trap by herself.
“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”
Nick retrieved her sorry-looking bag and they made their way to the entrance on a makeshift walkway of cardboard that had been placed over mud puddles. On either side of the door were potted palm trees whose fronds were coated with thick, grayish construction dust.
Nick held open one of the grimy glass doors. “After you.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She took a halting step inside and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Once they did, she wished they hadn’t. The lobby was filled with an assortment of power tools and building supplies, and every last inch of the place was as dust-coated as the palms outside. Her apprehension kicked into high gear as she imagined the condition the rooms would be in.
As if sensing her hesitation, Nick placed a hand on the small of her back and propelled her toward the reception desk. A woman stood behind it. Darcie pegged her to be about forty-five and a chain smoker. A lit cigarette dangled from her lips and a second one burned merrily in the ashtray on the countertop. The woman squinted at them through the haze created by both dust and smoke.
“Good afternoon.” The greeting was offered in Greek as she set the cigarette in the ashtray.
“Good afternoon,” Nick replied. His gaze flicked to her name badge and he added, “Pesha. How are you today?”
He said this in English, which Pesha apparently understood and could speak, because she switched to English as well.
“I am much better now.” Her smile was flirtatious and made it clear why. Darcie couldn’t fault the woman for that. Nick had certainly brightened her day. “How can I help you?”
“My friend has a reservation.”
“Friend.” Her smile widened and she exhaled. Residual wisps of smoke curled out from the woman’s nostrils. Not terribly attractive, but they did distract one from the tar stains on her teeth. “What is the name?”
“Darcie Hayes,” Nick said.
There was no computer to consult, only a thick, leather-bound book through which Pesha began flipping. Finally, she glanced up.
“Sorry. I have no one by that name registered here this week.”
“Um, what about for a Darcie Franklin.” It would have been her married name. She avoided meeting Nick’s questioning gaze.
More page flipping ensued before Pesha shook her head. “Oxi. I cannot find that name among my guests, either.”
“There must be some mistake. The tour package was booked months ago and paid in full.”
“Tour package?” Pesha said slowly. “Which tour package might that be?”
“A multicity, sightseeing excursion that was booked through Zeus Tours.”
“Stavros!”
The woman spat out the name with enough force to turn the two benign syllables into the vilest of curses. But she wasn’t done. She continued in Greek, gesturing wildly the entire time. Darcie was left with no choice but to grit her teeth and listen. By the time Pesha switched to English again, she had worked up a good head of steam.
“That man owes me for the last three tour groups that stayed here. I have told him, no more! I have been turning his customers away all day.”
She selected one of the cigarettes from the ashtray and took a long, lung-blackening drag.
“Um, when you say no more,” Darcie began.
“I will not honor any more of his bookings unless he pays me in advance.” Pesha stamped out the cigarette for emphasis.
“I can understand your annoyance with Stavros.” Darcie was pretty annoyed with the man herself. “But I paid in full for a room at The Santor.”
Sure, the accommodations were crap, but it was the principle of the matter. They were crap for which Tad’s credit card already had been hit.
Pesha picked up the second cigarette and inhaled deeply before blowing out a stream of smoke that shot past Darcie’s left shoulder. Even so, wisps of it lingered and stung her nose.
“No, you paid Stavros in full, but he has not paid me. He has not paid me for too long!” Pesha chopped at the air with the hand holding the cigarette, sending ashes flying. Darcie was only glad the woman wasn’t clutching a sharp object. “And until he does, I will not be putting up any more of his tour customers. Now, if you wish to pay with cash, I will be happy to give you a room.”
Darcie could see the woman’s point. Pesha had a business to run and Stavros had stiffed her more than once. Still, it left Darcie in a bind, and if she had to shell out more money for a room, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be in this fleabag establishment. She turned to Nick, who apparently read her mind.
“I will take you to another hotel. Perhaps something that is closer to shopping, restaurants and nightlife.”
Darcie cleared her throat and added, “But reasonably priced. My budget is limited.”
Pesha bristled as they turned to leave.
“You will not find a better bargain than The Santor,” she insisted.
Since so much of Darcie’s life was left to fate at the moment, it was with a sense of destiny that she replied, “I’ll take my chances.”
* * *
Mindful of what Darcie had said about her budget, Nick took her to one of the chain hotels in the city, even though it offered neither the charm nor the ambience of the nicer and pricier establishments he would have preferred. But it was conveniently located and tidy, with a smoke-free lobby and a concierge who appeared eager to please.
After she booked a room, they lingered near the bank of elevators. He wasn’t in a hurry to leave. In fact, he almost regretted having to say goodbye. Darcie didn’t seem eager to end their association, either.
“How good are the chances that Stavros will refund the money for my trip?” she asked.
“Not good. My guess is he does not have the money to refund.”
She made a humming sound. “That’s what I was afraid of. At this rate, I will be on a flight back to New York before the end of the week.”
Her budget, Nick assumed. He meant it when he said, “That would be a shame. Greece is a beautiful country with so much to see.”
It might not have any effect, but he planned to call Stavros on her behalf and apply a little pressure. Darcie Hayes and unsuspecting travelers like her shouldn’t have to pay for the man’s bad business decisions and personal habits.
Nick’s reasons, of course, weren’t all pure. His gaze took in the long line of her legs. Even in flat shoes she was a tall woman. Statuesque was the word that came to mind. Sexy applied, too, given her well-rounded curves and the toned backside he’d glimpsed. Why did he get the feeling she was unaware of the power of her allure? In his
