“I won’t need much time,” he pledged, as he formulated his vendetta. “Three weeks will do.”
The elevator doors slid shut and Nikolos Varos began his descent.
Kalli didn’t want to think about anything right now, not the look on her ex-fiancé’s face when she told him she couldn’t marry him, not the fact that she had a long, dreary day ahead of her, trying to get back to Kansas City. And she definitely didn’t want to dwell on how best to pack one, unused wedding dress.
What was she going to do with it once she got it home, sell it? She and her mother had spent hours sewing hundreds of beads on the lace bodice and sleeves, beads from dozens of faux pearl necklaces they’d scrounged from garage sales. She peered at the white confection and experienced a self-condemning twinge. All that time and effort had been such a harebrained waste. An arranged marriage, for goodness’ sake! Had she gone temporarily insane?
Expelling a resigned sigh, she rolled up the dress and shoved it into the suitcase.
Mashing down on the hastily deposited clothes, she struggled with the suitcase zipper. “Do not feel sorry for yourself, Kalli Angelis!” She sniffed. “You weren’t in love with the man. You’d only seen one old snapshot of him—when he was seventeen, yet!” She had to admit the grown man in the office didn’t look much like the picture her grandpa had carried around in his wallet all those years.
According to Grandpa Chris, Nikolos had visited family in Kouteopothi—or as she laughingly translated it, “Crooked Foot”—the summer before her grandfather came to live with Kalli and her mother, Zoe. “Maybe the smile made all the difference,” she mumbled. He definitely did not smile this morning when she’d barged into his office.
He seemed so pale and stiff. Not the image her grandpa had given. He’d said Niko was athletic and fun-loving, always laughing. Maybe over the years the business of international finance had sucked the fun and spontaneity out of him.
“Besides,” she gritted out, yanking on the suitcase zipper. “Just because Grandpa Chris raved about how wonderful he was doesn’t mean he would have made a good match for me. Money and position aren’t everything.”
With a hearty jerk, she coerced the suitcase into zipping shut and hefted it off the bed. The phone rang, startling her so badly she dropped the bag on her foot.
“Ouch!” Making a pained face at the telephone, she wondered who would be calling. Her mother? Who else? “Except maybe Mr. Varos,” she muttered, “deciding he needs to take a shot at me before I get out of town.”
Limping to the phone, she promised herself if it was Mr. Varos bent on his verbal pound of flesh, she could hang up. Another spineless act, but right now she had her own traumas to deal with. His would have to wait.
“Hello,” she said. “Mama?”
There was a pause, then, “No.”
She knew immediately who the voice belonged to. The subdued monosyllable could only have been stated by the starched, bloodless man she’d so recently jilted. “Oh—Mr. Varos.” She swallowed. “I—I really can’t talk now. I have to catch my flight.” That wasn’t totally accurate. She had standby status. All flights that would eventually get her to Kansas City were full. But he didn’t need to know that.
“This will only take a moment.”
She closed her eyes and sank to the mattress. “Oh?” Her life flashed before her eyes. There could be nothing more ominous than the sound of a perfectly calm voice when you know you deserve reaming out. All that solid, well-thought out logic going into an argument would be hard to debate.
On the other hand, Mr. Varos would discover her half of the “debate” would consist of banging the receiver in his ear. She tensed, ready to slam it down. “How may I help you?” She cringed the instant the words were out of her mouth. Why don’t you just hand him a knife? she scolded inwardly. You all but prodded him into saying, “You can take a nosedive off a cliff, thank you very much!”
“Since you are by profession a Historical Reconstruction Consultant, I would appreciate it if you’d remain in California for three weeks, stay at the recently purchased Victorian estate that would have been your home—to use your expertise in making it a showplace. As you know, that refurbishing project was part of the marriage agreement.” Kalli sat up, not believing what she was hearing. “The mansion must be renovated for an important gathering in six months, so time is of the essence.”
She shook her head in disbelief. He was a cool customer. She’d expected almost anything but this. He talked like a hotel concierge, making her the offer without a speck of anger or the hint of ruffled feathers. Of course business deals weren’t usually fraught with emotion. How silly of her to have worried that her last-minute rejection would offend him.
Ha! Mr. Ice-Water-For-Blood-Banker was not only not angry, he was offering her a plum assignment. One of the reasons she’d agreed to the marriage, besides her desire to please her grandfather, had been the fact that Mr. Varos was an influential man with high-level connections.
Time and again as the wedding day approached, she’d told herself Mr. Varos would gain the wife-slash-hostess and two offspring he’d stipulated, and she would get a huge boost for her professional life. Logic had been her watchword, since soft emotions were not a part of the equation. She had reasoned turning the Varos mansion into a showplace would make her career, with her work depicted in slick, respected magazines such as Architectural Digest. Why should he be the only one to get everything he wanted out of the marriage? If he could have a career and children, why couldn’t she?
“Miss Angelis?”
His solemn voice snapped her out of her stunned musings. “Oh—yes. I’m here.”
“What do you say?”
She couldn’t imagine that he would even ask, so the idea of accepting had never entered her mind. It was too fantastic. Jilting a man, then an hour later, having that same man offer her a spectacular job. “But—that’s very—are you sure?”
“As you stated, Miss Angelis, you only have a minute. May I have your answer?”
Kalli was torn. Even pausing to consider such an offer was a blatant indication she wasn’t paddling with all her oars. She sucked in a trembly breath. Her conscience was killing her over breaking her marriage promise. The fact that he would request that she do the work on his home after her abrupt rejection was amazingly tolerant. Did she dare contemplate it? Did she dare refuse? How many Kansas City historical reconstruction consultants got a shot at being featured in Architectural Digest?
“Are you there?”
Fumbling with the phone, she jerked out of her stupor. “Oh—yes—I’m here.” She had a thought and had to voice it. “It’s kind of you to offer me the job, considering—everything. Actually, that’s a concern—”
“If I’m there at all, Miss Angelis,” he cut in, “it won’t be to see you, and any visit will be brief.”
How did he know that’s what she’d been about to ask? Did he read minds? Besides being tolerant he was intuitive. “Well—” She could feel herself wavering, weakening. If breaking her word didn’t bother him, then who was she to deny herself this chance? “Naturally I’ll need to be in Kansas City for my grandfather’s—” Her
