What the Greek Can't Resist

‘Nonsense, it’s only a short commute by train. And don’t forget, we need all the help we can get right now. We wish you all the best, Perla. Don’t we, Sarah?’ Terry glanced at his wife.

Sarah smiled, her eyes brightening a little from the devastating sadness still lurking in their brown depths. ‘Of course we do. It’s just that...we don’t know what we’d do without you now that Morgan is...’ Tears filled her eyes and she dabbed at them with the hanky Terry slipped into her hand.

Perla felt her throat clog and quickly swallowed. This was the reason she’d stayed. The reason she’d kept Morgan’s secret and given up her career.

Watching them console each other in their grief, the need to protect them surged higher. From the moment she’d been introduced to Terry and Sarah Lowell, they’d taken her into their hearts. After the devastation of Morgan’s revelation, she’d known, just as he’d deviously surmised, that she couldn’t turn her back on the only promise of a proper home she’d ever known.

Neither could she reveal the secret that would’ve destroyed his parents.

The familiar guilt for the secret she carried and could never share made her rise from her seat. ‘I...I’d better go and brush up on my interview techniques.’

In the hallway, she paused for a second to steady her breathing. Then she straightened.

Morgan was gone. Terry and Sarah were her responsibility now.

Briskly, Perla entered her bedroom and busied herself sorting through her meagre clothes. Three interviews in two days meant she would have to be inventive with her wardrobe.

The black skirt and satin shirt she’d worn to London would have to make another appearance. As would the black dress she’d worn the night she’d met Ari.

Laying the garments on the bed, she couldn’t help the treacherous bite of sensation that nipped at her. Both outfits held memories she’d rather forget, of Ari’s hands on her body, undressing her, stripping her bare before taking her with masterful possession.

Heat flared high, making her fingers shake as she scraped back her hair and forced the memories away.

She had no business thinking about another man in this house; in this room. Even if that man was the only person in her life who’d made her feel special and wanted for a brief moment in time. Even if the memory of his face as he’d taken her forced feelings of protectiveness as well as desire to surge into her chest.

It was over and done with. Move on.

* * *

‘Congratulations and welcome to the company.’

Perla heard the words from far off, still numbly disbelieving that she’d actually got through the gruelling interviews to secure a job on the Pantelides Luxe events management team.

‘I...thank you.’

The two other candidates who’d also been offered similar jobs out of the twenty-five candidates wore similar expressions of pleased wonderment.

She’d got the job, with a salary and benefits that had left her mouth agape when she’d read them on her contract. Now she forced herself to focus as the head of HR continued to speak.

‘For those who require the option, your first month’s salary will be paid to you in advance of month’s end. Just tick that option when you sign your contract. But remember if you should decide to leave the company before the first thirty days are up, you will be required to reimburse the company.’ He looked directly at her as he said that.

Slowly anger and embarrassment replaced the stunned pleasure.

Had Ari Pantelides been so unprofessional as to share her private financial affairs with others? It was bad enough that she’d seen the morbidly curious looks on a few of the employees’ faces as she’d been introduced. She was well aware that the widow of the man whose actions had caused a Pantelides oil tanker to crash and pollute a breathtaking African coast only a few short months ago was the last person they expected to seek employment in this company.

Knowing that her financial dire straits were being shared with others made her skin crawl with shame.

Forcing her head high, she returned the older man’s stare, barely hearing the end of his welcome speech as she tried to grapple with her emotions. Fifteen minutes later, contract in hand, she started to leave the room.

The low hum of her mobile had her rooting through her handbag.

‘Hello?’

‘I understand congratulations are in order.’ The voice, deep and gravel-rough, sent a pulse of heat through her belly.

‘I...how did you get my phone number?’ she blurted to cover her inner floundering.