by Sotia Lazu
Someone clears their throat behind me. I jump, heat rising in my cheeks.
“Two glasses of champagne, please,” Sei says, cool as a cucumber.
I duck my head, rather than facing the attendant. When he returns with our drinks, I guzzle mine down while Sei watches, his eyes alight with mirth. He finds me funny. Of course he does. I went from hating his guts to offering to blow him. Great. Now I’m another notch on his belt.
To make up for that, I pretend to sleep for the rest of the flight, ignoring him.
No, that’s a lie.
I’m fully aware of his most minute movement. His every intake of breath. The sound his throat makes when he takes a sip of his champagne.
But I keep my eyes closed, and he doesn’t speak.
When we land, I fake a yawn and stretch. Business Class disembarks first, but I can’t go yet. I get up and make room for him to pass. “I have to wait till everyone’s out, to go grab my jacket from the back.”
Will he wait with me? Or ask for my number? I did offer to suck him off. What red-blooded male turns that down?
“See you soon,” he says and brushes past me. His bone-jellifying grin slides from me to the nearest female attendant, and then he’s gone.
Asshole.
Chapter Five – Sei
I glance back over my shoulder. Irine is still on the plane. With any luck, she won’t make my shuttle bus.
Pfft. I don’t need luck. I’m a fucking god. I reach for the mind of the ground-operations agent pointing passengers our way. “This shuttle is full,” I think at him. “No room for anyone else.”
The man signals to our driver, and seconds later, the doors slide shut and we’re off.
Good.
I’m not ready to see her again.
What I did on the plane... It was supposed to get her pining for me, not the other way around. Not take away my ability to control my urges, as if I’m a school boy. Not make me consider throwing caution to the wind and claiming her on the spot. I’ve never had issues, making women come—whether I’m touching them or not—and their release doesn’t usually affect me to this point. But with Irine... the moment she fell over the edge, a sense of serenity overtook me. It wasn’t the lack of tension; it was the feeling of belonging. A sensation I’ve only experienced once before.
And then she went and offered to suck me off.
I check that my carry-on is covering my raging hard-on and focus on... Ares’ dirty socks. Yeah. Those ought to drive away any lingering need to taste more than Irine’s mouth.
Fuck. I can will a woman to orgasm, can will most mortals into doing my bidding, but can’t will my dick down, now that I’ve caught her scent.
I need more distance between us before the whole plan goes down the drain. C and I have meticulously set things up, so Irine ends up at my office on Monday. If I stick to the plan, I’m in control. And what’s more important than that?
The second shuttle is closing in as we pull over in front of the airport building. As soon as the doors are open, I hop out of the bus and stride inside the terminal. I flash my passport at the security guy along with a hint of suggestion, and he waves me through without even glancing at my pic. Not that he’d see anything out of the ordinary. It’s a real passport, issued to my real, human person. Says I’m thirty-four, which I am, and states my actual eye color. The only thing not real, is my father’s name—Polychronis.
Though I was born to a human couple, I never knew them. According to C, they were barely out of high school when they had me, and didn’t know how to raise me. They left me outside a school, where he found me and handed me to the woman I knew as Mother, for safekeeping, till conditions were ripe for him to return for me. C has offered to search for my birth parents, but I see no reason in such a reunion.
The skin on the back of my neck breaks in goosebumps. Irine is closing in. I can sense her. Is our bond affecting me before it’s even established?
I should man up and face her. Tell her I want to see her again. Ask for her number and call her and invite her out on an actual date.
But those are for lovesick mortals. I’m Poseidon, the god of the seas, and she will be mine. She’s destined to. Once she gives herself to me fully, my powers will evolve to what they used to be back when Olympians ruled the world. There’s no room for sentimentalism in The Plan. I’m to own her, not love her.
Luckily, I don’t need to wait for a suitcase, so I make a beeline for the exit. Hermes’ curly head sticks above everybody else’s—not that I’d have any issues spotting him from my two meters and ten centimeters. He grins and waves, and relief spills inside me. He’s here to take me away from the woman who drove me crazy with desire without even touching me.
“Welcome home, you fucker.” Hermes looks me up and down when I reach him, and then hugs me tight. There’s nothing half-hearted about him. If he notices the people around us throwing curious glances our way as he pulls back, he doesn’t show it.
I pat his cheek, like he’s a child and not another god on his way to immortality. He and I weren’t brothers in our initial lives—like Ares, Dionysos, and Apollo weren’t my siblings either—but we’ve all been raised as such this time around, and he’s the youngest of our group. “Missed you, you annoying prick,” I say.
Hermes leans to the side, to look behind me. “Is she here?”
I shove him backward. “You knew she was on my flight.” Of course he did. That’s why C had him book me on it.
Hermes ducks his head and looks up at me through thick eyelashes, with those baby-blues that make females literally throw their panties at him. “C said she might be.”
Because he expected me to get her a ticket. Which I did. Fucking C.
“Is she as hot in real life as she’s on her Insta?” Hermes waggles his eyebrows, and I wanna punch him right in that loud mouth. Irine is my mate, not a conquest to be shared. One day, she’ll be the next mother of gods.
But she’s supposed to only be a stepping stone for me, and if I deck him, he’ll know she’s not. That she’s more.
When did that happen?
Never before have I felt the need to hide something from my brother.
What’s happening to me? I have a goal. An endgame. And I’m not supposed to see Irine again till Monday.
“Move,” I growl at Hermes. “I’ll tell you in the car.”
Doors closed and AC on to guard us against the late-September heat, I drop my head back against the passenger-seat headrest and sigh. “C getting too tight with old age to send a limo? Or did you decide to play errand boy now?"
Hermes’ inability to stick to a job for longer than a year is the family joke. He’s tried everything, from mixing cocktails at Dionysos’ new bar, in Mykonos, to his latest gig—HR manager for my hotel chain. He’s good in everything he gets into, but he’s too easily bored. Not a desirable trait for someone who’ll potentially live forever.
Hermes shakes his head. “You make fun of me all you want, but when we take over, we’ll need to know the people we’re ruling. How else can we serve them?”
Because that’s my goal when I become the next god of gods. To serve mortals. Can’t resist an eye-roll. Hermes can be naive sometimes, but I won’t get into another heated discussion about how fear is better than love. He’ll get it eventually. Life has a way of hammering that lesson into everyone.
He throws me a sideways glance. “C said no limo for the same reason he said no private jet.”
I make a show of looking around. “I don’t see Irine looking for a ride.”
He lets go of the steering wheel with one hand, to punch my shoulder with the side of his fist. “It’s part of the no-showing-off rule. You know. The one thing you can’t possibly manage.”
I snort. As if having a private jet or a driver will take away from the fact that I’ll be able to control the elements when I ascend. Besides— “Since when is a Mercedes S-Class a low-key car?”
He grunts and turns on the radio. Better. If the conv
ersation is over, he doesn’t get to ask about Irine.
My relief is short lived.
Hermes turns down the volume. “So, one to ten, how hot is she?”
This, coming from the self-professed feminist and romantic soul.
“No,” I say. How can I assign a number to that gorgeous face, with the rosy cheeks and those plush, curling lips, made for kissing?
“That’s not a number.”
“Har har. Fuck off.” Her long, chestnut curls would be tickling my chest as she rode me, the irises of her huge, hazel eyes dilated with desire.
“Still not a number.” My youngest brother can be a Grade-A jerk some times.
Only one thing will get him off my case. I scratch the stubble on my chin. “Twelve.”
He turns to stare at me with wide eyes. A car honks, and Hermes jerks the Mercedes back on course. “My bad,” he calls out.
Not that the other driver can hear him, but still... Now we apologize to mortals? What’s next?
Loving them?
Yeah, that’s a no for me. Irine will become immortal when our bond is forged, but love isn’t in my plans for then either. I will be a good husband, treat her as an equal... ish, and not parade my lovers in front of her, but I’ll still be a god.
Something in my chest clenches painfully. If she fulfills her duties, I may not bed other females for a century or two.
Or ever.
Fuck me sideways, has mentally fingering Irine made me consider monogamy?
A shiver runs down my spine, and I clench my fists on my knees. She’s thrown me off balance, and that’s something I cannot allow.
I’ll have to recalibrate our dynamic.
“You’re still my HR manager, yes?” I ask Hermes.
He chuckles. “Until something more interesting comes along.”
“Good. Call Ms. Anastasaki and change our meeting. Same time, but I’ll see her in my suite, not at the office.” The office would be too formal. There, she could pretend I hadn’t made her come. My luxurious bedroom will make it harder to forget she offered to suck my cock.
Hermes slows at the tolls and holds his e-Pass to the windscreen, for the bar to rise. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
“Hundred percent. And I want you there too. It will keep things professional.” If only because his presence will stop me from tackling her into bed.
Let her lust after me while she tries to appear businesslike. I’ll be composed and in charge, as the god of the seas ought to be.
Chapter Six – Irine
I look up at the revolving doors, at the top of the spotless marble stairs. The gold letters on the glass read the same as the carved plaque above the entrance. The Kifissia Olympian Plaza.
Why couldn’t we meet up at their downtown office? This place is overwhelming. Not to mention that meeting the hotel-chain owner in his suite can’t be standard practice. According to the girl from HR who called me on Saturday, something came up but Mr. Olympios didn’t want to reschedule because he realized my time was precious. That sounded nice. Plus, she said someone from HR would be here too. And it’s only nine in the morning. Nefarious things don’t happen this early in the day, right?
I climb the stairs slowly, shoulders squared and chin raised. Like I belong here. Like I was born to manage a luxurious hotel like this.
Beside the doors, a man in a pressed uniform and white gloves that make no sense in this heat, smiles and nods. I return his smile.
Please don’t let me get stuck. It becomes a chant in my head, as I push through the revolving doors to emerge in a world separated from Greek reality. Marble, warm hues, and gold accents. Velvet and silk. And hanging from the ceiling, a chandelier the likes of which I’ve only seen in movies. It’s not lit now, but a myriad multifaceted crystals reflect the golden glow of hidden lighting meant to make up for the tinted glass that filters out sunlight.
I should have expected no less—exclusive and pricey is the unofficial brand of the Olympian Hotels and Resorts—but it still takes effort to keep from looking around slack jawed.
I make eye-contact with one of the women behind the dark-wood semicircular reception desk. Her makeup is flawless and understated, and not a hair is loose from her impeccable low bun. Her cream blouse drapes over her slim frame with the unique flow of silk, and if I’m not mistaken, that’s a designer scarf around her neck.
Hey, my tote has a designer’s name stamped on it too. And it’s real leather.
And costs twice as much as the rest of my outfit, including my pumps.
God, I’m underdressed. My skirt suit seemed like a good idea last night, when I was sorting out today’s outfit, but now...
No matter. I don’t even want this job anymore. London is where that asshole is, and once we sort out our finances, I want nothing to do with him or any reminders of our shared past.
But... I mean... look at this place. I could work for a hotel like this. Run a hotel like this. Who cares if I share a city with Tassos? I have a horrible ex or two in Athens too, and London’s bigger.
I slick an errant curl behind my ear, pin what I hope is a confident smile on my face, and make my way across the marble floor on my high, yet comfortable heels.
And slam into a slab of rock. Or that’s what it feels like. It’s actually a male chest, in a dark-blue shirt, with a tag that reads Head of Security, and beneath that, in block, capital letters, HADES. They really take the Greek-mythology thing seriously around here. Bet the stunning receptionist is called Aphrodite.
I almost sprain my neck, trying to meet the gaze of the mountain of a guy who closes his palms around my forearms and takes a step back. “Excuse me. Are you a guest here?” His arched brow says he knows I’m not.
Brilliant. He can tell I don’t belong.
“No. I’m here for an interview with Mr. Olympios,” I say. “Irine Anastasaki?”
Hades nods—you try saying that without giggling. “Poseidon is expecting you.”
He knows who I am without having to check a list. Has to be a good sign, right?
“Follow me.” Hades flares his nostrils, spins on his heel, and leads the way to the elevators. He jams one huge thumb into the call button and turns to look at me. No, not look. He scrutinizes me, head to toe, and I know I don’t make the cut, even before one corner of his lips twitches in a half-formed sneer.
Well, I’m not here to convince him I’m hotel-manager material.
The elevator pings, and the doors slide open, revealing the marble-effect interior and full-length mirror. Like the lobby area, every surface gleams and sparkles.
I pat my wounded ego and walk into the elevator ahead of him.
Hades produces a weird key from his pocket and pushes it into a hexagonal slot on the control panel. He twists it a full circle, withdraws it, and presses the button to the top floor.
My knee-length skirt feels restricting, and when I reach down to smooth out the hem with my hands, my button-down stretches over the couple kilos I gained the past month. Thank God for my jacket, hiding the extra curviness. Though it’s so freaking hot today, I wish I could go without it.
Shit. Did I put on deodorant? I did, right? Hope I don’t have armpit stains.
Why do I care anyway? This job pays well—so well—but I only wanted it because it would allow me to move to London, which I no longer care about.
But the money is still good. Better than good. And it’s not like I’ve been offered the position.
Eh, I’m here. I may as well go through with the interview and see what happens next. Poseidon Olympios may dislike me on sight, and it will have nothing to do with whether I used enough antiperspirant before leaving home.
Or I may not like his face. I research the organizations and people I interview for, and though the Greek magnate’s international hotel chain is all over the Internet, I could find next to nothing about the man himself, except for his super-pretentious name. Which must be fake—a publicity gimmick, to fit his Luxury-Greek-Hotels brand.
> The man has no social-media presence, no scandals in his past—at least under this name—and no pictures in gossip magazines. Or anywhere online. I spent hours searching, both when I received the call to interview for this position, and last night, when I couldn’t get Sei from the plane out of my mind and needed a distraction.
Mr. Olympios may as well be a ghost.
Maybe he’s too old to know how to use the Internet and doesn’t go out much. It would explain why he couldn’t make it to the office today. A silent partner could be doing the actual work, using his name.
I’ll find out soon enough.
Hades hulks over me, a little too close for comfort. Well, it’s not exactly uncomfortable, because he’s gorgeous, with that sculpted jawline, wide mouth and deep-set gray eyes. His straight dark hair is pulled back from his face in a ponytail. It must be longer than Sei’s, that barely reached his shoulders—and why am I thinking of him? He probably forgot all about me the moment he was off the plane.
I glare up at Hades. What does he expect me to do? Bolt out of the elevator as soon as we reach the top floor? And do what? Attack Mr. Olympios? Is he that frail that I’m a threat at my meter sixty-five and all of sixty-seven kilos, or has his life been threatened before?
The elevator stops, the doors slide open, and I have to consciously keep my jaw from dropping, as I take in the spacious room before me. From the oversize leather sofas and armchairs, to the thick, shaggy carpeting, everything is white, with touches of dark blue and gold. Tinted floor-to-ceiling windows without curtains take over the wall at the far end, and nothing blocks my view of Ktima Syggrou.
Until another torso appears in front of me. Are all men here giants?
I look all the way up the wide expanse of crisp, white, button-down shirt, to a face that can only be described as a work of art. His skin has a golden, sun-kissed glow that makes his baby-blue eyes pop even more than their dark fringe of eyelashes does. High cheekbones lead to a square jaw with a dimpled chin, and the most gorgeous honey-blond curls roll down to his shoulders.
