by Caro LaFever
“A wife who is unseen and unheard is a treasure,” Zenos said, mirth dripping off every word. “You should try it.”
With unwilling interest, she yanked her attention back to the men’s conversation. What a jerk. No man would be chuckling and laughing into his beer if his wife had left him. Apparently, the woman was a doormat. She couldn’t imagine being with such a conceited man. A man who genuinely liked the fact his wife was a doormat.
A man exactly like her father.
Maybe she was a fool to ever hope for another kind of man. In her experience, all men were like this Zenos guy. Arrogant jerks. She was stupid to keep hanging onto her fantasies.
Why was she thinking of fantasies when she was in the middle of a nightmare?
“There is the lack of sex with such a wife, Aetos. You must admit that.”
Both men gave another hearty laugh.
She couldn’t help her odd fascination with this unfolding conversation. Even in the face of her near-disaster of a life. What could this mean? She couldn’t conceive of this guy not having sex. The man had run through such a long list of beauties over the years, he’d even managed to trump The Trump. Miss Universes had competed with runway models and starlets for his company. She remembered all the stories. Vaguely. But she remembered.
However, then…she frowned…yes, she was sure of it. After his marriage, there’d been no more movie stars or beauty queens. At the time, she hadn’t spent one moment thinking about it. She’d had enough to cope with dealing with her mother slowly fading away and her brother slowly withdrawing. Now that she thought about it, though, she remembered there had no longer been the frenzied press about Zenos and his private life, only the dull roar of endless coverage about his business success.
Had the man honestly been celibate?
“I’ve had no problem in that area, as you know.” Zenos’ voice oozed satisfaction. “I have been more secretive, to honor my wife. Still, there are always women.”
“I have no doubt.”
“And my wife has provided me with the ultimate excuse when women become too possessive. I am already married. They have no hope.”
Obviously he hadn’t been celibate. What was she thinking?
Honor his wife. What crap!
Her spine stiffened in revulsion, but not surprise. After all, look at her father. Her fantasy of a steadfast man, a man who could be trusted was just that. Pure and complete fantasy.
Natalie. Focus on your disaster.
Right. The disaster of being homeless and on the run from the Ukrainian mob.
“You know,” the egotistical jerk continued, “I planned on announcing a divorce as soon as the papers were signed with Tucker. Now I’m not sure.”
He had stayed married only to secure a business deal? She made a face at the other side of her booth, imagining the disgusted look slicing through the wood and right into the man’s back. How unbelievably cynical. The poor woman. Stuck in Connecticut, alone, waiting, while this ass pranced around New York, bedding whoever and making deals using his wife as a shield.
At least she’s safe. At least she has money.
Her heart fell. True. Very true. Natalie Zenos might have a husband worth less than nothing, yet at least she had a home. An extremely nice home, if memory served. Natalie Globenko was not as lucky.
“You’re thinking of keeping the ring on?”
What an odd way to ask the question. This conversation was incredibly bizarre.
“Nai.”
“I suppose if you divorce, your family will be on you again to come home and marry one of the endless Greek beauties waiting for you.”
“True. But the demands to come home with my non-existent wife keep escalating.”
What? What? Non-existent?
Nat sucked in a breath, sure she’d heard this wrong.
“Those demands do pose a problem.” Hank chuckled. “I suppose you could hire someone to play the part.”
Play the part?
“I wouldn’t trust a woman not to divulge the truth to the press.” The accent thickened, his voice reeking with brutal antipathy.
She froze as the soft, harsh words drifted over her. There was hatred there. Unadulterated hate. The man might bed women, yet he hated them.
Hank’s laugh was forced. “They’re not all bad. Look at my sister, Jill. In two years, she’s never whispered a thing to anyone.”
Jill was Hank’s sister? Her brain unfroze enough to take in the strange words she’d heard before the harsh putdown of all women.
Non-existent. Play the part.
Jill in the wedding pictures? Not Natalie?
“True. Though the fact she received a new home and you still have a job with me might explain her silence.” Rich contempt sliced through every word.
The man held an extreme antipathy for women. She didn’t begrudge him the feeling. In the end, it matched her thoughts about men. Nevertheless, to treat his friend with this kind of condescension was despicable. Apparently, he despised everyone around him to a varying degree. Did he think he was so superb compared to other humans that he could treat a person with such contempt? Her sour distaste and disgust turned into outright antagonism.
Hank gave a nervous laugh.
“But I will always be thankful to your sister for standing in for my bride.” Zenos’ voice switched to calm containment. “The pictures of us at the altar were needed to satisfy the press and my grandmother.”
“Jill was thrilled to make the tabloids. Even if only her back was shown.”
Both men chuckled once more.
Scrunching her face, Nat tried to remember. A vague memory of a candlelit room, a fuzzy, well-covered bride with a long veil. A smiling groom. That had been Hank’s sister at the altar? Not the real Natalie?
The non-existent Natalie.
The pieces came together to paint a completely insane picture. It couldn’t possibly be—
“My grandmother, however, is not satisfied with some pictures. She demands to meet my blushing bride.” The pompous ass sighed, a mocking sound. “I believe I will have to leave married bliss behind, since I am unable to comply with my giagiá’s request.”
“The Greek girls will be delighted.”
“And I will be too devastated by the loss of my wife to contemplate loving another woman anytime soon.”
Hank sniggered.
“The only thing that will console me is my wife will want none of my wealth or possessions.”
“What would a pretend wife need with wealth and possessions?”
Both men roared with laughter.
She sat. Stunned. The picture was insane and completely accurate.
There was no wife. No Natalie Zenos.
This conceited crook had fooled a man into a business deal using a pretend wife. He’d lied to his family for two years. Hell, he’d lied to the entire world to get ahead.
A blunt-fingered hand waved to the waitress. She glided across the room with the bill.
“I will leave the business in your capable hands, Hank, for the next two weeks.”
“You’ll be visiting every one of the Tuckermarkets?”
Tuckermarket. Her brain whirred. Old man Tucker. Sam Tucker’s trading empire was vast and impressive. She’d often strolled through the gargantuan store occupying the last privately-owned Vanderbilt mansion in New York City, the store stuffed with exotic oriental scarves, golden images of gods, and spices from the Maluku Islands. Once, she’d even been greeted by Sam Tucker himself. The beaming man had taken her hand and shown her around the store, glowing with pleasure when she’d found the best gift for her mother’s birthday.
The old man had been a delight.
The old man whom Zenos had fooled.
A tight rage filled her, weaving and winding around her growing antagonism towards this overconfident thief. The rage flushed her skin. This bandit had fooled a lovely old man and his own old, needy grandparents. Along with his entire family. As well as all of New York City.
All for a deal. For money. For power.
“Only the main markets. I will take a more extensive tour later, after the holidays.” The arrogant man stood, flipping a large bill at the waitress, who beamed in apparent surprise.
Nat glared at his outline. In the dim light, the only thing she could make out were his broad shoulders covered in some kind of sleek suit and his rugged profile with its prominent nose. Yet it was enough to give her a sense of his complete arrogance. His absolute assurance. He truly believed lying to an old man, to his family, to everyone was his right. He felt not a slip of guilt in what he’d done.
Zenos was worse than her father and her uncles. Even her brother.
His friend slid out of the booth to join him. “Do you want me to check on the house?”
The house. The brownstone. The memory of the purchase came back to her. All the press had been agog at playboy Zenos purchasing such a sedate property while selling his trendy Greenwich Village penthouse. Soon after, the announcement of the engagement had come. Then the press release of the marriage.
She knew exactly where that brownstone was. She’d strolled by it during a lunchtime walk. The townhouse stood mere blocks from where she currently sat.
“Not needed.” The playboy jerk strode toward the door, Hank lumbering behind. “I have given the main staff a holiday, but a skeleton staff will remain.”
The door banged shut on his last words.
The glare slipped off her face.
But her turbulent disgust continued. Someone should take the man down a notch. Someone should teach him a lesson. A person of courage should confront him and expose him.
Someone who had a journalism degree and could write an explosive story.
Someone like her.
Her hands clutched the coffee cup until her knuckles turned white. Could this be her way out of imminent disaster? She no longer had any access to a computer, still, she could hightail it down to her old offices and tell the tale and make a deal.
She’d be seen. She’d be caught.
Her breath whispered in and out of her mouth. A zillion thoughts and plans and schemes whistled in her brain.
Would anyone believe her?
She’d left her work without giving notice. Her boss had been angry. He’d told her she’d lost her last chance at the paper as she’d hastily packed her things and escaped before the trackers got her. Would he believe her when she told this outrageous story?
Would anyone believe her?
Zenos had power. And prestige. And pots of money.
Would anyone believe insignificant, on-the-run Natalie Globenko instead of the masterful, godlike Aetos Zenos?
No.
She slumped in the corner of the booth, her hopes sagging.
Even if she got someone to believe, The New York News wouldn’t pay the astronomical sum of fifty thousand dollars. The odds that any other tabloid would believe and pay with no proof other than her word was unlikely. She’d risk capture with no sure assurance she’d have enough money to pay off the debt.
The risk was too great.
“Do you want anything else, miss?” The waitress walked to her table and smacked the bill in front of her without letting her respond. “We’ll be getting busy soon and this booth will be needed.”
“I understand.” The slick slap of panic slid down her spine. “I’ll be only a minute more.”
The waitress grunted her disapproval as she left.
What was she going to do? Where was she going to go?
The idea flashed in her head like a neon light. A bright blast of pure folly.
Gone for two weeks. Skeleton staff.
Pretend wife.
Natalie Zenos. Natalie Globenko.
A way to pay an arrogant man back. A way to make him sweat. If only for a few days after he came back from his trip and heard his pretend wife had made an appearance and then disappeared.
A hideout. Two weeks to buy some time to think and plan.
Her husky bark of laughter caused the bartender to eye her as if she’d gone crazy.
She had. Quite possibly she had.
But why not? What did she have to lose?
Chapter 2
The text message from his Greek cousin made no sense.
Aetos stared at his cell phone and read the text again.
Giagiá agapá tēn gynaíka sou.
Grandmother loves your wife.
He blinked. His grandmother didn’t know his wife. She never would.
Konstantinos must be drinking a bit too much ouzo and having a very late night.
Throwing the cell onto the king-size bed, he strode to the full-length windows and looked out at the sunset over Los Angeles. Today had been productive; extremely productive. After a long breakfast meeting with the current management staff of Tuckermarket L.A., he’d known exactly who he was going to keep and who had to go—which had been his primary goal for the gathering.
He’d then toured the market, noting the work needing to be done on the Italian Renaissance exterior as well as the wrought iron and terra cotta interior. Overall, though, he’d been pleased and pumped. Just as the New York property was a gem, this historic landmark with its glass dome, Belgian marble stairs, and dazzling Mexican tile was another one. Another gem to add to his collection. The fact the staff was ill-trained, the goods rather drab, and the organizational structure of the management top-heavy was all to the good.
Aetos squinted as the last line of the sun dipped under the horizon.
Challenge.
This is what he’d sought during these last two years as he kept picking away at the old man’s resolve. A new challenge. He’d known, deep down. Tuckermarkets would give him this challenge.
He’d grown bored of his computer company, the one he’d started in college.
He’d become blasé over his ongoing real estate deals.
His sexual needs barely required his brain.
Every one of his various business endeavors was amazingly successful but took little of his concentration or concern. His bedroom requirements were fulfilled in a few hours every week with a quick release and an immediate retreat. Before his marriage, he’d tried to stem this tide of growing apathy by taking on a variety of risky hobbies: parachuting, mountain climbing, deep-sea diving. The initial thrill was never enough, though. Within days of returning to New York City, he would find himself sitting behind his desk, quietly going mad.
When he’d seen Tuckermarket for sale, however, he’d known. Known immediately.
For the last two-and-a-half years, he’d been busy putting a new life and a new image together. He’d also spent hours going through the strategic and tactical implications of merging Tucker’s business with his other ventures. Now that he’d inked the deal, he would need to give years of total concentration to get this giant back on track. Sixty stores littered across the country. A massive buying network with tentacles in every nation on earth. Over three hundred thousand employees. All of this begging for a man of vision. A man who thrived on challenge.
A man born to run an empire.
The empire denied him by his father.
So, he’d created his own. And his kingdom would continue to grow far past the level of success the old Greek Zenos empire had achieved; the one currently withering away under the care of his Zenos cousins, Nikolas and Stavros.
The true heirs. His father’s disdainful words echoed through time.
Aetos allowed himself a tight, mocking smile.
His cell buzzed on the bed.
Striding across the room, he reached for the phone and frowned when he saw the text.
Your grandmother was extremely pleased to speak with your wife.
Doris. Another cousin. But one who was unlikely to be dipping into the ouzo, as she was pregnant with twins. What was she doing texting him rubbish in the early morning hours of Athens? What the hell was going on? Was this some strange game his relatives were playing in order to flush out his bride?
A
gruff breath huffed from his mouth.
This was not normal behavior for his family. Overall, they kept quiet and were grateful. He’d paid for this desired silence with gifts of money. Lots of money. Braces for the nieces, cars for the uncles. Bikes for the nephews, jewelry for the aunts. Only his giagiá ignored his clear and pointed request for distance. She alone called all the time. She alone nagged and pleaded. She alone asked for or commented on his perfect wife.
His pretend wife.
Who could not possibly be talking to his grandmother.
Aetos scowled and deleted the text. He would ignore these games for now. But if he got one more text from one more drunk or delusional cousin, he would put his foot down hard. He was the one in control and if he needed to remind them, so be it.
Tugging off his tie, he roamed across the room to the glass-and-marble desk in the corner of the luxurious suite and flipped open his laptop. He had a few hours to work before meeting some of the Tuckermarket staff for dinner. Tomorrow would be filled with a series of important meetings. Much needed to be accomplished before he left for Miami on the following day. The extra day he’d spent in Chicago meant less time here, which would have to be rectified after the holidays.
Every year it annoyed him, how the holidays stopped any actual business. Everyone turned into crazy shoppers or wild revelers. He always waited impatiently for the New Year’s Ball to drop in Time Square. Not to welcome in a new year, but to welcome an end to the folly of the holidays.
His private email popped on the screen.
The one he dismissed during the business day.
There were at least two dozen emails from Greece from his demented family. At any other time, he would have ignored them, as the hundred business emails he hadn’t addressed on his phone would certainly take precedence. Not this time.
He began to click.
And click.
Click.
A grim slant slashed his mouth, turning the edges down.
Click.
A tight band of pressure twisted behind his eyes.
Click.
His jaw ached with tension.
“Skatá!” he swore under his breath. “What the hell is going on?”
