by Maya Blake
‘Drakakis,’ he announced into the phone with an air of unapologetic supremacy.
Alexis glanced at her tablet, determined not to watch him fold that streamlined body into his chair.
He listened for a handful of seconds, jaw set. ‘No, I trusted you to leave no part of your past undocumented, including every drunken night at university when the possibility that you could’ve fathered a child was real.’
‘But I didn’t know! And how the hell did my ex find out?’ Demitri wailed at the end of the phone.
Christos listened, his features tightening with each word. ‘I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure you regain custody of your child.’
The depth of that promise made Alexis’s heart lurch. On top of everything that had happened recently, the reminder that no one had fought for her felt too raw. While other DLG partners took on divorce cases where the welfare of the children was in question, she’d noticed very quickly that Christos rarely took those cases on himself, although he kept a ferociously keen eye on the progress. At first, she’d thought it was because he held a secret fondness for children or even harboured hopes of fatherhood.
She’d discovered otherwise when she’d heard him tersely enlighten a client that he had no intention of marrying or fathering children of his own.
And yet, when Christos took on a case where one parent was patently unfit, he’d ruthlessly gone after them.
He’d taken on Demitri Kyrios’s case because they had a history. As close a friendship as she’d seen Christos accommodate. Demitri’s soon-to-be ex was more interested in haute couture and basking in the adoration of her social media followers than in caring for their son. Kyrios’s sin was that he’d omitted to divulge the possibility that he’d fathered another child. One whose existence he’d initially attempted to hide, despite a paternity test proving the child was his.
‘Yes, you have my word,’ Christos said before slamming the phone down.
A string of very dirty-sounding Greek words seared the air.
‘How the hell did we miss the existence of a fifteen-year-old child in our investigation?’ he bellowed, spiking a hand through his hair.
Alexis shrugged. ‘Probably because not every woman crawls out of the woodwork when the man she slept with over a decade ago becomes a millionaire. According to the report the investigators unearthed this morning, she wanted to keep her child a secret, raise him on her own.’
His face clamped in a thunderous frown. ‘She didn’t think the father of her child deserved to know of his existence?’
‘She claims she had good reasons to keep the pregnancy from him. I guess we need to respect that.’
He swore again. ‘Her secret just ruined my case. Forgive me if the last thing I’m in the mood to do is respect that.’
Alexis nodded solemnly. ‘Of course. So did you want me to stay for something specifically or just to listen to you swear in a language I don’t understand?’
He glared at her. ‘I believe you still owe me five minutes of a so-called wallow? And while we’re at it, did we not agree that you would add learning Greek to your résumé?’
Alexis hid her relief as she rose. ‘I’ll get around to taking that Greek course when I’m done with the million other things on my to-do list. And since you’ve never wallowed in your life, I don’t think you’re about to start now.’
Expecting a quick reply, she was a little stunned when his face closed over a fleeting expression that looked very much like suppressed pain. A moment later, the expression, imagined or not, was gone.
‘Where’s the court transcript?’ he demanded brusquely.
She nodded at the pile of papers on his desk. He picked it up and flicked through it, but she was willing to bet the stunning platinum bracelet he’d given her last Christmas that he already knew every word from the court case backwards.
He paused when he reached the verdict, and his jaw clenched again. Without taking his eyes off the page, he reached for his phone and hit number five on his speed dial.
Alexis winced in anticipated sympathy for the head of the firm’s investigative department.
‘Mr Cruz, do you have the names I requested?’ He listened for a moment. ‘The answer is no, your apology isn’t accepted. Your team’s sloppiness cost my client the custody of his child. We have a long history together. But make no mistake, you will ensure that nothing like this ever happens again or you’ll be fired. Is that understood?’
The fifty-seven-year-old veteran who’d worked for DLG since its inception was in the midst of another apology when Christos slammed the phone down.
The phone immediately started ringing. He ignored it, rising to pace to the floor-to-ceiling windows. As if to synchronise with his mood, the early afternoon views of London were gloomy and overcast, the Thames a drab grey ribbon winding itself beneath centuries-old bridges.
Alexis’s gaze flicked over the view but she very quickly lost interest in favour of the man who commanded attention even in a room full of five hundred. His shoulders stretched broad and aggressively masculine beneath the bespoke Italian-made suit.
Her scrutiny dropped lower, to the trim waist framed by his jacket, then to the powerful legs planted apart in a battle stance, even though there was no opponent to decimate.
From head to toe, Christos Drakakis oozed raw power. Add his drop-dead gorgeous face and razor-sharp intelligence, and he was formidably complex enough to reduce every man, woman and child he met to a state of breathless awe without so much as lifting a finger.
She reminded herself that Adrian had been equally aware of his effect on women. On her. He’d preyed on it, deliberately set a trap for her. One she’d fallen into and nearly damaged her career permanently. Christos would never know, but that armour she’d been forced to build around her emotions reinforced her vow never to stumble that badly ever again.
But...lately, her foundations were getting harder to fortify.
Christos whirled around suddenly, startling her.
She schooled her features, but saw the quick glint in his eyes before his expression neutralised that hinted he might have caught her watching him. ‘Wallowing over. Grab your pad and let’s get to work,’ he snapped.
She turned away, acutely aware that his gaze remained on her until she was out of the door. As she stopped for a moment to regroup at her desk, Alexis acknowledged to herself that what had happened with Adrian could never happen again. More importantly, what had happened at Christos’s penthouse couldn’t happen again.
She would play the role of convenient wife for his grandfather’s sake. But not for a single moment could she drop her guard. She’d been let down, not once, but twice. Her heart couldn’t afford another battering. Her soul wouldn’t make it.
CHAPTER THREE
THEY WORKED LONG into the night. By the time the last, shattered-looking lawyer shuffled out of the conference room, it was almost midnight.
Alexis suppressed a sigh and just managed to stop herself from crumpling into a relieved, exhausted heap. She resisted the urge because, in contrast, Christos looked as if he could go another twenty-four hours without respite.
She rose from her seat and gathered her files. ‘I’ll go and type up the notes for you,’ she said.
He strolled to where she stood. ‘I won’t be looking at them tonight. They can wait till tomorrow.’
Her eyes flicked to him, then immediately returned to the files. ‘It’ll only take half an hour or so. Besides, you look like...’ She faltered, wondering if she should voice the observation.
‘I look like what?’ he drawled.
Was his voice deeper, smokier because he’d spent all day barking at his associates or was it something else? Something...sensual? Earthy? The same something that was triggering tiny fireworks beneath her skin?
‘You look...the opposite of what every one of your lawyers loo
ked like when they left the room. Whatever vitamins you take clearly work for you.’
One corner of his mouth twitched then stilled almost immediately. ‘It’s not vitamins that keep me going.’
‘What, then?’ she asked curiously. ‘And don’t say you like winning because this feels like something...more.’
Christos’s public biography only briefly touched on a childhood spent in Southern Greece. There was hardly any mention of his parents, and Alexis had worked for him for two years before discovering his grandfather was alive, albeit living a reclusive life on a sprawling island in the Aegean. And that grandfather was Costas Drakakis, the retired shipping mogul.
‘Perhaps it is,’ he answered cryptically, his gaze fixed on her face.
When she realised he wasn’t going to elaborate, she pursed her lips.
‘Whatever it is, if you could bottle it, you’d make an absolute killing.’
‘I believe it’s been labelled as my pathological aversion to failure.’ He shrugged. ‘But if you wish to compliment me on my stamina, then by all means, have at it.’
Alexis glanced at him in time to catch him looking at her hair. She was acutely aware her bun was in the last stages of slipping its knot, and wayward tendrils had escaped about an hour ago. As for her lipstick, it had been rubbed off when they’d stopped for a hurried supper four hours ago.
Again his lips twitched.
She found she was staring at his sculpted mouth and forcibly dragged her gaze away. ‘Well, this lesser human will take you up on your offer to type up the notes in the morning, if you’re sure?’
‘Don’t put yourself down. Your fire burned almost as brightly as mine.’ The compliment was countered with a slightly mocking gleam in his eye as he continued, ‘Until I caught your yawn about an hour ago.’
She suppressed a grimace. She’d thought she’d hidden it well. ‘Well... I—’
‘I’m not going to hold it against you if that’s a worry. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen you less than immaculately put together,’ he mused.
Alexis reached up to tidy her hair, but suddenly, his fingers were there, beating her to it.
Their fingers grazed, then tangled. Her breath caught, the sharp sizzle dancing through her blood making her drop her hand as the sensation raced up her arm. With a slow, unhurried movement, he captured a tendril between his fingers and slowly caressed it. Stepping forward, he wound the strand behind her ear, then trailed his fingers down her cheek.
Her breath stalled as she stood frozen, caught between the electrifying spell and the need to flee.
Christos regarded her with an almost detached interest, his piercing grey eyes scouring every expression she attempted to hide. As if he was conducting an experiment.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Testing your performance levels like we talked about,’ he confirmed, ‘since you insist you’re not tired.’
Alarmed by the excitement leaping inside her, she jerked back. ‘That won’t be necessary. You’ve given me your feedback. Allow me the courtesy of letting me work on it.’
‘But how will you learn without practical experience?’ he drawled.
She shrugged, a little perturbed by how quickly they’d landed in this quagmire again.
‘I’m not going to discuss this with you any further. Either you trust me to do everything in my power to honour our agreement or you don’t.’
His nostrils flared but he remained silent, those eyes still fixed on her.
Until his scrutiny forced her into speech. ‘If that’s all, goodnight—’
‘It’s pointless going back home tonight when I need you back here by six. You should stay in the executive suite,’ he tossed out, before heading back to his seat.
The executive suite. Separated from his own private suite by a twelve-foot-long marble hallway. It wasn’t a big deal under normal circumstances. She’d stayed over before when their workload had pushed their working hours deep into the night.
But somehow this felt...different. Perhaps it was all this talk of sharpening her performance. Perhaps it was the recurring recollection of what happened the last time they were near a sofa.
‘It’s fine. I’ll get the car service to drive me home.’
‘All the drivers are busy delivering the associates home.’
He picked up his phone and showed her the app that displayed their vehicle availability. Every car displayed the in use sign.
‘I can get a cab—’
‘No, I’d prefer not to spend the next hour wondering if you’ve become the latest victim of crime. Not when you have a perfectly adequate apartment waiting for you ten floors above.’
‘Black cabs are perfectly safe,’ she replied. In twenty-five minutes, she could be in her North London flat, safely away from this churning atmosphere.
A hint of steel entered his eyes, his sculpted jaw clenching for a moment before he spoke. ‘I’ll spare us both the tedium of throwing out crime stats when it comes to a woman travelling alone at night. I’d prefer it if you would just do as I say and stay upstairs where I can be reassured that the term perfectly safe will be true in this instance.’
Except she wouldn’t be safe. Not when she knew temptation lay right across the hall. ‘Christos—’
‘Alexis?’ The steel was now in his voice, a tone he usually reserved for decimating his opponents.
Their stand-off probably lasted less than a minute. It felt like an hour. ‘Fine, I’ll stay upstairs.’ She sounded less than gracious in defeat.
The gleam in his eyes told her so as he came towards her once more, plucked up the first stack of files from the table and put them in her arms. Then he reached for the second, taller pile.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, suspicious.
‘Helping you out so you can go to bed quicker,’ he replied blandly, settling the heavy stack against his torso as if it weighed nothing.
Her jaw dropped for a nonplussed second before she caught herself. ‘Why?’
‘Excuse me?’
She took a moment to absorb his mild shock at her question, then asked, ‘Why are you helping me? I can easily get the file trolley to wheel them all back to the office.’
He frowned. ‘You’re now objecting to my assistance?’
‘I’m observing you acting out of character. You’ve never helped me before.’
‘It’s been a long day for both of us, so I’ll help you out. The correct response you’re looking for is a smile and maybe a thank you? In whichever order you prefer to submit them.’
She opened her mouth. Then closed it.
As he’d said, the day had been long and completely out of sorts. So what if he was acting out of character by performing a menial task that was usually her remit?
‘I...thanks,’ she capitulated.
‘You’re welcome. Shall we get on with it? I need a nightcap badly to wash this regrettable day away.’ The tightness to the words resonated in the room.
She nodded, and followed him out of the room, averting her eyes to keep from ogling the tightness of his buttocks as he strode purposefully for the lift.
In the office, he deposited the files on her cabinet and went into his office. She barely had five minutes to text Sophie to tell her she was staying in the executive suite and then answer her flatmate’s flurry of questions before Christos returned. His eyes landed briefly on her phone as she sent the last I’m-fine-I-promise message, but said nothing as he waited for her to gather her handbag and shut down her computer.
In silence, they took the lift upstairs. The double doors to his penthouse were directly opposite the ones to the executive suite.
Swallowing around the sudden tightness in her throat, Alexis placed her hand on the handle. ‘Goodnight—’
‘Not yet. Come and have a drink with me.’ It sounded like an orde
r but his raised eyebrow implied it was a request.
Say no. Say. No.
‘You’ve worked hard today. You deserve a drink too,’ he added when she hesitated. ‘Or are you concerned your inhibitions will be affected again?’ he taunted lightly.
‘I’m confident they won’t,’ she replied boldly, although her insides quivered.
Her last drink with him had led her down a precarious, if enthralling, path. Even without a sip of alcohol she knew he was intoxicating to her senses.
Christos’s gaze grew sharper. ‘So I’m assuming the company is the issue?’
She sighed. ‘No, I don’t have a problem with the company.’ Liar. ‘I just...’ Want a moment to regroup.
She stared at him, noted the lines around his mouth had deepened even more. Her gaze dropped to the column of his muscular throat, the hard-packed body and the strong hand wrapped around the door handle.
Had she been given to flights of fancy, she would’ve concluded that he didn’t want to drink alone. But he was Christos Drakakis, the man who conquered opponents with a few lethal words. Even high court judges scrambled to preside over his cases because he was a breathtaking marvel in the courtroom.
She couldn’t remain standing there like a mannequin. She opened her mouth to utter a definitive refusal but he threw the door open abruptly, and strode into his penthouse, leaving her staring slack-jawed at the open doorway.
Knowing he’d effectively tossed the ball in her court should’ve made her mad and go straight to her own suite.
Instead she moved towards his door. One foot inside, she paused to watch him discard his suit jacket on the velvet sofa, then fold back the sleeves of his shirt while staring out of the window.
Without acknowledging her presence, he strolled with lithe grace to the sleek cabinet that held a collection of expensive hard liquor, wine and champagne on the far side of the large living room and pulled the stopper from a Waterford crystal decanter. For a handful of seconds, the only sound was the drink hitting the glass and ice cubes plopping into the cognac.
