Jane Porter - At The Greek Boss's Bidding

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Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Coming Next Month

For two of my favorite heroes: my brothers Dr. Thomas W. Porter and Robert George Porter.

THE helicopter slammed against the rocky incline of the mountain thick with drifts of snow.

Glass shattered, metal crunched and red flames shot from the engine, turning what Kristian Koumantaros knew was glacial white into a shimmering dance of fire and ice.

Unable to see, he struggled with his seatbelt. The helicopter tilted, sliding a few feet. Fire burned everywhere as the heat surged, surrounding him. Kristian tugged his seatbelt again. The clip was jammed.

The smoke seared his lungs, blistering each breath.

Life and death, he thought woozily. Life and death came down to this. And life-and-death decisions were often no different than any other decisions. You did what you had to do and the consequences be damned.

Kristian had done what he had to do and the consequences damned him.

As the roar of the fire grew louder, the helicopter shifted again, the snow giving way.

My God. Kristian threw his arms out, and yet there was nothing to grab, and they were sent tumbling down the mountain face. Another avalanche, he thought, deafened by the endless roar—

And then nothing.

“OHI. No.” The deep rough voice could be none other than Kristian Koumantaros himself. “Not interested. Tell her to go away.”

Standing in the hall outside the library, Elizabeth Hatchet drew a deep breath, strengthening her resolve. This was not going to be easy, but then nothing about Kristian Koumantaros’s case had been easy. Not the accident, not the rehab, not the location of his estate.

It had taken her two days to get here from London—a flight from London to Athens, an endless drive from Athens to Sparta, and finally a bone-jarring cart and donkey trip halfway up the ridiculously inaccessible mountain.

Why anybody, much less a man who couldn’t walk and couldn’t see, would want to live in a former monastery built on a rocky crag on a slope of Taygetos, the highest mountain in the Peloponnese, was beyond her. But now that she was here, she wasn’t going to go away.

“Kyrios.” Another voice sounded from within the library and Elizabeth recognized the voice as the Greek servant who’d met her at the door. “She’s traveled a long way—”

“I’ve had it with the bloody help from First Class Rehab. First Class, my ass.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, counting to ten as she did so.

She’d been told by her Athens staff that it was a long trip to the former monastery.

She’d been warned that reaching rugged Taygetos, with its severe landscape but breathtaking vistas, was nearly as exhausting as caring for Mr. Koumantaros.

Her staff had counseled that traveling up this spectacular mountain with its ancient Byzantine ruins would seem at turns mythical as well as impossible, but Elizabeth, climbing into the donkey cart, had thought she’d been prepared. She’d thought she knew what she was getting into.

Just like she’d thought she knew what she was getting into when she agreed to provide Mr. Koumantaros’s home health care after he was released from the French hospital.

In both cases she had been wrong.

The painfully slow, bumpy ride had left her woozy, with a queasy stomach and a pounding headache.

Attempting to rehabilitate Mr. Koumantaros had made her suffer far worse. Quite bluntly, he’d nearly bankrupted her company.

Elizabeth tensed at the sound of glass breaking, followed by a string of select and exceptionally colorful Greek curses.

“Kyrios, it’s just a glass. It can be replaced.”

“I hate this, Pano. Hate everything about this—”

“I know, kyrios.” Pano’s voice dropped low, and Elizabeth couldn’t hear much of what was said, but apparently it had the effect of calming Mr. Koumantaros.

Elizabeth wasn’t soothed.

Kristian Koumantaros might be fabulously wealthy and able to afford an eccentric and reclusive lifestyle in the Peloponnese, but that didn’t excuse his behavior. And his behavior was nothing short of self-absorbed and self-destructive.

She was here because Kristian Koumantaros couldn’t keep a nurse, and he couldn’t keep a nurse because he couldn’t keep his temper.

The voices in the library were growing louder again. Elizabeth, fluent in Greek, listened as they discussed her.

Mr. Koumantaros didn’t want her here.

Pano, the elderly butler, was attempting to convince that Mr. Koumantaros it wouldn’t be polite to send the nurse away without seeing her.

Mr. Koumantaros said he didn’t care about being polite.

Elizabeth’s mouth curved wryly as the butler urged Mr. Koumantaros to at least offer her some refreshment.

Her wry smile disappeared as she heard Mr. Koumantaros answer that as most nurses from First Class Rehab were large women Ms. Hatchet could probably benefit from passing on an afternoon snack.

“Kyrios,” Pano persisted, “she’s brought a suitcase. Luggage. Ms. Hatchet intends to stay.”

“Stay?” Koumantaros roared.

“Yes, kyrios.” The elderly Greek’s tone couldn’t have been any more apologetic, but his words had the effect of sending Kristian into another litany of curses.

“For God’s sake, Pano, leave the damn glass alone and dispense with her. Throw her a bone. Get her a donkey. I don’t care. Just do it. Now.”

“But she’s traveled from London—”

“I don’t care if she flew from the moon. She had no business coming here. I left a message two weeks ago with the service. That woman knows perfectly well I’ve fired them. I didn’t ask her to come. And it’s not my problem she wasted her time.”

Speaking of which, Elizabeth thought, rubbing at the back of her neck to ease the pinch of pain, she was wasting time standing here. It was time to introduce herself, get the meeting underway.

Shoulders squared, Elizabeth took a deep breath and pushed the tall door open. As she entered the room, her low heels made a faint clicking sound on the hardwood floor.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Koumantaros,” she said. Her narrowed gaze flashed across the shuttered windows, cluttered coffee table, newspapers stacked computer-high on a corner desk. Had to be a month’s newspapers piled there, unread.

“You’re trespassing, and eavesdropping.” Kristian jerked upright in his wheelchair, his deep voice vibrating with fury.

She barely glanced his way, heading instead for the small table filled with prescription bottles. “You were shouting, Mr. Koumantaros. I didn’t need to eavesdrop. And I’d be trespassing if your care weren’t my responsibility, but it is, so you’re going to have to deal with me.”