The Boss's New Plaything

by Layla Valentine

  “Of course I understand,” Eva said sharply. “Are you some kind of oaf who thinks that a woman can’t manage her own real estate affairs?” Eva raised an eyebrow, staring at the guard, holding his gaze on her face.

  “Of course not,” the security guard said, glancing away from her after a moment’s indecision.

  “I know you probably don’t know every wealthy person in the world on sight, but if you’re supposed to be keeping this open house secure, you should at least know the people who are supposed to be attending,” Eva told the man tartly. “Don’t you know who I am?”

  “I’m afraid not,” the guard said. He made a quick gesture with his hand, and one of the other guards stepped up. “She says she’s here for the event.”

  “If I’d known it would be this much trouble to look at a potential new apartment for myself, I never would have made the drive,” Eva said, shaking her head in exaggerated frustration. “If you’re going to give me crap like this I might as well inform my friend why I won’t be purchasing her new property.” Eva turned as if to leave and the guard held up a hand.

  “No—no, it’s fine.” The new arrival looked at his colleague sharply. “Of course you can go in, ma’am.” As Eva followed the man’s gesture towards the door at the end of the hall, leading into the apartment, she heard him hiss to the first guard not to be an idiot.

  Eva suppressed a smile and continued onto the door, giving the other guard monitoring the hallway a sharp, confident look. She knocked twice and then turned the knob on the door, pulling it open and stepping through it before any of the guards could think too much about her performance.

  The apartment was immense; bigger than any home that Eva had lived in. She walked from the door into the entryway, glancing around. The foyer had marble floors and deep green walls, and a small table with a guest book. Deeper in the apartment, Eva spotted some of the attendees, dressed in tailored suits and expensive designer clothing. That’s promising, Eva thought, filing away the thought for later development. She could hear the realtor boasting about antique brass fixtures, custom-made upholstery, and all the luxuries the property boasted.

  Eva stepped up to the guest book and looked over the names as she reached for a pen. She filed away the names mentally, committing them to memory to put to faces where possible later on. She took one of the pens out of the cup next to the book and smiled slightly to herself, signing the book Elizabeth D. Bennet.

  Stepping away from the table, Eva crossed into the living room, taking another quick breath to keep her nerves—twitching with subdued alarm—as steady as possible. After a moment of doubt, she moved towards the refreshment table; the spread was certainly in keeping with the value of the enclave: fresh seafood, blanched and chilled vegetables, and a bar manned by a crisp, white-coated bartender.

  “Good evening,” the man said, inclining his head towards her. “What can I make you?”

  “Seven and seven?” Eva smiled slightly.

  “Of course,” the bartender said, nodding as he began to mix the cocktail for her.

  Eva took a plate and snagged a few choice morsels, daintily placing them on the cool ceramic, folding a cocktail napkin onto her palm. She accepted a drink and stepped away from the table to wander slightly, taking in the beauty of the apartment. One wall was dominated by huge casement windows, leading out onto a balcony beyond which Eva saw the best view of the city she’d ever taken in.

  After a few moments, she turned back towards the apartment proper and moved about the living room, glancing at the expensive custom furniture, the gleaming hardwood floor mostly covered by thick, plush rugs with swirling, looping patterns. The upholstery on the huge couch and heavy chairs looked expensive—Eva thought it might have been damask. The wall opposite the windows boasted a huge brick fireplace with wrought iron fixtures.

  Eva turned her attention to the attendees; she considered each one of the men and women who’d come to the apartment, sizing them up. He’s cheating on her. She knows, but doesn’t care as long as he doesn’t drag the family name into the mud… He’s a hopeless bachelor type, looking for a place that will impress women. She’s looking for an investment property; she wants somewhere she can host parties. Little details suggested a backstory, a context for each person’s presence in the apartment.

  Eva’s gaze came to a stop on a tall, lean man with sun-bronzed skin, wearing a sharply tailored suit. His dark hair was brushed back from his forehead, his dark eyes gleamed. He was—Eva had to admit—almost stunningly handsome.

  “This place is completely ideal,” the man was saying to the real estate agent. “I’m absolutely in love with it—it’s perfect for what I have in mind.”

  Eva detected a faint accent in the man’s words, though she couldn’t quite place it. European, for sure—by his clothes and demeanor. The man seemed oddly familiar; Eva wracked her brain for a moment, attempting to place him.

  Turning away, she paid attention to the other prospective buyers, thinking in terms of which of the “games” she had taught herself over the years she could pull on which of the people. The straying husband would be easy: she’d set him up for blackmail after she found him on one of the hookup apps. The bachelor would be susceptible to a luxury goods scam—maybe jewelry, maybe gold. Eva carefully kept up the slowly meandering walk that would make her look like an interested potential client, leaving the living room for the kitchen, taking in the restaurant-grade appliances and polished stone countertops.

  God, this place is amazing, she thought, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of gleaming wood and polished metal. The place was so beautiful, so comfortable, that Eva couldn’t resist picturing herself cooking in the kitchen, lounging in the living room, eating breakfast on the patio.

  She sighed, estimating the cost of the apartment as she let her fingertips play along a silky-soft chair back. At least five million, probably more like ten.

  Eva went back to the refreshment table for a glass of water and then walked towards the master bedroom. There she found the tall, lean man from before. He was on his phone, speaking in his accented voice to someone about the prospect of the apartment. Eva tried to ignore him, but as she looked over the burnished walnut dresser and tables and the four-poster king size bed, his words impinged on her thoughts.

  “Yes—I’m sure this is the one. I’ll make an offer tonight. She’s going for ten million, but I think she’ll take eight.”

  She saw him tense, and started to turn away to avoid his notice; the next moment the man faced her. Eva saw his quick, appraising look as his gaze traveled from her face to her feet.

  “Excuse me,” he said to whoever he was speaking to on the phone. He stepped towards her, extending a hand with an empty champagne flute. “Could I get a refill please?”

  Eva’s eyes widened and she stared at him in shock.

  “Excuse me?” She felt the anger rising up inside of her. How dare he assume I’m one of the help? I’m not even wearing the uniform!

  “A refill?” The man waggled the flute slightly, his voice rippling with his accent—on further examination, Eva thought it must be Greek. “The Saint-Domaine,” he specified.

  Eva’s anger intensified; not only had he assumed she was a waitress, but even when she’d gently corrected him, he’d continued in his assumption. She felt the urge to scream at him flit through her brain and pushed it down; causing a scene would only risk revealing her.

  “I’m not a server, asshole,” Eva told him, keeping her voice carefully under control. She turned to leave the room, ready to mingle with some of the other guests and maybe get a few phone numbers.

  Behind her, she heard the man return to his conversation on his phone.

  “Oh—that was nothing,” he said, his voice amused. “Just some faker, sneaking around the open house.”

  The fact that the man was right about her didn’t put a dent in the anger that rose up afresh in Eva’s body. Asshole! I’ll show him…somehow.

  She glanced around
the living room, any thought of starting up a con on one of the other guests abandoned in the need for revenge. Her trailing gaze landed on the realtor, now answering questions from one of the other prospective buyers. She thought about the conversation she’d overheard in the bedroom; the man was going to make an offer on the apartment.

  Eva sidled up to the realtor as unobtrusively as possible, sipping her water and looking around at the living room admiringly. The prospect wandered away and Eva took his place, smiling broadly.

  “This whole apartment is so charming,” she said, looking around. “I think it’s perfect for what I need.”

  “I’m so pleased to hear that!” the realtor said, stepping closer to her. “To tell the truth, there’s been a lot of interest—this is shaping up into a competitive listing. I just received an offer, in fact.”

  “Oh, I absolutely believe it,” Eva said, nodding with a conspiratorial raise of her eyebrows. “Between you and me, I think I would be comfortable going as high as, say, nine?”

  “The listing value is ten,” the realtor said gently, and Eva sighed, looking around again.

  “Hmm,” Eva said, pretending to consider. “I thought I heard you mention the appliances in the kitchen were recently replaced?”

  “Oh, yes,” the realtor said, nodding. “Restaurant-grade, brand new.”

  Eva pressed her lips together, nodding again as she saw the man emerge from the bedroom. “I think I could go for nine-five,” she told the realtor with a wheedling voice. “I mean, it’s a beautiful place but I will want to make a few adjustments of my own.”

  “Nine five?” The man from the bedroom moved closer to her and the realtor. “I thought the listed value was ten million.”

  “It is,” the realtor agreed. “Although of course, there have been more than one or two offers so far…” she gave the man a significant look.

  “I’m thinking that ten sounds reasonable indeed,” the man said, glancing at Eva.

  Eva frowned, remembering that he thought—rightly—that she was a fake. Prove him wrong, even if he is right, she thought.

  “Well, now that you mention it, that view is priceless,” Eva said, smiling tightly. “Thinking about it a little more, considering the demand, I’d say that eleven seems more appropriate for such a great place.”

  “Eleven?” The Greek looked wistfully at the fireplace, at the windows. “I could picture myself here, relaxing for once in my life.” He turned his attention back onto the agent, his face set in angry lines. “Twelve-five.”

  “Twelve million, five hundred thousand?”

  Before the realtor could say anything more, Eva spoke up again.

  “Really, I think I must have underestimated the value of this unit,” she said coolly. She scowled at the Greek for an instant. “Fifteen million wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility.”

  The Greek’s expression shifted from angry to amused. “Fifteen million,” he said, looking her up and down once again. “I’m surprised you’re not drinking champagne, a woman of your caliber.” He turned back to the realtor. “Seventeen million, I think.”

  “Seventeen million?” The realtor looked stunned and confused. She glanced from Eva, to the man, and back. “Is there—do the two of you know each other?”

  “Twenty million,” Eva said. She looked at the Greek and then gave the realtor a little grin. “And no, we don’t know each other, though I think under better circumstances we might get along well.”

  “I’d be inclined to agree,” the Greek said. “Twenty-five million—provided I could get a few alterations from the seller before I move in.”

  “Thirty million,” Eva countered. “I can fund my own alterations; one of my cousins can provide the best contractors for it.” She looked at the Greek man and raised an eyebrow challengingly. He sighed, shaking his head.

  “Forty million,” the man said. “Some things are worth the extra money.” He smirked at her, and Eva took a deep breath.

  “Sixty million,” she countered. “Since some things are worth it.” She finished her glass of water and set it aside.

  “Seventy-five million,” the Greek told the realtor, who continued to stare in shock.

  “This—this is beyond what I could have expected,” she said, smiling in a dazed way.

  “One hundred million,” Eva suggested. “I’m sure this place will only meet and exceed that value—and it’s important to know the value of things.” She looked at the Greek man significantly.

  “Well, if you want it so badly, I will have to do the gentlemanly thing and back off,” he said, nodding towards her. He set his champagne flute down on the mantel and inclined his head at the realtor. “You’ve had a lucky night this evening.”

  Eva’s heart raced and then stuttered in her chest as she watched the man leave. Oh God. Oh God. The enormity of what had just happened filtered through her brain; she had just offered one hundred million dollars that she didn’t have. The temptation to call out to the man as he made his way out of the living room rose up in her and Eva swallowed against the tight, dry feeling in her throat. You can fix this. You can get out of this. You’ve gotten out of worse.

  Chapter Three

  The other guests had begun to filter out of the apartment during the bidding war with the Greek, and Eva’s panic deepened as the realtor’s attention came back to her again. The caterers and bartender began to pack up.

  “I’m so glad you love this apartment as much as I do,” the woman said, smiling broadly. “That was an exciting bit of play between you and Mr. Christodoulou.”

  “It was exciting, all right,” Eva agreed, running the possibilities in her mind. “It’s truly been an eventful night for me.”

  “I’m sure you’ll want to get back to wherever you’re staying, so if you’ll just bear with me through a few formalities, you’ll be the proud future owner of this beautiful home,” the realtor told her.

  “You know—you’re right, I do want to get back to the hotel I’m staying in,” Eva said, swallowing down the fear that rose up in her throat. “If you’d like to give me your details, I can pass them on to my accountant and financial manager, and we can arrange everything within the next few days.”

  “No time like the present,” the realtor insisted. “A good-faith deposit won’t take long to take care of, and then you can rest easy tonight, knowing that no one will try to snatch this place out from under you.”

  “Do you really think that someone would want to offer more than a hundred million? The initial asking price was only ten. I’m pretty confident of my chances.”

  The realtor’s face hardened slightly.

  “A ten percent deposit on your bid amount is, of course, only standard,” the realtor said, smiling tightly. “And that ten percent would cover the original listing value of the unit; you’d be in the clear, no matter who came along after.”

  “I’d really rather get home,” Eva said, trying to look tired and confident all at once. “Besides—if I make large withdrawals without notifying my accountant, he gets angry with me.”

  “If you can afford one hundred million, then I’m sure your accountant would expect a ten-million-dollar check,” the realtor insisted.

  Eva looked around; they were utterly alone in the apartment.

  “Look,” Eva said, sighing. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have a hundred million dollars to spend on this place, and I don’t have ten million to give you on a deposit. I was—I was just trying to…” she shook her head. “It’s not important. Will you let me leave now?”

  “Absolutely not!” The realtor glared at her, reaching into her pocket and quickly taking out her phone. “You’ve cost my firm tens of millions of dollars with your little prank.”

  “I’m sure someone will be happy to buy the unit,” Eva said, her heart beating faster in her chest. “I mean, obviously it was good enough that someone was willing to wager tens of millions.”

  “Come in,” the realtor said into her phone. In an instant, one of
the guards from the corridor came through the door to the apartment.

  The realtor ended the call and dialed another number. “Yes? I need the police to come and arrest a thief.”

  “A thief?” Eva’s sense of pride stirred up. “I am not a thief.”

  The realtor provided the address and ended the call. She continued to glare at Eva, all of her pleasant, chirpy demeanor gone.

  “You’re going to stay right here and we’re going to wait for the police to arrive. Alex?” The guard poked his head out through the door and made some comment to the other guards. He came deeper into the room and herded Eva towards the couch, looking broader and more muscular than he had in the hallway.

  The minutes passed in an agony of expectation as the realtor made another call, reporting to some superior about the open house and saying that there had been a situation, but she had it under control. After what felt like an eternity, Eva heard the knock at the door. A few seconds later, a pair of police officers came into the living room, looking stern.

  “We got a report of a theft?”

  “Yes!” The realtor advanced on the officers; if Eva had thought for a moment that the woman had lost some of her righteous fury in the wait, she had been mistaken. “This woman is a thief—she’s stolen millions of dollars from my company.”

  “I haven’t stolen anything!” Eva stood, ignoring the portentous look from the guard at her side. “She was holding an open house; I got into a bidding war with another guest here, but…” Eva swallowed. “I don’t actually…have the money that I bid on this property.”

  The cops looked at each other, and Eva considered the possibility of flirting with one or both of them. Too risky. The one on the left has a wedding band; if he’s happy with his wife he won’t even respond—might even get offended.

  “Identification, please.” The non-married officer stepped forward. Eva reached into her purse and took her wallet out, finding the pocket with her ID in it. She slid the plastic card out and handed it over to the man.