Greek Tycoon's Mistletoe Proposal

by Kandy Shepherd

  Seeing him there, so complacent and cosy, had made her see red. It felt like a betrayal by her family. Then her mother had gushed that Dan would be with them for Christmas Day as both his mother and his father would be away. Without really thinking about the consequences, Ashleigh had informed her parents she was not coming home for Christmas and didn’t know when she’d ever go back to Australia.

  So here she was on a dark, freezing December evening, about to be booted out into the vastness of London without anywhere to stay. Except perhaps a police cell if she wasn’t able to convince Lukas Christophedes to let her go.

  She made her way up the stairs to the next level of the townhouse. There was an elevator, but she never took it, too frightened it might stall between floors and she’d be trapped in a house where she was staying illicitly. She sent up a prayer that the billionaire client would accept her grovelling apologies and let her go without punishment. Staying here had been a bad, bad idea.

  She’d dusted and vacuumed around his already perfectly clean office so she knew where it was. Like all the rooms in this beautiful, luxurious house, it had been decorated with the most expensive of furnishings and fittings, yet still retained the cosiness of a traditional English library—the walls lined with books and Persian rugs on the floor.

  The door was open. Lukas Christophedes sat at his desk, his back towards her. He’d taken off the jacket of his dark, superbly tailored business suit. The finely woven fabric of his shirt showed broad shoulders and a leanly muscled back. She knocked quietly and he immediately swivelled on his chair to face her.

  She caught her breath, her trepidation momentarily overcome by heart-stopping awareness of his dark, Mediterranean good looks. He’d discarded his necktie and opened the top buttons of his shirt to reveal a vee of tanned olive skin pointing to an impressive chest. Rolled up sleeves showed strong, tanned forearms. His dark hair was rumpled as if he’d run it through with his fingers. For a moment, Ashleigh thought he seemed less intimidating. Until he turned his gaze to her, assessing her with narrowed eyes, his expression inscrutable.

  A shiver travelled up her spine. This man had her in his power—and she had made herself vulnerable to him by her foolish behaviour. Talking her way out of this might not be easy.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LUKAS STARED AT Ashleigh Murphy as she peered around the door then stepped tentatively into his office. He schooled his face to hide his surprise. He’d been expecting a scruffy backpacker, the type travelling the world on a shoestring, seeking cut-price meals, free Wi-Fi and a cheap place to lay their heads. Backpackers of her ilk had filled the Greek seaside villages where he’d sailed and swam and partied as a student—before responsibility had grabbed him by the scruff and dragged him back to save the family business from his parents’ gross mismanagement.

  But Ashleigh Murphy seemed something more than that. True, she wore blue jeans that had seen better days, a sweater of some nondescript muddy colour and scuffed trainers. Trainers. His elegant mother would have hysterics at the sight of running shoes on the hand-woven carpet of a Christophedes residence. But there was something about this trespassing maid that transcended her humble attire and he found it difficult to drag his gaze away.

  More petite than she’d appeared in his bathtub, fine-boned and slender, she moved with a natural grace. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in a bright, untamed mass. It framed even features, pale skin flushed high on her cheekbones and those extraordinary blue eyes. Without even trying, she seemed classy.

  He was still irritated by her outrageous incursion into his privacy. But Lukas’s irritation began to dissipate as an idea began to form. An idea that could help him solve a particularly bothersome problem that, for all his business smarts, had him stumped. The problem had been plaguing him ever since his meeting at The Shard this afternoon. And it could impede the success of the business expansion he was determined to achieve.

  But first he had to assess Ashleigh Murphy’s suitability for what he had in mind. In the right clothes, her looks would pass muster. But he needed to find out more about her background, see if she was capable of what else was required.

  Curtly, he indicated she take the chair on the other side of his desk. She put her backpack on the floor beside her and sat down. He made her wait while he tapped out some notations on his tablet. She sat up straight and appeared composed. Her attempt to mask her discomfort, perhaps even fear, at the situation in which she’d found herself was impressive. But she betrayed her anxiety in the way she shifted in her seat, her overly tight grip on the arms of the chair. In other circumstances, he would have put her at her ease. At this time, he felt it wouldn’t hurt for her to squirm a little before he hit her with his demand.

  He lifted his head to face her full on. ‘I need to decide what course of action to take against the person I found basking in my bathtub instead of cleaning it.’

  She flinched and the flush deepened on her cheekbones. ‘Please, I can’t apologise enough. I know how wrong it was to do what I did.’ Her speaking voice, as opposed to her singing voice, was pleasant and well modulated.

  ‘How long did you intend to stay here in my home?’

  ‘Tonight. Then I—’

  ‘You mean for as long as you could get away with it?’

  ‘No!’

  Lukas didn’t reply. He’d learned silence often elicited more information than another question.

  ‘Until I could find somewhere I could afford to live. I’m expecting a funds transfer from home any day. I...I haven’t been working for Maids in Chelsea long enough to ask for an advance.’

  She might not appear like the typical backpacker but it seemed she was as perpetually broke. That might play well into his hands.

  ‘What kind of visa are you on that allows you to work in the UK?’

  ‘No visa. My father is English by birth. I have an EU passport and the right of abode here.’

  ‘Yet you live in Australia?’

  ‘My grandparents emigrated when my father was a child. But we lived in Manchester for two years when I was a teenager while my father studied for his PhD.’

  ‘Your father is an academic?’

  ‘He’s the principal of a secondary school in Bundaberg in Queensland where we live.’

  ‘And your mother?’

  ‘She’s a schoolteacher too.’ She tilted her head to one side in query. ‘I don’t know what that has to do with me doing the wrong thing here.’

  ‘It interests me,’ he said. She interested him.

  She bit her lip, as if against a retort she wouldn’t dare utter considering the precariousness of her situation.

  ‘Have you always been a maid?’

  ‘Of course not.’ She spat out the words then backpedalled. ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with being a maid. In fact I consider myself to be a very good maid, and waitress and front-of-house person—all learned since I’ve been in London. But my real job is something quite different. I’m an accountant. I have a degree in commerce from the University of Queensland.’

  ‘You—’

  She put up her hand in a halt sign. ‘Don’t say it. If I had a dollar for every time someone told me I don’t look like an accountant I’d be a wealthy woman.’

  Lukas had to suppress a smile. That was exactly what he had been about to say. Of course there was no reason a woman so exquisitely feminine shouldn’t be an accountant—it just made her even more interesting that she didn’t fit the mould of an outmoded stereotype.

  ‘You manage money for a living, yet you end up homeless in a big, ruthless city?’ he said.

  ‘Circumstances beyond my control,’ she said, tight-lipped.

  ‘Were you brought up by your family to be honest?’

  Her eyes flashed with barely concealed outrage. ‘Of course I was.’

  ‘I cou
ld ask you to tip out the contents of your backpack for me to check, then to turn out your pockets.’

  Her chin lifted. ‘To see if I’ve stolen anything? I’d be more than happy for you to search my bag.’ She gripped the arms of the chair and leaned forward. ‘Go ahead. I have nothing to hide. But ask me to undergo a body search and it will be me calling the police.’

  Lukas found he couldn’t meet her fierce glare. He swallowed hard in distaste at his own actions. He had taken this too far. He had no desire to burrow through her personal belongings. Or undertake anything as intrusive as a body search. That would be...sleazy and he was not that kind of man. ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he said gruffly.

  She nodded but her lips were pressed tight.

  One of the reasons he’d been able to lift his family company from the verge of bankruptcy to a business turning over in the multiples of millions was his ability to read people. Every instinct told him this young woman had been foolish but not dishonest.

  ‘I know Maids in Chelsea are scrupulous in the background checking of their employees,’ he said. ‘I assume the same was done for you.’

  She rolled her eyes, just slightly, but he didn’t miss it. It was an action he found unwarranted—but perhaps he would have done the same if he were on the other side of the desk.

  ‘I can assure you I have no criminal record back in Australia,’ she said. ‘All I’m guilty of is an error of judgement. I know it was wrong of me and I reiterate my apology.’

  ‘You admit you have slept under my roof. No doubt you were planning to spend tonight here too?’

  ‘Yes. But it was only until—’

  Lukas looked down at his tablet. ‘I’ve calculated how much three nights at a West End hotel of equivalent comfort would cost you.’ He named a figure that made her gasp. ‘You owe me.’

  Ms Murphy paled and he could see a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. ‘But I can’t afford it. If I could pay that I would have gone to one of those hotels in the first place.’

  He leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers under his chin. ‘That’s really not my concern,’ he said.

  Lukas didn’t like threatening her. But she could be a solution to his problem. And once he’d made up his mind on a course of action, he didn’t stop until he’d got what he wanted.

  ‘I...I can’t,’ she said. ‘I just can’t pay that.’ Her lush, wide mouth trembled. ‘You’d best call the police.’

  Bravado or bravery? Whatever it was, he admired her spirit.

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘There’s no need for me to call the police. I have a way you can pay off your debt to me without money exchanging hands. Something not very arduous that you might even enjoy.’

  * * *

  Ashleigh was up and out of her chair so fast she tripped on her backpack and had to steady herself against the desk. She could hardly believe what she’d heard. Sexual favours to pay off a so-called fabricated debt? Clio had warned her there was a certain type of man who considered maids and waitresses to be fair game. Already she’d had to fend them off—especially towards the end of the night at a party when they’d had too much to drink. But this man! She was shocked—and disappointed. Lukas Christophedes had seemed better than that.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Never.’

  He frowned, got up from his chair. The man was tall and powerfully built and she was glad there was a desk between them. ‘You say “no” before you’ve even heard my proposition?’ he asked, his frown deepening.

  ‘Sex is sex, no matter which variant you want me to trade with you.’ She glared at him then glanced at the open door, ready to bolt. ‘And the answer will always be no.’

  He frowned. ‘You’ve got this wrong. I didn’t mean that at all.’ He wiped his hand across his forehead. ‘I would never suggest such a thing. My English...’

  His lightly accented English was perfect. It wasn’t what he’d said but how he’d said it. Then she took in the bewilderment in his deep brown eyes and swallowed hard. Or could it be how she’d interpreted his words?

  ‘Maybe I...misunderstood?’ she asked hesitantly. Misunderstood big time, perhaps.

  He came around the desk towards her. She took a step away, the back of her knees pressed against the edge of the chair. Just in case. After all, he was a stranger and she was alone with him in his house.

  ‘Whether I did not get my message across correctly or you misunderstood is beside the point,’ he said. ‘I am not asking you for sex. That is not how I do business.’

  ‘I...I’m glad to hear it.’ He must think her hopelessly naïve. ‘So...what is your proposition?’

  ‘I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend.’

  Ashleigh felt as though all the air had been expelled from her lungs. ‘You what! How is that different from—’

  He put up one large, well-shaped hand to halt her flow of words. ‘Completely above board, I assure you. Just for one evening. An important business dinner tomorrow. I’ve decided I need a date to...to deflect unwanted interest.’

  ‘And you want me to be a fake date?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Why? I can’t imagine a man like you would have a shortage of real dates. You’re wealthy, handsome. You’d just have to click your fingers for a multitude of women to come running.’

  ‘Perhaps not a multitude.’ He gave a wry, self-deprecating smile she found herself warming to. ‘Of course I know a few women in London.’ Ashleigh suspected that was a serious understatement. ‘But none whom I want to involve in this. No one I want to get the wrong impression.’

  ‘You mean the impression you’re serious about her.’

  ‘That is correct,’ he said. ‘This would be purely a business deal, with no continuing personal involvement. You are unknown in London and that suits me perfectly.’

  Would being this man’s fake date be any worse than being hired as a waitress for an upscale private party? The idea intrigued her. He intrigued her. Wasn’t this why she’d come to London? To climb out of the deep rut she’d found herself in. To revel in freedom and independence. To be brave and take risks and open up to new experiences.

  ‘So tell me more about this “proposition”?’ she said.

  Ashleigh stood by the chair close to her backpack, on the off chance she needed to pick it up and run. He paced up and down as he spoke.

  ‘I met this afternoon at The Shard with a potential business partner, someone I very much want to work with.’

  Ashleigh loved the beautiful old buildings in London where history was alive on every corner. But she was fascinated by The Shard—London’s futuristic glass skyscraper. The first day she’d arrived, she’d stood at its base and craned her neck to gaze up at the incredible ninety-five-storey building, so tall its jagged top disappeared into the clouds. One rare free evening when they weren’t working, she and Sophie had gone up to the bar for a drink—just one as they were so expensive—and gawked at the incredible views of London old and new.

  Of course The Shard would be just the place for a visiting billionaire to hold his meetings.

  ‘Excuse my ignorance,’ Ashleigh said. ‘But what exactly is your business?’

  There was no point in pretending she knew anything about him—or in pretending she was anything other than who she was. Of course, if she agreed to be his fake date, that would take pretending to a whole new level. He was so handsome it wouldn’t be a hardship.

  ‘There are various arms to the Christophedes business but the one that concerns me now is electrical appliances. We dominate the Greek market, are one of the bestselling brands in mainland Europe, and export to Scandinavia and the Middle East. But the British market eludes me. I need a local partner.’

  ‘You mean a distributor?’

  ‘Yes. I did my due diligence and decided this woman’s co
mpany would be the best fit for what I need. I approached her and today was our initial meeting.’

  ‘Is she interested in doing business with you?’

  ‘Yes.’ He stopped his pacing, looked directly down at her. ‘She is also interested in me.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ she said, perplexed at the doom-laden way he said it. ‘You would have to get on with her if you’re working on such a big deal.’

  He cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot. Ashleigh was surprised at his display of discomfort. ‘I mean she is interested in me as not just a business partner but as a man.’

  For the first time Ashleigh saw a crack in the billionaire’s confident air of arrogance. She tried not to smile. Somehow she doubted that was the reaction he would expect. ‘I see,’ she said, trying to sound very serious.

  ‘Do you? Tina Norris is a very beautiful older woman used to getting her own way.’

  ‘So...she’s a cougar and she wants you as part of the deal?’ Who could blame the woman? The man was good-looking in the extreme. And, she suspected, when he wasn’t glaring or shouting at misbehaving maids, he could be charming.

  ‘That is the impression she gave me this afternoon.’ He shuddered. Again Ashleigh had to suppress a smile. He was no doubt used to being the hunter, not the hunted.

  ‘But you’re not interested?’

  ‘Not in the slightest. I found her...predatory. Besides, I would never get involved with a business partner.’

  ‘I see your dilemma—you don’t want to offend her.’

  ‘That is correct. I want her on side for the business.’

  ‘But not in your bed.’

  He paused. ‘That’s a blunt way of putting it, but yes.’

  ‘Hence the fake date. It would be diplomatic if she could see you had a girlfriend.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said.

  ‘But you don’t want to give the wrong idea to someone you might actually date.’ Ashleigh felt she had to reiterate to make sure she completely understood what she might or might not be getting herself into. She was surprised at how at ease she felt with him.