‘Tempting, but I’ll pass.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You’ll pass?’
It was the incredulity in his voice that did it. If ever Emma had needed proof that he was an arrogant and egotistical man who would never change, then now she had it.
‘Yes, Zak, incredible as it may seem to you, I’ll pass. My job here is done and I’m going to go up to my suite to pack because I’m leaving tomorrow. So I’ll let you go back down to your guests and to entertain them. Who knows? You probably won’t have any trouble finding a replacement stripper for the night!’
‘Now you’re making me sound cheap,’ he grated.
‘At least you know how it feels.’
For a moment they stood facing each other across the expanse of the minimalist office, their gazes clashing in a silent duel of wills.
‘Let’s be clear about one thing, Emma,’ said Zak, breaking the silence at last when it became clear that she was not going to back down and change her mind. ‘If this … withdrawal … of yours is supposed to make me your instant slave, then I have to tell you that it’s the wrong tack to take. You see, I don’t do emotional blackmail. I never have.’
Emma’s mouth opened and then closed again, because she was afraid that she might do something as undignified as screaming aloud with frustration and rage. Or throwing a pot of pens at his smug face, just as she’d wanted to do that very first time when he’d summoned her in to see him.
‘I feel sorry for you, Zak,’ she said, in a shaking voice. ‘There’s so much good in the world, but you just never see it, do you? Because you’re an emotional coward! Everywhere you look, you find some game or plot—some conniving woman determined to drag you up the aisle or to get you to commit. Well, I am not that woman—and I never will be. I wouldn’t dream of wanting something from a man which wasn’t given freely. I may not have much experience but that is something I have learnt! So you’ll forgive me if I say goodbye and leave you now. I’m out of here first thing tomorrow—and, to be honest, I can’t wait.’
She saw the disbelief which clouded the grey blaze of his eyes—and she saw something else, too. Something which looked like pain and was probably to do with the wounding of his wretched ego. Quickly, she turned away—before she revealed her own far more damning tears, grateful that her mother’s dancing tuition meant she never had any problem keeping her back straight. At least she was leaving Zak with her head held high, even if inside her heart felt as if it were breaking.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AS soon as she’d left Zak’s office, Emma went to her suite and packed up her clothes before checking out of the Pembroke. It was pride which motivated her, but fear, too. Fear that Zak might come up and find her and use all that potent sex appeal to persuade her into changing her mind. And it would be wrong to fall into bed with him when he had the ability to make her feel like some sort of hooker. Now that the inequalities in their relationship had been revealed, she needed to put as much distance between them as possible before she got on that plane tomorrow.
Clutching her suitcase, she hurried out of the building and hailed a cab, which took her to another hotel, close to JFK. It was a mere 1.7 miles away from the airport and ran a free shuttle service. It was cheap and it was basic and it was exactly what she needed as a kind of antidote to the luxury of Zak’s Pembroke. She found a strange kind of comfort in the bland magnolia walls and the highly glossed blue satin bedcover, which was stretched tightly over the high bed. She sat in the red-walled cafeteria and drank weak coffee at a formica table and the most stupid thing was that she felt nostalgic, because this was bottom end of the market. A place for people on a budget. She’d once lived on a budget before circumstances had catapulted her into a world where money ruled.
Yet money really didn’t bring you happiness, did it? Look at Louis, squandering most of his vast fortune on drink and drugs. And look at Zak—who, for all his hotels and massive fortune, didn’t seem to possess any kind of inner peace.
But she didn’t want to think about Zak—with his stormy grey eyes and that way he had of kissing her, and holding her which made her feel as if she’d fallen into some kind of secret paradise. She wanted to forget that she’d lost her heart to a man she’d known from the outset had been dangerous.
He rang that night, as she sat on the blue-glossed bedspread, comfort-eating a doughnut and watching some horrendous game show on the giant TV screen. She saw the name ‘Zak’ flashing on the screen of her cellphone and she despaired as her heart gave a lurch. She wanted to pick it up. She wanted him to say the kind of things to her that she knew he was never going to say. Instead, she licked her sugary fingers and turned up the TV—so that the loud studio laughter blocked out the ringtone. And after that she switched the phone to silent and turned it face down on the table where she couldn’t see it flashing.
He rang again as she sat waiting in the departure lounge at the airport, but still she didn’t pick up. And when the delayed plane landed at Heathrow, she saw that he’d rung twice more. She was not going to speak to him—because what would be the point when everything had already been said? And surely hearing the silken lilt of his Greek accent would be counterproductive if it only increased this terrible aching in her heart. Glancing down, she saw that he’d left a voicemail message and she gave her first grim smile of the day as she pressed the delete button.
Back in London, she found the city suffering from some of the most unforgiving weather it had seen in years. The trees were stripped bare and the wind howled like a demented banshee. It felt as if nature were playing a cruel trick—making the elements reflect the miserable way she felt inside—and Emma shivered as she stared out at the dark sky.
Yet didn’t she only have herself to blame? Knowing that she had thrown all her principles out of the window to sleep with a man like Zak?
Maybe … She bit her lip, plagued by the thought which kept buzzing around her head. Maybe she had been more influenced by the whiff of money and power than she’d previously admitted. So did that make her a hypocrite as well as a fool?
She was dreading returning to work at the Granchester—although she’d half expected to find a termination contract waiting for her on her return. And wouldn’t that have been easier? To just close the curtains on this particular chunk of her life, and never need to peep behind them again.
But there was no such dismissal letter, and when she rang in to speak to Xenon—Zak’s aide—it was to be told that there was a whole stack of work ready and waiting for her. Emma knew she should have been glad for the distraction, but instead her heart sank. She didn’t want stuff waiting for her when all she felt like doing was closing the door of her apartment and staying there until this hurt had gone away.
In her silent bedroom, she unpacked—realising that it had been ages since she’d done anything as normal as going to the supermarket. She sent Nat a text, telling him she was back and saying that maybe they could meet for a drink some time. And the reply which came pinging back an hour later said, Love to. Am away. Back next week. Em, think I’m in love!
Emma wondered if this time he had found the real thing as she stared in the mirror, realising that she looked different—and not just because of her strained face. She felt different. Something had changed and she recognised that for the first time. She had changed. She had found the strength to walk away from something she knew to be damaging, even though it had hurt like hell to do so. Maybe inner strength was the consolation prize—the one good thing to emerge from the ashes of her dead relationship.
But she also realised that there was no going back. That she had used her friendship with Nat as a buffer against the rest of the world. And even if this love affair of his went the way of all the others, she couldn’t just slip back into her old role. She couldn’t keep reaching for that particular safety net, not if she wanted to live her life as fully as possible. She might not have Zak. She might not end up with anyone—but she just might. And didn’t Leda’s kind words spur her on to think
that there might be some kind of happy future, even if it wasn’t with the Greek lover she had grown to love, despite her determination not to?
The following morning, she went straight to Xenon’s office where Zak’s oldest aide greeted her with a crinkly smile as he leaned back in his chair. ‘I hear you did good,’ he said, waving her towards a vacant seat.
Emma sank into the chair and looked at him with wary eyes. ‘You did?’
‘Sure. The wedding room at the Pembroke is a massive success—they’re already booked out until next May. Can you believe that?’
‘That’s fabulous,’ said Emma, hating herself for her inability to resist asking, ‘How … how did you hear?’
‘You mean apart from the glowing reviews in the press and the fact that Vogue wants to shoot a wedding issue there?’ Xenon beamed at her. ‘It was Zak, actually. Not like him to take an interest in such minutiae—but he seems to be delighted. Unusually so. In fact, there’s talk about you doing something similar, here.’
Emma stared at him. ‘Here?’
‘Sure. Why not?’ Xenon rubbed his fingers and thumb together as he mimed the international sign for making money. ‘Lots of weddings in London—so why not capitalise on a fertile market?’
But Xenon’s words shocked her into realising that she really couldn’t go back. Or at least, not to the Granchester. How could she carry on working here when every wall and stick of furniture—every sheet of letterheaded paper—would remind her of Zak? Did she really think she could continue doing the same thing—
working on another wedding room—with any degree of enthusiasm, when just the thought of weddings made her want to bawl her heart out?
She shook her head. ‘I can’t do it, Xenon,’ she gulped.
‘What do you mean, you can’t? Zak said you went down a storm in New York.’
‘Maybe I did, but I still can’t do it. In fact, I can’t work here any more. I want …’ She drew a deep breath as if giving herself time to comprehend the irrevocability of her next words. But the short pause which followed did nothing to change her mind. ‘I want to hand my notice in.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Emma, are you crazy? Everything is just opening up for you.’
And everything was in danger of shutting down at the same time—her heart and her spirit and her hopes—if she allowed it to. This place was now steeped in bitter sweet memories and she needed to be able to break away from the past and start a new life for herself. Again, she shook her head. ‘I can’t, Xenon. I have to go. There’ll be a million brilliant people who’d love to take my place—so you’ve no worries on that score. Perhaps you could … well, perhaps you could let Zak know?’ she questioned hoarsely.
Xenon’s eyes narrowed. ‘I think you’d better tell him yourself.’
The weight of the inevitable sat heavily on her shoulders and Emma’s instinct was to turn on her heel and run. But surely she had the guts to tell him herself, after everything that had happened between them. ‘Okay,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ll ring him in New York tonight.’
‘No need.’ Xenon leaned forward to buzz his secretary and spoke into the intercom. ‘Tell Zak that I have Emma in my office, will you?’
Emma sprang to her feet, aware of a sudden rage of emotions, which were making her heart pound so loudly that it felt as if it were about to leap from her chest. ‘He’s here?’
‘Right here,’ said Zak, walking straight into the office and making Emma wish that she’d stayed sitting because suddenly her legs had turned to jelly. Had she forgotten the impact of his presence—the charismatic lure of his jet-dark hair and olive skin? The way that he could look like some sort of Greek god in nothing but a pair of dark trousers and a simple white shirt?
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, briefly registering Xenon’s startled look and the fact that her belligerent demand was not a normal employee-to-boss query.
‘You wouldn’t take my calls.’
‘Are you surprised?’
‘With you? Constantly.’
‘The reason I didn’t take your calls was the same reason why people usually refuse to take calls—because I didn’t want to speak to you. And that much hasn’t changed. So I’m going.’
‘You’re not going anywhere until you’ve heard me out. Xenon, I wonder if you’d mind leaving us?’ questioned Zak, his eyes not leaving her face, registering her pallor and the dark shadows around her eyes.
‘Xenon, please stay!’ Emma chimed in urgently.
‘No way! I am out of here!’ said Xenon, and she watched with a mixture of disbelief and despair as the big man scrambled to his feet and beat a hasty retreat, still shaking his head. ‘She wouldn’t take his calls,’ he was repeating to himself, in an incredulous voice.
The sound of the slamming door echoed around the room and Emma stood facing her erstwhile lover, her heart beating so fast that she longed to clutch at the desk for support, but didn’t dare for fear that it would come over as a sign of weakness. And she wasn’t weak, she reminded herself. She was strong.
‘I’ve just handed my notice in,’ she said, trying not to react to his towering presence and that earthy scent of sandalwood, which made her want to press her nose to his chest and inhale it. Because she wasn’t going to fall for his charismatic presence and sexy Greek charm. She gave him a defiant stare. ‘And there’s no point trying to talk me out of it.’
He nodded as he registered the determination which seemed to radiate off her, despite the rather frightening pallor of her cheeks. ‘I realise that.’
His agreement took her by surprise. ‘You do?’
‘I’ve realised a lot of things, Emma—’ His breath felt like sandpaper rasping over his dry throat. ‘The main one being that I’ve really missed you.’
Don’t let him sway you with soft words he doesn’t really mean. ‘You haven’t had a chance to miss me,’ she scoffed. ‘I’ve barely been gone three days.’
‘And what if I told you that they’d been the longest three days of my life?’
‘I’d say that maybe you should get yourself a new scriptwriter because that line’s as old as hell.’
For a moment he wanted to laugh, until he saw the furious look on her face and realised that she meant it. His voice became softer. ‘And what if I told you that I’d been a fool?’
‘Then I’d be inclined to agree with you.’
‘A total fool,’ he said quietly, ‘who took the best thing he’d ever had and then threw it away.’
‘You live and learn.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe you’ll know better next time.’
Zak’s eyes narrowed as he came up against the solid wall of her resistance. ‘But there isn’t going to be a next time. Don’t you realise what I’m saying to you? That it’s you I want, Emma. You.’
‘And I’m supposed to run around the office, whooping for joy at your sudden change of heart? What’s brought this on, Zak—couldn’t you find anyone at the party who was easy enough to strip for you?’
‘That’s not fair!’
“Isn’t it? I think it is.’
Frustratedly, he clenched his fists by his sides, wanting to pull her into his arms and kiss away that horrible frozen look on her face—but for the first time in his life, he didn’t dare. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said gently. ‘And I continue to miss you.’
‘No!’ Her word rang out, clear as a bell, and she hardened her heart to his narrow-eyed look of surprise. ‘These are all just words! You only think you want me because I had the temerity to walk away from you and no one’s ever done that before. It’s the thing which drives you, Zak—the need to acquire things which seem out of reach. It’s why you were able to start all over again when your family lost all their fortune. It’s why you’ve made such a success of your hotel business. But you’re forgetting one thing—that I am not a hotel!’
In normal circumstances, he might have made a joke about such a ludicrous statement, but Zak could see from the fierce look on her face that a joke would go down l
ike a lead balloon. And it was dawning on him that she meant it. Every word. That this was not a situation he’d ever faced before and, for the first time in his life, he realised that he was in danger of losing her. That was, if he hadn’t already lost her.
He felt a splinter of ice nudging at his heart—because wasn’t this what he had always feared? This strange feeling of being out of control—of his happiness being dependent on another person? Was this how his mother had felt, when she’d begged his father not to leave her? How he’d hated to see her wounded vulnerability—and now he wondered if he would be laying himself open to such pain and vulnerability if he dared to let himself get close to Emma.
He could play it safe. He could walk away from her now and after a while he would forget her—his ego and his body restored by the ministrations of one of the many beautiful women who could be his for the taking.
Except he wasn’t sure that he could forget her. Hadn’t he been fighting the way he felt about her since the moment she’d walked into his office with her faded jeans and messy hair? And hadn’t that fight been almost unendurable when he’d thought she was involved with his brother?
He had treated her badly; he knew that. He’d said some terrible things to her—things which couldn’t just be brushed over and forgotten about. But he had to take the risk of reaching out to her. Of laying himself open by opening up his heart.
Zak didn’t do apologies well—he rarely considered that he had anything to apologise for. But now he recognised that he needed to embrace a little humility—that such a thing was necessary for the sustenance of the human spirit—regardless of whether Emma would give him another chance.
‘And what if I told you I was sorry?’ he questioned quietly. ‘Deeply and desperately sorry. What then, Emma? Would that work?’
She looked at him, her heart beating very fast. ‘Work for what, precisely? Me continuing to design for your hotel group?’
‘Damn my hotel group!’ he exploded. ‘I’m talking about you—and me. About you being my woman!’
Playing the Greek's Game Page 13
