by Tarr, Hope
In no mood for her real-estate reminiscences, Nick followed her over. “I am afraid I am in the midst of preparing for a teleconference.”
She followed his gaze over to the desk where he’d obviously been working. Turning back, she nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll be brief.”
“That would be appreciated, thank you.” He didn’t bother asking her to sit.
She drew an audible breath. “Are you aware that my husband is looking into taking out a second mortgage on our home to repay you?”
“I was not,” Nick admitted. “But then since he has not yet deigned to meet with me, how would I know this?”
If she were expecting sympathy, she was destined to be disappointed. A developer risking his multimillion-dollar home because of a botched business deal wasn’t quite the same as innocent orphans and frightened young mothers being turned away for lack of space.
Her eyes narrowed. “Of course he hasn’t met with you yet. He’s been too busy lining up his ducks, meeting with bankers and brokers and debt consolidators and… Well, our house has been like Grand Central Station ever since you got here.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
She shrugged. “Look, this charade has gone on long enough. Are you going to grant him an extension or not?”
Nick was stunned and not only by the bald rudeness of her demand. Nick had no intention of granting additional time, but that was beside the point. “That is one of many matters he is free to propose to me tomorrow.”
She scowled. “I know how you Old World types operate. The world’s one big Old Boys’ Club so far as you’re concerned. For your information, I’m not just his wife. I’m a member of the board.”
“Congratulations.”
She glared. “We both know my husband has been pretending to be sick. I think he has this crazy idea that if you spend enough time with Stefanie, you’ll fall for her and forgive his debt.”
Nick didn’t speak. If that was indeed the plan, then Stefanie’s father was even more reprehensible than he’d considered.
“But men like you don’t fall for girls like Stefanie. You may sleep with them out of boredom or pity or convenience but that’s the end of it.”
Though burning to tell her how wrong she was, for Stefanie’s sake Nick sealed his lips.
Apparently mistaking his silence for agreement, she continued, “Stefanie and I have never been what you’d call close, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stand by and let her whore herself out for the family—even if Christos’s financial crisis is all her fault.”
This really was intolerable. “How is your husband’s reneging on repaying his debt any fault of Stefanie’s? Other than being on the board, she doesn’t have anything to do with running the company.”
Her brow, likely Botoxed, lifted. “You really don’t know, do you?”
Heart drumming, Nick forced a shrug. “Enlighten me.”
“Stefanie’s former fiancé swindled us out of three million dollars. It was a textbook Ponzi scheme—and poor Stefanie made an easy mark. I warned Christos not to give that mini-Madoff any money, but he did anyway. I think he wanted to get in good with his future son-in-law, feather the nest for Stefanie, so to speak. We were all so relieved she’d finally found someone.”
I was engaged for a while but it…didn’t work out…
Looking pleased with herself, she tapped his arm with the flower. “As you can imagine, Stefanie blames herself. She’d do just about anything to make things right for her dad—anything. Putting herself through an extreme makeover in one week is just the tip of the iceberg.”
“A makeover?” One of the things he’d first noticed and liked about her was her utter absence of artifice.
She nodded. “I know she’s still plain and chunky, but if you saw how she normally looks, you wouldn’t even recognize her. That messy braid, those geeky glasses, and don’t even get me started on her clothes. Before she heard you were coming, I don’t think she even owned eye shadow. I know it’s hard to believe, but what you’re seeing is actually her ‘after’ look.”
Shocked, he demanded, “Why would she do all this?”
She looked at him askance. “To seduce you, of course, so you’d let her precious pop off the hook.” She rolled her eyes. “Pathetic, I know. I’m sure she’ll be back in her sweats just as soon as you leave for the airport on Thursday. Now my girls, on the other hand—”
“Get out.” Nick rounded the table and closed the gap between them. Grabbing her by the elbow, he ferried her toward the foyer, the flower falling to the floor.
Her mouth flew open, making her look like a hooked fish. “Let go of me. You may not comprehend our American laws,” she hissed, apparently forgetting he was a Harvard-educated lawyer, “but this could be construed as assault.”
Nick bit back a bitter laugh. “Then sue me.” Reaching around her, he threw open the door.
Left with little choice, she backed into the hall. “You should be thanking me, not manhandling and insulting me. I came here to warn you. You’re being played.”
“Your unpleasant visit has only confirmed what I knew already. You’re a conniving shrew. I may not forgive your husband’s debt, likely I will not, but after today I do pity him.”
He closed the door in her face. Turning, he barricaded it with his back.
All along he’d known Stefanie was covering for her father, but he’d never considered she’d use sex to manipulate him. His scandalous past with women must have made him seem like easy prey. That he’d fallen for her good girl act, for her, made it hard to hold back from putting his fist through the nearest wall.
Instead he scraped a hand through his hair and fought to fathom how the last few minutes could so completely alter everything. Just that morning, he’d left Stefanie wrapped in a bed sheet and a postcoital cocoon, her satiny skin still rosy from his lovemaking, the innocence of her sleeping smile rivaling an angel’s. Based on what he’d just heard, though, she wasn’t so very innocent. Until now, he’d assumed he’d seduced her, but now he saw he’d had it all wrong.
He hadn’t seduced Stefanie. She’d screwed him.
Chapter Nine
Nick’s car and driver showed up at Stefanie’s shortly before six. Having an entire stretch limo to herself was the modern day equivalent of a coach-and-four. She stretched out her arms, sheathed in elbow-high evening gloves, her hands smoothing over the adjacent empty seats. A bucket of shaved ice accommodated an uncorked bottle of vintage Veuve Cliqot. Once again Nick had thought of everything. She poured herself a glass from the barware rack and settled back to sip. Whatever tomorrow brought, she was finally getting to have her Cinderella night.
Even traffic was on her side. They arrived at the Four Seasons in no time at all. She made her way through the lobby, turning heads and admiring glances following her progress to the elevator bank. Feeling like an ugly duckling no longer, she entered the elevator leading up to Nick’s floor.
Stepping off, she allowed herself one final look in a hallway mirror. The asymmetrical, off-the-shoulder scarlet gown did indeed hit her body in all the best places. Her arms weren’t skinny but they were sculpted, not from workouts at the gym but from years of hefting heavy coolers and catering trays. Her waist wasn’t narrow but it nipped in where a waist should, offset by ample hips that now seemed womanly, not fat. The fitted skirt flared at the train, making her feel like a mermaid, ethereal yet seductive.
Showing beneath it, the canary-colored stones studding her vintage red shoes winked up at her. Cinderella slippers, or so Macie and Starr and Francesca had called them. Considering all the women who’d worn them, beginning with Maddie Mulligan and funneling down the decades to her own fabulous friend circle, she felt a lump form in her throat. Now she, formerly plain, mousy Stefanie Stefanopoulos was about to take her place as yet another link in the legacy of strong, hopeful women, taking responsibility for her happiness by claiming Happily Ever After as her right. Sure, she wanted the whole HEA enchilada—the handsome pri
nce, the castle—complete with customized chef’s kitchen, of course—and the brood of little princes and princesses. But for now, she wanted this magical evening, not as a bittersweet memory to be looked back upon with smiles and tears but as the first brick in building a foundation beneath her fairy-tale dreams.
I feel like a princess, she thought, walking up to Nick’s suite. Not only a princess, but a goddess, or so Nick had called her last night while making love and again in today’s note. As great as the gown and makeup and even the shoes made her feel, the true transformation was on the inside. For the first time in her life she felt beautiful and desirable, worthy of an incredible man’s love.
Did Nick’s feelings for her run that deeply? Slipping on the shoes earlier that night, for the first time she’d allowed herself to envision a future beyond Thursday. Would he invite her to visit him in Greece? If he did, would that stay lead to a more…permanent arrangement? They’d only known one another a week and yet after last night, anything—everything—seemed possible.
Happily Ever After here I come.
She drew a deep breath and raised her fist to knock. Her first tentative tap brought no response. She rang the bell, but it also went unanswered. Nick had said he was working today. Was he still tied up with the teleconference? Rather than risk disturbing him, she took out of her purse the extra key card he’d given her and let herself in.
Nick sat behind the Queen Anne-style secretary desk nursing a glass of ouzo. Anticipating his kiss, eager for the press of his arms around her, she hurried across the carpet toward him, satin swishing.
“There you are. Why didn’t you answer? I thought you must still be in your meeting. How did it go?” Coming up on the desk, she took in his unshaven face, mussed hair, and rolled up shirtsleeves, her smile fading.
Something was wrong, very wrong. “Am I early?”
“No, you are perfectly punctual. One of your many virtues, along with your devotion to family.”
His clipped tone cast a chill over her earlier optimism. And he still hadn’t bothered to stand. The Nick she knew was a consummate gentleman.
He looked up from his glass. “Why didn’t you tell me about your fiancé?”
Stefanie’s heart stopped. “Former fiancé. And I did…this morning, remember?” Obviously he knew there was more to the story, but how much more?
“Do not toy with me, Stefanie. I know all about the Ponzi scheme. And I know about the makeover you underwent in the hope of seducing me so that I would forgive Olympia’s debt.”
Stefanie felt as if the floor were falling, carrying her with it. She reached out, clutching the edge of the desk to steady herself. “H-how did you find out?”
He shrugged his shoulders, the same broad shoulders that last night she’d clung to. “Your stepmother stopped by.”
Jacquie! Stefanie had always known her stepmother wasn’t the nicest person; still she was stunned that she would sink to such depths to hurt her. And not just her but Olympia, their family’s bread and butter.
He shook his head at her. “Telling me the truth would have saved us both a lot of time and trouble.”
Time and trouble—was that how he saw their week together?
“Instead your father has spent the past seven days hiding out like a criminal and you—”
“What about me?”
He inhaled deeply as though the question hurt him. “You’ve spent the week making a fool of me.”
Guilty tears flooded her eyes. So much for mind fucking the man. She’d set out to game him and now that she had, she was reaping her just reward—and finding it a bitter harvest indeed. “I didn’t sleep with you because of the money.” That much was true. She hadn’t meant for her seduction to go beyond flattery and flirting. Once it had, she’d been as swept away as he. “I’ll admit I planned to soften you up with some meals and…maybe a little flirting and sure, looking nice was part of that, but that was it.”
The askance look he gave her confirmed he wasn’t buying a word. “And your kindness to my Mara, was that part of your plan too?”
Tears spilled over her bottom lashes. She shook her head. “Whatever else you may think of me, please don’t think that.”
He slammed down his drink, sending ouzo lopping the glass. “What am I supposed to think?”
Stefanie didn’t have an answer, not that he seemed to expect one. And she couldn’t really blame him. Were she to stand in his shoes, she probably wouldn’t believe her, either.
She’d finally turned the tables on a man—only doing so didn’t bring the satisfaction she’d anticipated just a week ago. Instead she felt wretched and ashamed. Miserable, she watched him stand and cross to the front of the desk. He looked so fierce that it took all her remaining courage not to back away.
Stefanie choked back a sob. “May I say good-bye to Mara at least?”
His mouth thinned. “You are not to go anywhere near my daughter, do you understand? You have lost the privilege.”
“Nick, please.” She reached for him, but the ice in his eyes stalled her.
“Good-bye, Stefanie.” He turned away as if unable to bear the sight of her. Again, she didn’t really fault him.
Voice cracking, she managed, “Please give her my…love.”
He didn’t answer. Staring at his broad back, she felt tears pooling.
I have to get out of here—now.
Wheeling away, she picked up her skirt. Flying through the foyer, she nearly upset a vase of hydrangeas in her haste. She reached the door and wrenched it open. She stepped outside as the first sob wrenched her. Anchoring herself to the wall, she doubled over, wrapping her arms around herself, her heart hammering against the snug bodice. Mascara-laced tears burned her eyes. Her nose ran.
Dinging at the far end of the hallway announced that the elevator had landed. She shoved away from the wall and bolted toward it. Halfway there, the heel of her right slipper snapped. Her ankle buckled, the shoe flying off. She tried stooping to retrieve it, but her gown wasn’t made for such maneuvering. She teetered, nearly toppling, her painted nails clawing at the carpet. If she could only hook it with a finger…
Ahead, the elevator started closing. The prospect of hanging around for its return, perhaps encountering other hotel guests or worse yet, Nick, was too terrible to risk. Macie and the others would just have to forgive her. Abandoning the shoe, she hobbled toward the elevator and shot out her arm. The doors snapped back, and she stepped on, grateful that it was empty. Catching her reflection in the plated glass, she saw that her melting makeup brought to mind the late Heath Ledger’s final screen performance as The Joker.
Legend has it the shoes bring luck in love to whoever wears them, Macie had said.
Only Stefanie’s bad luck in love had proven more potent than the shoes’ mojo. Or, more likely they’d never worked at all, the legend another empty fairy tale.
Either way, for her the fairy tale was a weeklong chapter, not a Happily Ever After book.
…
Alone, Nick fitted a hand to his forehead and focused on his breathing. He’d met Stefanie only one week ago. It was impossible to fall in love with someone in such a short time.
Or was it?
Dinging from the hallway had him whirling toward the suite door. The elevator had landed—and in all likelihood Stefanie was in it. Despite the despicable way she’d played him, he still felt hopelessly protective toward her. He shouldn’t allow her to leave so upset. Who knew what might happen.
He grabbed his key card off the foyer table and headed out into the hallway. An obstacle in his path nearly sent him sprawling. He looked down. A scarlet velvet slipper studded with canary-colored rhinestones lay in his path. Stefanie’s slipper. It must be hers and yet he didn’t recall her feet being quite so small. Still, there was no mistaking the distinctive detailing. Though it hardly seemed worn, the workmanship proclaimed it to be old, vintage. As a boy, he’d seen similar shoes at the back of his grandmother’s closet.
He bent to
pick it up. The heel was cracked, split straight down the middle. It must have broken as she’d rushed for the elevator. He was reminded of Mara’s favorite fairy tale, Cinderella. All that was missing was a clock striking midnight.
He straightened, bringing the shoe with him. He must have drunk more than he’d thought because the velvet-covered leather seemed to pulse against his palm. His hand felt warm and tingling, his heart empty and aching.
This isn’t like me.
He’d had more hookups and short-term relationships than he cared to count but never once had he come close to feeling so desolate and utterly miserable. As much as he hated to admit it, there was only one plausible explanation: love. Despite the short time they’d known one another he’d fallen in love with Stefanie. Even in the midst of feeling furious with her, when she’d walked into his suite, he’d been hard-pressed not to forgive everything and take her in his arms to kiss her.
From inside the suite, his cell phone sounded. Thinking the caller could be Stefanie, he hurried in to answer it. But when he dug it out from beneath the papers on his desk, he saw that the number, a DC exchange, wasn’t hers, nor was it in his contacts list. The disappointment came not as a pang but as a blow.
He picked up and said, “Costas here.”
“This is Christos Stefanopoulos.”
Nick couldn’t help himself. “For a man stricken with influenza, you sound remarkably fit. If you are thinking to once again cancel our meeting, you are a foolish man indeed.”
“We will speak of tomorrow’s meeting in a minute. But first, I think you’ve got a wrong impression about my daughter.”
…
Limping barefoot through the lobby, Stefanie was once again aware of heads turning her way, only this time the looks she received were curious, concerned, or pitying. Too miserable to care, she made her way to the exit. Outside, the canopied entrance was crowded with well-heeled hotel guests headed out to dinner. In the pull-up, Nick’s hired limo still waited. Tempting though it was to simply climb inside, what was left of her pride wouldn’t let her. After what had just gone down in Nick’s suite, she didn’t care to be beholden to him in any way. If she’d had a change of clothing, she would have gone into the lobby restroom and ripped the beautiful red dress straight off.
