the same world that had ended so cruelly for her mother thirty years ago. What did he know of deprivation, hardship, heartache? Or working one’s butt off to get ahead? She’d fought long and hard to achieve the level she had attained. Age had nothing to do with it. Sheer dog-headed determination and drive had.
While not precisely the enemy, Nikos Konstantinos was, nevertheless, not a friend either.
“My apologies, I didn’t mean to imply it was. You caught me by surprise, that’s all. I came to compliment you on tonight’s meal. My guests were most pleased. The lamb almost melted in our mouths.”
Sara was pleased with the compliment and equally surprised her new boss had taken time to come to tell the chef in person.
“I am Nikos Konstantinos,” he said. As if she wouldn’t know.
“I am Sara Andropolous,” she replied. Would he recognize the name from the one letter she’d sent months and months ago? Or had he not been the one to refuse it and have it returned to sender?
“You are finding everything you need?” he asked.
“Yes. The galley is perfect.”
“As are the meals you are preparing. I am pleased.”
She felt a warm glow. She had worked hard to achieve her goals. She would fight tooth and nail to keep her position. But not, it seemed, today. The man she now worked for was satisfied.
“I believe in passing along compliments so people know their work is appreciated,” he commented.
She studied him a moment longer not knowing what to say. He nodded his head once and left.
Nikos Konstantinos had not followed in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps, but had made his mark in the hotel industry. Since building the Windsong, his impact on Greek tourism had been assured, Sara had been told more than once. The employees of the hotel bragged about its success, and with good reason. The excellent staff had had a lot to do with it, after all. The resort was rumored to have a waiting list of more than a year for a reservation. Guests not staying in the hotel could sail into the wide harbor, rent a slip at the lavish marina and use all amenities of the resort—including dining in one of the six fine restaurants. Those staying at the resort could choose which restaurant in which to dine each evening or arrange for room service to deliver and serve a meal as elegantly on a private terrace or balcony as in any of the five-star restaurants.
She was surprised he was as young as he was to have accomplished all he had. Maybe she should have returned the compliment. But then, he had started with a wealthy family backing him; he had probably leapfrogged over growth pains others had to endure.
She returned to her task. Their backgrounds couldn’t be more different. Sara had been raised without a twopence to spare. Fighting her way above the poverty level, she’d put herself through culinary school by working endless hours in kitchen sculleries to afford the training needed to rise above the level of short-order cook. Perseverance, determination—and yes, even some of that stiff-necked pride from her mother—had pushed her through and to success.
Whereas Nikos had probably merely spent one month’s allowance and had the Windsong built with a snap of his fingers. Nikos, she thought, like they were friends or something. Mr. Konstantinos, she corrected herself silently. If his guests continued to be pleased, he would be, as well. Which meant he’d keep her on board longer. Fingers crossed it was long enough to visit the family island.
Heading for her tiny cabin a short time later, Sara grew optimistic. She’d met the owner and he was satisfied with her work. Surely that meant things were still looking up for her plan.
Sara knew she’d been unbelievably fortunate that the chief chef had recommended her for this cushy spot. There were five other crew members in addition to herself. With the guests and Nikos, that made twelve. Nothing like the number of dishes she had to prepare in one of the resort kitchens each evening.
Her first sight of the yacht had inspired a touch of awe. It was beautiful—sleek, gleaming white and riding with a high bow off the water. The main body looked to be longer than her apartment in London and the aft deck could have easily hosted a party for fifty. That’s where she and the other crew could spend off hours. At least the owner was generous with his staff.
Sara frowned. She wasn’t sure she wanted to list admirable attributes. Nikos Konstantinos might be one of the sexiest men she’d ever met, but he was no more than a means to an end for her. She had better not forget that. Besides, Stefano had said this was almost an engagement cruise—a chance for Nikos to decide whether to marry the daughter of a business associate. Sounded cold to her. It also mirrored the same circumstances her mother had been in years ago—an arranged marriage. At least this time it sounded as if the prospective participants were not averse to the plan.
She was astonished to find herself attracted to the man. For a second she had almost forgotten what she was doing and been tempted to flirt. A handsome man, a lonely woman, the perfect romantic setting.
How dumb would that have been?
CHAPTER TWO
NIKOS left the galley to return to the suite that served as both office and bedroom when on board. His chef had been a surprise. Her dark wavy hair had been tied back, with tendrils escaping to frame her face. Her large brown eyes had revealed a wariness that had surprised him. He was used to the awe in which some held him. This was somehow different. Yet her manner had been professional. He’d detected a note of annoyance with the comment about her age. Nikos almost smiled. Touchy—weren’t all great chefs? Though the only ones he’d ever met before had been male. A female chef was a novelty. At least she had not instantly tried to flirt and garner more interest.
He had grown weary of the flirtatious ways of the women he met. If he thought a single one would be interested in him if he had not a dime to spare, he might feel differently. But he’d learned early on that most women wanted one thing—to live a life of luxury—preferably off the proceeds of a susceptible male. His own aborted engagement proved that.
It was as if life were a lottery and he one of the prizes. Nikos did not like to consider himself conceited, but maybe he had grown so with the attention of so many lovely women over the past ten years.
He found Sara’s totally professional attitude refreshing. What would it be like to have people judge him on his own merits? To have a friend who wanted nothing but him as he was?
George Wilson and Marc Swindard were the only two friends to come to mind. Perhaps because they’d shared so many holidays at school when it was too inconvenient for each of them to be flown home. He would send them both e-mails and catch up. Maybe they could get together soon. The demands of business could be consuming. He was guilty of not making more of an effort to get away. But a short trip to New York or London in the near future could be arranged.
Of course, if the idea of marrying Gina Fregulia grew, maybe he’d be contacting his friends to announce his engagement. This time the engagement would be more likely to endure—no lies of love and passion to cloud the issue. He found Gina attractive. She certainly knew how to entertain and moved in the same social circles he did. She’d be a definite asset to the restaurant side of the resort with her knowledge of excellent wines and the contacts her family had.
Nikos pushed open the door to the suite and loosened his tie. He had a little time to catch up on business before he retired for the night.
When Stefano brought his
