking into my butt.”
Her cheeks glowed. “Well done, Christos. You’ve been in my apartment twenty-seven seconds and already you’re back to insulting the way I live.”
He’d hurt her pride with a stupid joke. He could have slapped himself. With a look of contrition he took a seat, ignoring the discomfort from the spiky cushions, his eyes pinned to her face.
Mollified, she brought her tea to her lips and studied him. “So? What is it?”
“We need to speak about Filip.”
“Oh.” The disappointment was searing. “Yeah, of course.” Filip. Had she really thought he was there to see her? Despite what Christos had claimed in Athens, Elle doubted he’d sat around pining for her as she had for him.
“Are you free tonight?”
“No,” she lied. “But I am now.”
His eyes narrowed. “You are impossible.”
She shrugged. “That’s not your problem, is it?”
“Actually,” he stood and came to brace himself on the opposite side of the kitchen bench. “It is.”
She swallowed, dropping her eyes to the tea. “It seems that Filip had a great time with you.”
“We both did. I can’t believe I have a brother. It’s incredibly surreal.”
“It would be,” she said softly, imagining the way his life had been knocked sideways.
“I want to start making some changes in his life.”
Elle’s face rang with alarm as she pulled her head upwards. “What changes?” She bit down on her lip and before he could answer said angrily, “I’m his legal guardian. I’m in charge. You can’t just come in here and steamroll everything.”
He understood her fear, and the ruthless tycoon in him wanted to use it to his advantage. But there’d been too much of that already. Too much hurt. Too much blackmail. “I have no plan to do any such thing, agape mou.”
“Don’t.” It was a whispered plea. “Please don’t call me that.”
He nodded. “I want to make a plan with you. But things have to change now.”
“What things?” She asked hoarsely.
“For a start, you and he should never have had to worry about money. Your mother … she was entitled to so much more.”
She shook her head.
“Don’t let Xanthe hear you say that.”
“Listen, Elle,” he came around to her side of the bench and put a hand on her arm. “You believe your mother to have been mercenary. And perhaps she was. But she could have got so much more from my father. He was very, very wealthy. The cost of Filip’s education was a drop to him. It’s small change.”
Elle felt sickened. Those same school fees had kept her awake at night. “I know that.”
“Your family should have been living comfortably. You should have been able to go to The Julliard …”
She looked at him sharply and then shook her head. “Filip.”
“He’s proud of you. And he’s worried that you’re giving up your life for his. He feels a tremendous guilt.”
She hated to hear the words, and especially from Christos. “Don’t talk to me about my brother. I know how he feels. I’m doing the best I can.”
Sympathy and love squeezed his chest. “Of course you are, agape mou.”
“I told you …”
“I love you,” he said to silence her, lifting a finger to her lips. “So I’ll call you ‘my love’ any time I want.”
She fluttered her eyes closed. His words threatened to bring her far too much happiness. And she wished she could let herself feel it. But the happiness he promised led to its counterweight: despair. “Let’s stick to talking about Filip.”
“Fine by me. But Ellie?” His use of the affectionate diminutive of her name made something weird happen inside of her. “I’m not going anywhere.” He lifted her hand and kissed it gently.
She pulled away with determination. “Filip.”
His smile was indulgent. “Fine. Come to dinner tonight. We’ll talk then.”
“Talk now.”
He shook his head. “I have a meeting. I’ll send a car for you at eight.”
“No.” She was too close to the edge. A few steps and she’d be falling, back into his arms, back into him. It wasn’t possible. “I don’t want to have dinner with you.” Her cheeks flushed and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “I know this might make me seem incredibly immature or whatever but dinner is where things get mixed up. If you want to talk about Filip, then let’s keep it simple.”
His eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Fine.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Come to this address tomorrow at nine. Is that business-like enough for you?”
She lowered her gaze to the card. RAKANTI was emboldened in big black letters across the front. Beneath it there was an address, in Hanover, just off Wall Street. “Your office?”
He nodded.
“Fine.” She put the card down beside her tea. “I’ll see you then.”
He didn’t move though. He stood opposite her, his eyes arrested on her face. “It’s been five weeks.”
She breathed in deeply. It was a mistake. She caught a hint of his uniquely masculine fragrance and felt her knees weaken. “Since when?” She murmured disingenuously.
“You know,” he moved closer. “The more you pretend you haven’t missed me, the more tempted I am to show you otherwise.”
She glared at him. “Hot tea, remember.”
His laugh sent shivers down her spine. “Tomorrow.”
He turned and left, and the moment the front door clicked closed she felt pervasive emptiness and despair steal into the apartment.
It hung, heavy in the air, all night. Even when Hannah returned, her arms full of what she considered excellent sources of distraction (a copy of Dirty Dancing from the Canal Street markets, a bag of chocolate truffles and a new scarf in psychedelic colours) Elle couldn’t ignore the dull, throbbing ache low in her abdomen.
It didn’t dissipate overnight, either.
By morning, her nerves were stretched tighter than cable wire. She didn’t have a huge selection of clothing, and after discarding her tenth option, she barrelled into a still-sleeping Hannah’s room.
“Honey? Mind if I borrow something.”
“Whatever,” Hannah mumbled and nodded, burrowing deeper beneath her quilt.
Elle threw open the doors to Hannah’s wardrobe and grinned. This was more like it. Hannah had always had a knack for thrift shopping and her wardrobe was an eclectic mix of designer goods. Elle settled on a white blouse and navy blue dress, teamed with some matching navy pumps. She stood back to admire the effect and grinned.
Business like.
Professional.
Definitely not sexy.
She fluffed her hair and put a little makeup on to add colour to her cheeks and then breezed out of the apartment.
The subway was delayed and so she arrived at the monolith of steel and glass with only minutes to spare. Yet still she stopped in the middle of the footpath and looked up. And up.
All the way to the top of the tower.
Her hopes sunk correspondingly lower.
The way Christos Rakanti lived was literally worlds apart from her. Men like him didn’t even eat at the diner she worked at. It was impossible to understand how he could say he loved her.
She ignored those doubts. They weren’t relevant.
“Can I help you, miss?” An elderly chap in a security uniform greeted her at the glass doors.
She nodded, her fingers fumbling as she pulled out the card.
“Ah, yes. Rakanti Industries is on the forty ninth floor.”
Forty ninth floor. She smiled weakly. “Thank you.”
The elevator moved like a capsule bullet, straight up the tower. One side was glass and so as she ascended towards the sky, she could see the city becoming smaller and smaller like a little Lego village.
The swishing open of the elevator doors startled her and she spun, scanning the wall beyond.
The same black lettering as the business card announced that she’d arrived at her destination. Slowly, cautiously, she stepped off the lift, almost as though a pit of fire might have been waiting for her.
There was a desk straight ahead, with two women seated behind it. They didn’t look up as she approached and so Elle had to clear her throat. The blonde smiled and flicked her ice-blue eyes Elle’s way. “Good morning, madam. May I help you?”
“I have an ap-appointment with Christos Rakanti.”
The blonde’s frown was infinitesimal but Elle saw it. She understood it. The blonde thought Elle didn’t belong, and Elle smiled apologetically, because the blonde was completely right.
“Your name?”
“Elle Bradley.”
Surprise was evident in every single feature on her perfectly made up face. “Of course, Miss Bradley.” The woman stood, revealing a neat figure wrapped, head to toe, in glamour and beauty. Elle could have cringed as she walked behind her, feeling suddenly not so much professional as plainly frumpy.
The receptionist knocked on a pair of glass doors, frosted to conceal whatever was beyond, and then stepped away.
Christos pulled them inwards and Elle had to dig her fingernails into her palms to cover her gasp.
He was dressed in a suit.
She’d seen him in suits plenty of times and yet today it made her want to peel the sensible outfit from his body. Perhaps it was the surrounds that gave him an almost untouchable formality.
Elle’s smile was politely hesitant; it lacked warmth completely.
“Come in,” he said gently, stepping backwards to make way for her.
His office was enormous. Easily twice the size of the apartment she shared with Hannah, and far more glamorous. The windows behind him stretched from floor to ceiling and showed an expansive view of downtown Manhattan. His desk stood in the centre. It was large, with two MacBooks in the centre and piles of paper and folders. There were white leather armchairs in front of it, and then, set a little way over, a colourful middle-eastern style carpet with more armchairs.
“Please.” He nodded towards the armchairs set at a distance and she walked towards them, a little too overawed to bother finding a smart comment. “Thank you for meeting me. Would you like
some tea?”
“I’m fine,” she lied, desperately wishing she could curl her fingers around a comforting warm drink.
His smile was knowing. “This will take some time. Are you sure?”
Her cheeks flamed. “Fine. A tea would be nice. Thank you.”
“It just kills you to thank me, doesn’t it?”
Her blush deepened. “What did you want to talk about?”
He grinned and pressed the intercom in the centre of the low coffee table. “A tea, milk, no sugar. Coffee.”
He sat opposite her and lifted a folder off the table. She hadn’t even noticed it. “As you know, Filip’s education is taken care of.”
She nodded. “Yes. And as you know, I’m very grateful.” That much was easy to admit.
“I thought you should be aware that I’ve set a fund up for him for college, too. He’ll have his pick of whichever he chooses.”
Elle felt as though the world was tipping sideways. “He will?”
“Of course.” He stared at her thoughtfully. “He’s expressed an interest in coming to Greece after school to do an internship at Rakanti.”
“What?” Her eyes shifted to his face incredulously. “Was that your idea?”
The door pushed inwards and the other receptionist, the one with a neat brown bun, walked into the room with a small tray.
She placed it between Christos and Elle then walked smartly from the room.
“It wasn’t my idea, nor was it his.” He shrugged. “It evolved out of many conversations and a clear aptitude he displays for business.” Christos leaned forward, resting his elbows on his powerful thighs. She forced her gaze to stay level with his, rather than remembering what it was like to be pinned beneath those legs.
“It’s years away,” she said, doing her best to stay calm. But it felt like the four walls of her existence were being shoved in around her.
He nodded. “You’re right. There’s much to focus on before that becomes an issue.” He reached for the tea cup and handed it to Elle. She took it, careful not to let her fingers brush his.
Billionaires: They're powerful, hot, charming and richer than sin... Page 45