“What happened to your speed-dating idea?”
“I’ll get a couple of other girls out as well, just to keep the pressure off. But if I—and by I, I mean you—fly them to Greece they deserve more than fifteen minutes of your time.”
“Agreed.”
“When will you have time?” She looked back down at her bag.
“Get it out if you have to,” he said, his tone grudging.
She leaned down and took her tablet out of her purse and opened the flap on the cover. She opened up the calendar and sat poised with her finger at the ready.
“In the evenings. Dinner dates will do.”
She typed in a quick note. “Would you like to see photographs of the other women I’ll be asking?”
“Not especially.”
She let out an exasperated breath. “If I don’t show them to you, you’ll only accuse me of picking women who aren’t attractive again.”
“You can’t hear a laugh in a picture. And that laugh was unforgivable.”
The look she shot him would have been fatal to a lesser man. “You really are being unkind about the laugh.”
“She sounded like a nervous mouse. And she even lifted her hands up and wiggled her fingers. Like she was waiting for cheese.”
Jessica tried, and failed to suppress a laugh. “That … you … well.”
“I’m right.”
“You’re mean!”
“I’m not mean. It’s one of those things that would eat at me. Day in and day out until one day I divorced her over her laugh and that would be a much bigger unkindness than just not pursuing things from the get go.”
She expelled a breath. “Fine. I won’t push the laugh issue again. You’re entitled to your judgmental opinion.”
“I am,” he said, lowering his hands so that they were gripping the armrests on his chair. He had such big hands. Very big. Oh … dear. What was her problem?
She lowered her head and focused on her computer. “Anyway, I was thinking of asking Cherry Carlisle and Amy Sutton over.” She looked at Stavros, who was affecting a bored expression and staring out the window. “Cherry is a brunette. Amy is a redhead. And Victoria’s a blonde.” He kept his gaze off of her. “It’s actually pretty good because it’s like the setup to your own, personal joke. A blonde, a brunette and a redhead go to Greece.”
He looked at her, the corners of his mouth tipped upward. “To marry the prince. You really are selling this well.”
“I try. Once we land in Greece I’ll coordinate with them and hopefully we can get them there ASAP.”
“You like speaking in acronyms, don’t you?”
She shrugged. “It’s faster.”
“Speaking of, by my very fast math, you’ll be involving six women in this so far. And while I’m under no illusion that we’ll keep the press out of this entirely, I wonder what might happen if one of them ends up feeling … jilted.”
“Oh, they’ve signed a gag order.”
“A gag order?”
“I take my business very seriously and yes, this is tabloid bait. Serious, serious tabloid bait. And I have no interest in feeding you, or me, to the wolves. So I’ve taken pretty big precautions.”
He leaned forward, his interest obviously piqued now. “And what are the consequences if they break the gag order?”
“Their firstborn child. All right, not quite but there are some monetary fees.”
“You are quite deceptive, Ms. Carter.”
“Am I?” she asked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms beneath her breasts.
“Yes. You seem so sunny. Soft,” he said, his dark eyes settling on her breasts. “And yet … you are cynical. More so even than I am, I think. Which is really quite something.”
She swallowed and angled her face away from him. She could still feel him looking at her. “Call it cynical if you like, I call it realism. Human nature is what human nature is. No matter how much someone thinks they love you, if being with you starts to conflict with their ultimate goals … well, it won’t take much for them to start believing that they don’t love you anymore. That’s why I work to find people who have united goals and interests. Things that are concrete. Much more concrete than love. Whatever that is. I’m a realist, that’s all.”
“Cynic. Realist. Whatever the case, you certainly aren’t soft.”
She shook her head. “No. Being soft hurts too much.”
She had no idea why she was telling him so much. What was inspiring her to give away any of her tightly guarded self to this man. She only knew that it was easier to talk around him than to hold it in. That was new. Strange.
She’d always found it easier to just keep it all stuffed inside. Locked behind a wall of iron, defended by her sharp wit. Easier to have an off-the-cuff, half-serious response to everything than to let someone see her true self.
And yet, with Stavros, she had shared.
So pointless and silly. Irritating even, because there was no reason for her to choose him as a confidante. No reason at all. She didn’t have a confidante. She didn’t need one.
So stop it, already.
“You’re right about that,” he said, his voice different now. Serious. Lacking that mischief that was usually present. “Emotion … it can eat you alive. Steal every good intention. Every concept of responsibility. We’ll be staying in my private villa,” he said, changing the subject neatly. And she was grateful.
“We? As in … the two of us?”
“What did you imagine might happen, Jessica?” he asked. Her ears pricked and her heart stuttered at the use of her first name. It felt … intimate.
“I thought maybe we’d stay in a hotel and I’d have my own room.” Perhaps a floor or twelve away from his.
“I prefer not to stay in hotels, if I can help it, and you may reserve your comments on the irony of that.”
She arched an eyebrow. “How did you know I had a comment ready?”
“You always have a comment ready.”
“True,” she agreed.
“The villa is big. You won’t have to run into me at all, unless it’s work-related. If you don’t want to, that is.”
His voice dropped a step when he said that last part, his words a husky invitation that her body was aching
