‘Your cousin is now in the running...’
‘I’m going to give it to you straight,’ Alexis said, her voice a crisp scythe through his moody thoughts. ‘If you were any other man, I’d have thought that you’d come up here to wallow in your defeat. But you’re not any other man. You’re Christos Drakakis.’
‘Yes, I am. And you also know how much I hate sycophants.’ He reached her in time to see her lips pinch for a second before, like him, she shook off her annoyance.
Christos skirted her once, then faced her. He relieved her of the tiny, expensive bone-china cup and downed the hot beverage in one swallow. Then he repeated the process with the amber liquid swirling in the crystal-cut glass.
The kick of caffeine before the calm of alcohol threw a veil of equilibrium over his senses. He released the single button to his bespoke suit and loosened his tie.
Jerking it free, he flung it on the sofa. With his gaze still on her, Christos tugged open the top three buttons of his shirt. He wasn’t in the least bit ashamed of enjoying the reaction that flitted across her face.
Despite the brick wall she’d thrown up after that night in his penthouse, she wasn’t immune to him. Selfishly, since his day had gone to hell so very unexpectedly, he revelled in the quickening of her breath, the flair of gold in her brown eyes, the smallest step she took away from him under the guise of straightening the coffee-table book on medieval architecture. They were the same tics she’d exhibited soon after accepting the position as his executive assistant, that he’d dreaded her acting upon, only to discover that she had no intention of doing so after three years in her role.
At first, Christos had resigned himself to waiting for the inevitable moment when Alexis, like his three prior seemingly superefficient and professional assistants, would drop the not-so-subtle hint that she would love their boss/assistant relationship to become something more.
That moment had never arrived, but he’d remained sceptical, then increasingly on edge because Alexis was his most proficient assistant, anticipating his needs and executing them sometimes even before he recognised they existed. But Christos wasn’t a man who took things at face value—the harrowing events of his childhood had eroded his trust. So like the sword of Damocles hanging over his head, each interaction with her had become a watchful exercise, until it had grown into a peculiar kind of anticipation.
It had been well into the first year before he’d spotted a single sign that she was aware of him. But even that had been ruthlessly snuffed out, his assistant seemingly as capable of clamping down her responses as he was.
Until that night.
Now, he watched her gaze dart to his neck and upper chest before flicking away. But the lips that were pursed minutes ago had grown softer, parting slightly as the tempo of her breathing escalated.
‘I drank the coffee and the whisky.’ In truth, he’d realised he needed both the moment he’d seen her holding them. Even now, they were further calming him, creating a little distance from the unsettling after-effects of his unexpected failure. ‘Now are you ready to do my bidding?’
The tip of her pink tongue darted out, touched the inner edge of her lower lip before retreating. That small act was enough to redirect the surge of fire in his chest south. To confirm that once again he was treading dangerous ground when it came to how much he enjoyed her reaction to him.
He didn’t want to lose Alexis as an executive assistant or jeopardise the private agreement he had with her to secure his birthright. She’d lasted three years working with him because she was the best. But if he was to accommodate his grandfather’s increasing demands, then knowing Alexis wasn’t the cold wall she usually projected would come in handy.
‘If that bidding involves getting Demitri on the line for you, then yes. The poor man is going out of his mind since the verdict was handed down. I told him you would return his calls within the hour,’ she answered.
The reminder that beyond these walls, and the bubbling cauldron of whatever was going on between him and his assistant, there was a disaster waiting to be cleared up wasn’t welcome. But he’d never shied away from challenges. Not that Demitri Kyrios would challenge him after keeping crucial information from him.
Alexis took another step back. ‘Shall we say, five minutes?’
She was almost at the door, her brisk efficiency back in place like a well-worn suit of armour.
‘Three,’ he replied. He’d prevaricated enough. He rebuttoned his suit, reknotted his tie and crushed his frustration until it was a non-existent blip at the back of his mind. ‘Make sure I have the complete transcript of today’s proceedings on my desk.’
She looked over her shoulder. ‘It was the first thing I did when I heard the outcome.’
He allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his lips. ‘Be careful, Alexis. We don’t want to get to the point where I imagine you’re willing to cater to my every need, do we?’ he challenged.
‘I’m here to cater to your every professional need. If you don’t want me to be fully efficient in that capacity, then maybe I should find another employer? I’m sure someone out there will appreciate my dedication.’
‘Is that a threat?’ If so, it wasn’t an idle one.
A month ago, he’d come across an email from a headhunting agency offering her an impressive salary and benefits package if she jumped ship to another firm. Whether she’d left the email open deliberately for him to see because he’d been in a particularly testy mood that day, he wasn’t sure. But its existence had niggled at him, prompting him to discreetly request she be given a mid-year review by HR and a thirty per cent raise.
The uncertainty that she’d still choose to leave him chafed with each passing day. The same feelings of uncertainty had dogged his formative years, although he’d hoped he’d put that period far behind him. But he could do nothing about it, not when she was instrumental in helping him secure Drakonisos, the one thing that mattered to him above all things.
Admitting it was enough to rake up his dying frustration and a few more emotions that should be buried deep enough to be dead. But weren’t.
‘No, sir. It’s a gentle reminder that we both have options,’ she answered his almost forgotten question.
‘Sir?’
Her lips pursed. ‘It’s the correct form of address. I don’t know what you have against it.’