Mr. Kostopoulos—I’m sorry I lost my temper. I’m sorry this whole thing has happened. But you have to know it wasn’t intentional. The trouble is, I’m not sure if my professor is still there. It’s the weekend. Everything could be locked up until Monday.”
“Then I’ll find someone to let us in, or call your professor myself.”
“But—”
“Shall we go?”
He ignored her distress and strode toward the doors leading to his private elevator. It was smaller than the ones built for public access. Next to his six foot three frame, she felt minuscule. He pushed a button and the door closed.
Like Persephone being spirited to the underworld by the merciless god, Hades, Mr. Kostopoulos plummeted them the sixty-plus floors to the car park below ground. Throughout the swift descent, her arm brushed against his, making her unbearably aware of his hard, powerful body, the faint, clean smell of the soap he used combined with his own male scent.
As far as she was concerned, he was the antithesis of her artistic, mostly bearded male friends who were generally undernourished, impoverished, and most importantly, benign.
This man projected an aura of physical and mental strength which came from facing life head-on, and enjoying every dangerous second of it.
She imagined he daunted the most self-confident male. That quality alone made him an exceptional man, one she secretly admired.
Without question his impact on the opposite sex was equally profound. Sam would be a liar if she didn’t admit he had a disturbing, earthy appeal.
Instinctively she felt that the forbidding Mr. Kostopoulos was a unique mortal who created his own destiny. She’d never met anyone remotely like him. Though loathe to admit it, he excited her in a frightening kind of way. That phone number had to be of life-and-death importance for him to go to these extremes. Something told her it had nothing to do with business.
Out of a sense of self-preservation, she purposely held herself rigid so they wouldn’t touch. In the close confines of the elevator, she didn’t want him picking up on any more of her private thoughts. The head of a worldwide conglomerate didn’t get to be that way without possessing the unnerving capacity to gauge the weakness of an individual and use that knowledge to the utmost advantage.
Upon exiting the private elevator, a mustached man from the garage had parked a black Mercedes sedan in the alley in front of the doors. He stepped forward and helped Sam into the passenger seat of the car while Mr. Kostopoulos walked around and got behind the wheel.
The two men conversed in what was undoubtedly Greek. It all sounded foreign and mysterious. Sam had taken Spanish in high school and French in college, but anything outside the Romance languages was anathema to her.
When the other man laughed, Sam cringed. She feared that her abductor was regaling his employee about the wild story she’d concocted.
Clearly Mr. Kostopoulos wouldn’t believe her until he had the note back in hand. Thank heaven she’d been honest with him and could prove it. Still, she didn’t like being talked about behind her back.
Once they’d cleared the drive and merged with the horrific city traffic, a deep voice murmured, “Relax, thespinis. George was confiding his little son’s latest antics. Your guilty secrets are still safe.”
Good grief. He knew everything she was thinking. Was her face that transparent?
“For the time being,” he continued in the same vein, “all I require is that you be my navigator. Keep in mind that I have an appointment at four-thirty.”
She fiddled with the hem of her denim shirt. “I’ll keep it in mind, but I can’t do anything about heavy traffic, or the possibility that the art department may be closed. You’ll need to go left at the next corner.”
He lounged back in the seat, negotiating lane changes with the expertise of a New York City cabdriver. “If you’re leading me on a wild-goose chase, be assured that you will find yourself out of work before evening.”
Sam bristled. “Since I’ m down to the last hundred dollars in my checking account, it hardly stands to reason that I would do anything to jeopardize my job at Manhattan Cleaners.
“Of course, that’s something you would never understand,” she complained to herself, but he heard her. Mocking laughter unexpectedly rumbled out of him, making her body tingle.
“You think I don’t remember what it was like for a destitute, barefooted boy on Serifos who was forced to scrounge for jobs no one else would do, only to be given a few pitiful drachma a day?”
There was such a wealth of emotion underlying his revelation, it took her a moment to realize he’d just given her a glimpse of the man behind his wealthy, sophisticated veneer. Unless of course he was trying to arouse her compassion. He was doing a wonderful job of it, but she wasn’t about to let him get to her any more.
“I recall reading the very same thing about Aristotle Onassis,” she taunted.
“Our beginnings are not so dissimilar,” was all he deigned to say.
Like most foolish people, Sam had made assumptions that Mr. Kostopoulos had been born to wealth, and had learned how to play with his inheritance, aggrandizing his unearned fortune in astronomical ways.
The fact that a dirt-poor young Greek boy had risen to Olympian heights on sheer grit and determination made him a much more devastating adversary, one she couldn’t help but admire despite his autocratic manner.
Sam found herself wanting to know more about him, but was in no position to be asking him questions. What little she’d heard about him had been gleaned from gossip in newspapers and magazines, and the people who worked in the building.
After meeting him in person, he was even more enigmatic than the journalists made him out to be. He was also more attractive, and he drove too fast for her peace of mind.
She had the strongest suspicion that his business headquarters in Athens—where the traffic was purported to be the worst—had everything to do with the fact that they’d arrived at the university in half the time it would have taken her, if she’d had a car.
He turned into a section reserved for faculty parking and pulled to a stop in the first available space.
“They tow away cars without permits,” she warned him.
“George can always come for us in the limo. Right now the only thing of importance is that note. Let’s go.”
Sam almost had to run to keep up with him. The second they entered the building, she breathed a sigh of relief to discover that Dr. Giddings’s secretary hadn’t gone home yet.
“Lois?”
The older woman lifted her head. “Hi, Sam. What are you doing back here?”
Lois was trying hard, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from straying to the imposing dark figure dominating the cubbyhole which served as the art department’s office. Who could blame her?
Under other less precarious circumstances, Sam would have introduced them. Finding out he was the Kostopoulos of Kostopoulos Shipping
