Sharon Kendrik - The Millionaires' Cinderellas - Playing the Greek's Game / The Forbidden Innocent / Too Proud to be Bought

He looked directly at her. ‘Have you thought any more about my job offer?’

‘I have.’

‘And?’

Emma’s thoughts whirled as the moment of truth loomed. It was all very well Nat telling her that she should take the job but there was one very good reason why she shouldn’t, and he was standing right in front of her. She didn’t know what it was about Zak Constantinides which made her react so … so violently towards him, but some bone-deep instinct told her to heed it. Yet alongside her misgivings came a powerful urge to teach this arch manipulator a lesson. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could play the part that Nat wanted her to play and give her dear friend some much-wanted freedom? Wouldn’t it give her immense satisfaction to trick this arrogant billionaire and make a mockery of his manoeuvring?

She curved her lips into what she hoped was a suitable smile. ‘And I’ll accept.’

He frowned. ‘Just like that?’

‘Just like that. On one condition.’

‘Oh, no.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m the one who lays down conditions, Miss Geary, not you.’

She carried on as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘That I’m back in London in time for Christmas.’

He had been expecting a demand for some over-inflated bonus and her request took him slightly by surprise. Would almost two months be long enough to have the desired effect? He glanced over to where Nat was chatting animatedly to his date and Zak’s lips curved into a smile. Of course it would! His brother would soon forget about Emma Geary. What was it they said? Out of sight, out of mind …

‘I don’t think that will be a problem,’ he said, glancing down at her barely touched plate of food. ‘Enjoy your last supper before you take up your assignment.’

‘Well, hopefully I’ll have time for a few more suppers before I leave.’

‘I’d like you to come out this weekend.’

‘You’re joking?’

His grey eyes bored into her. ‘No, Emma, I’m deadly serious.’

It was the way he said her name which made her words stumble. As if it were a big dollop of honey he was slowly licking from a spoon. ‘What’s the r-rush?’

Enjoying the familiar rush of power and the sudden tremble of her lips, he shrugged. ‘Why delay? Protracted farewells are so painful. Far better to make a clean break of it and get used to living without Nat.’

‘Where have you got planned for me—Outer Mongolia, I suppose?’

‘The Constantinides brand hasn’t reached quite that far, but give me time,’ answered Zak smoothly. ‘No, I’m sending you somewhere far more cosmopolitan than that.’

‘And am I allowed to know where—or is it a magical mystery tour?’

He felt a muscle begin to beat at his temple. It was anger but it was something else too—because her insubordination was turning him on. When you reached the position that he’d reached a long time ago, you never got a member of staff speaking to you with quite the same degree of insolence as Miss Emma Geary did to him. Nor anyone else, for that matter. And it was making him want to subdue her in the most fundamental way possible …

‘How does New York sound?’ he questioned silkily.

For a moment, Emma stilled. Was he some sort of sadist, as well as being a control freak? Didn’t he realise that New York was the city she’d lived in during her ill-fated marriage and it was packed full of bad memories? Meeting the obdurate set of his rugged features, she bit back the protest which had sprung to her lips. Because if she showed any weakness, then wouldn’t he leap on it like the bully he was?

She set her face into the most vacuous expression she could manage. ‘New York?’ she questioned, forcing a delight into her voice—a delight she was far from feeling. ‘How wonderful! The city that never sleeps!’

He winced at the cliché. ‘So they say. I’ve booked you a ticket for Saturday. A car will pick you up and take you to the airport—my secretary will be in touch with all the details. See you in the “Big Apple”, Emma.’

He had walked away before she could say another word but Emma could hardly chase him across the restaurant, demanding to know what he had meant. Surely he didn’t mean that he was going to be in New York at the same time?

Was that to keep an eye on her? To make sure she did exactly as he wanted?

She didn’t know and, right now, she wasn’t in a fit state to care. All she was aware of was a feeling of trepidation, which had somehow become all mixed up with a heart-racing excitement she didn’t dare analyse.

IT was strange being back. Strange to hear the distinctive drawling accents and to watch people rushing everywhere with that particular sense of purpose which you only ever seemed to find in New York. Leaning back against the soft leather seat of the car, Emma watched the blur of skyscrapers appearing in the distance as the plush limousine headed towards the city.

Zak’s car had met her at JFK airport even though she would have been perfectly happy to find herself a yellow taxi. More than happy. It might have made her feel normal to have pulled her luggage through the busy terminal like all the other travellers. It might have reinforced an independence she was far from feeling.

Because the weirdest thing was that this trip seemed horribly similar to the first and only other she’d made to America—and that only increased her anxiety level. Because all those years ago, she’d been at the beck and call of a wealthy man who had called all the shots and now she was in exactly the same position. The main difference was that Louis had been weak—something her immaturity had failed to pick up on at the time. And Zak was the opposite. Zak was strong. Inside she knew that, though she wasn’t quite sure how. Just something bone-deep and certain assured her that the Greek tyrant had a core of steel.

What did he really want from her? The promise that she would leave his brother alone—was that all he wanted?

The car began travelling downtown and Emma looked out through the smoky windows at the brightly lit department stores. There was Sacs on Fifth—where Louis had once bought her a costly and rather traditional pearl necklace, then been delighted when she’d wrapped it around her blond hair like a coronet. That was one of the better memories—but there were bleak ones, too, piling in on her now like dark spectres.

The giant billboards and lights of Broadway reminded her of the Yankee Stadium where the Patterson band had been poised to make their big comeback—until it was cancelled at the last minute when a shocked promoter realised that the lead singer was barely able to stand. And there was St Patrick’s Cathedral, where she’d crept in to light a candle and to quietly weep for the death of her marriage and soon after that, for the death of her husband.

Shaking her head as if to clear some space, she became aware that Central Park was sliding past and that the car was now purring to a halt outside Zak’s Pembroke hotel.

She tried to take in all the beautiful details which she’d only ever seen on promotional literature. The art-deco exterior and the revolving door fashioned from rich, dark wood. The lamps made of wrought-iron and the carefully shaped box trees which added a splash of green to the urban environment. A doorman opened the door and she stepped into the gleaming marble lobby to see an enormous chandelier, its diamond shards glittering light down onto ornate displays of flowers.

In the confusion of a changed time zone and being in a foreign city, she felt a little disorientated. Should she go over to the main desk and ask whether Mr Constantinides had left a message for her? Or …

And then suddenly she was aware of a man towering over her. Of the olive-skinned hand which had reached out to pick up her suitcase as effortlessly as if it had been filled with butterflies rather than a rather large amount of shoes.