He gave her a confident smile that was unashamedly masculine. ‘You won’t be designing clothes when we’re in bed and since we’re going to be spending a significant proportion of our time there the figures have been adjusted to give you a relatively short working day. But the profit margins are incredible.’
‘I still don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I want us to be together, and since you won’t agree to that unless you’re financially independent then the obvious solution is to make you financially independent. Read the business plan.’
Dazed and confused, she opened the file on her lap and started to read. ‘Zouvelekis Couture?’
‘You already have at least twenty desperate customers waiting for you to dress them for various important occasions, so read fast,’ he advised, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he registered her astonishment. ‘As I said, you can’t work from this room.’
‘You’re suggesting I make dresses?’
‘Don’t misunderstand me,’ he drawled. ‘I don’t care what you choose to do in life as long as it delivers an income which will allow you to transcend that major hang-up of yours.’
She flipped through the file. ‘I couldn’t possibly charge that much—’
‘I knew you would say that, and I have already appointed someone qualified to deal with pricing issues.’ He removed the file from her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘You can either take a salary and pay me in rolls of used notes at the end of every month, or alternatively your company can become part of Zouvelekis Industries. Whichever makes you feel more comfortable.’
She stood up. ‘Angelos, I can’t just—’
‘Don’t give me any more objections,’ he warned. ‘Because I have already spent hours crunching the numbers on this one and researching your potential market. As far as I’m concerned the problem is solved.’
It was difficult to breathe. ‘You’ve spent hours on it?’
‘Yes.’
‘You did that for me?’
‘No. I did it for me,’ he murmured dryly. ‘So that you can come and live with me.’
‘You still want me to live with you?’
‘It’s hard to sustain a marriage when the two people aren’t together.’
Her knees gave way and she plopped back down onto the chair. ‘What did you just say?’
‘What is the matter with you?’ He looked at her with unconcealed impatience. ‘You are repeating everything I say, not listening.’
‘I’m just—I don’t know what to say.’
‘Then I’ll do that talking. You owe me three euros.’
Her head was spinning. ‘What for? Angelos, did you just say—?’ But the words stuck in her mouth, because he was drawing something out of his pocket, something glittery and polished and—‘It’s a ring.’
He dragged her back to her feet and hauled her against him. ‘In between writing your business plan and researching the market for couture clothes, I found a ring. I bought you a rare pink diamond, originally purchased by a rich sheikh for his youngest wife. It was of unsurpassed beauty and great historical significance.’
She stared doubtfully at the cheap plastic ring that he still held in his hand. ‘I think they saw you coming.’
He glanced down at the ring, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. ‘This isn’t that ring. I suddenly realised that if I presented you with a rare pink diamond of unsurpassed beauty and great historical significance you’d only agree to accept it if I let you pay.’
‘Oh.’ Her heart performed several tiny jumps. ‘You’re starting to know me quite well—’
‘So I bought you this instead.’ He took her hand and slipped the ring on her finger. ‘It’s plastic and it cost three euros. If you want to reimburse me for it, that’s fine. I don’t care, as long as you agree to marry me.’
Her stomach dropped and her mouth fell open with disbelief. ‘You want to marry me?’
‘Why does that surprise you?’
‘Well, because—’ she licked her lips ‘—because I’m—’