The Greek’s Cinderella Deal by Carol Marinelli

CHAPTER TWO

‘YOU’RE MARY?’

Standing in the opulent lobby of the most stunning London hotel, hearing the ridicule in her date’s voice, Mary knew that she had made the most dreadful mistake: Eric Ridgemont could not be described, by any stretch of the imagination, as ‘a sweetheart’.

Neither was he alone—there was a trio of suited, rather burly men behind him that made Mary feel nervous also.

The greeter had already taken her coat and umbrella, or she would have been tempted to grab them back as Ridgemont’s eyes ran disapprovingly down her grey tweed dress.

Plain at the front, with neat darts at the bust, it was pinched in at the waist, but the beauty was in its back—a subtle plunge that led into a long row of covered buttons that flared into a small pleated fish tail.

And it was entirely wasted on this night.

‘You’re late,’ he reprimanded.

‘My bus...’ She attempted to explain but he wasn’t really listening, just eyeing her up and down in a way that had Mary squirming in the pair of Coral’s rather too large stilettos.

‘Well, go and sort out some make-up,’ he prompted, peering at her face.

‘I never wear any.’

He hissed his irritation, then glanced at the time. ‘We’d better go through.’

‘Perhaps not.’ Mary cleared her throat and, though terrified to use it, somehow found her voice. ‘It’s obvious that I’m not what you were expecting...’

She turned on the borrowed unfamiliar heels, rueing her mistake and preparing to face Coral’s wrath, but fingers gripped her upper arm.

‘Oh, no, you don’t.’

As he halted her retreat Mary felt apprehension turn into white-hot fear as his fat fingers squeezed hard into sensitive flesh.

‘It’s far too late to do anything about it now. You’ll just have to do.’

His hand slid down to her elbow and Mary was rendered mute for a moment as they were led through the reception area and into a restaurant.

Under any other circumstances she would have stood a moment, simply to take it all in, for it was more beautiful than any place she had ever been. There were chandeliers laden with gorgeous crystals that danced light around the room, and Mary felt certain that this had once been or was even still used as a ballroom. But while the hotel was tasteful and sublime, the company was not.

‘Did Coral tell you who we’re dining with?’ Eric checked once they’d been seated.

‘Briefly.’ Mary nodded, though she was too nervous to recall the name. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten.’

‘Leventis.’ He saw her nonplussed expression. ‘Costa Leventis. He has a lot of property across Europe, though you’re probably more interested in the gossip sites. He frequently appears there...’

Mary blinked, a whisper of an image returning to her from the cover of a magazine. ‘Some scandal on a yacht...?’ she said, as she tried to recall. ‘Or in a casino...?’

‘There’s scandal wherever Leventis goes—though he’s gone to ground lately. He’s an arrogant bastard. New money...’ Eric sniffed. ‘Needs the occasional reminder about who gave him his start. No doubt he’ll have some siren with him. Just entertain her while I find out what the hell he’s up to.’

He leant in closer and gave Mary a look that made her shudder inwardly.

‘There might be a bonus in it for you tonight.’

She felt a trickle of sweat between her breasts and, despite the opulence of her surroundings, in that moment she would have given anything to be back at the small bedsit in the rear of the hair salon.

Oh, whatever have I let myself be talked into?

Mary desperately wanted out. ‘I only agreed to dinner,’ Mary said, determined to state it upfront.

But this man wasn’t listening. ‘The night ends when I tell you and not a moment before. Let’s not forget that you’re being paid very well. So right here, right now, I’m telling you to lose the attitude and damn well smile.’

It would be far too obvious if she were to get up and leave now, Mary decided, but in a few moments she would excuse herself and head to the restrooms. Then she would get the hell away.

Except the three men who had accompanied Eric were seated at the next table!

She suddenly remembered her old ballet teacher ordering her to smile, and somehow she did just that, while still planning her escape.

‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘And remember...’

His voice halted mid-sentence as the mood in the room suddenly changed, everybody’s attention suddenly diverted. Not just Eric’s and not just Mary’s. The whole room turned—even waiters stopped for a brief second. Everybody was looking at the man who was entering the restaurant.

Costa Leventis was not what she was expecting.

Nor was her reaction.

Inexplicably she shivered, for it felt as if she’d just recognised a friend.

And Mary had no friends.

He was tall. Not just tall, but noticeably so. With black, longish wavy hair, he was distinctly unshaven. Given it was black-tie only, and he was not wearing one, a critic might say he was disrespecting the room. But as he approached she watched the fluid lines of his immaculately cut black suit which he wore with a black shirt. He was without a doubt the most naturally elegant person in the room.

She’d expected from Eric’s brief description someone brasher, and certainly younger, but she guessed he was in his mid-thirties. It would seem there was no one with him for Mary to ‘entertain’, for he had entered the restaurant alone.

Given the distasteful company she found herself keeping, Mary wasn’t quite sure why the sight of such an imposing man should feel something of a relief. Yet it did.

Safety in numbers, Mary told herself as she pushed her shaking legs to a stand on his approach.

‘Eric.’ Costa Leventis nodded as he shook Eric’s outstretched hand and then turned to Mary, briefly acknowledging her. ‘This is...?’ he politely enquired, holding out his hand.

There was a bit of hesitation from Eric as he searched his short-term memory. ‘Mary.’

‘Mary?’ he repeated, perhaps expecting a fuller introduction.

‘Mary from London,’ she replied as he took her hand and briefly shook it.

‘An unusual surname.’

She frowned, at first a little bemused by his words, then kicked herself for her stupid response. But there was no time to rectify it. And this man clearly did not need her surname, for his attention had already moved back to Eric, and it would seem Costa had a question for him.

‘We were supposed to be meeting at the bar, and yet they told me you were waiting for me in here?’

‘Of course.’ Eric nodded. ‘It’s your first night back in London and it’s been far too long since we sat down to dinner.’

‘Is that so?’ Costa said as they took their seats.

He looked as if he was the kind of man loathed anyone making presumptive claims on his time, and Ridgemont was speaking like a disgruntled lover.

‘How long are you here for?’ Ridgemont asked.

‘It depends,’ Costa responded evasively. He turned to the hovering waiter and ordered his favourite cognac.

‘I was thinking champagne rather than brandy.’

Eric gave a short burst of laughter and Mary realised that in Costa’s presence he was actually nervous.

‘There’s a lot to celebrate after all.’

‘Champagne for Mr Ridgemont,’ Costa said, and then glanced over to her. ‘Mary?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Have some champagne,’ Eric pushed.

‘No, thank you,’ she insisted, her anxiety rising, because surely if he were her real date then Eric would know that she didn’t drink. But oughtn’t she to join in if there was to be a celebratory toast? ‘I’ll have sparkling water, please.’

‘Champagne for the table,’ Eric snapped to the patient waiter.

But Costa simply overrode the order, as if he had not even heard Eric’s terse demand. ‘Cognac, sparkling water, and champagne for Mr Ridgemont.’

‘Of course, sir. Would you like menus?’

‘Just the drinks,’ Costa said, and then added, ‘thank you.’

No champagne for Costa, no menus... Even to Mary’s inexperienced eyes it was obvious that the dinner Eric had engineered was not going as planned.

Costa was in complete command, and possibly the only unperturbed person in the restaurant!

Every woman in the room, Mary was certain, was distinctly on edge and casting little glances in the direction of their table—or rather in the direction of Costa. Even all the men had paused and glanced over when he’d entered, with something Mary could only liken to respect or admiration.

He was company that many would like to keep, Mary concluded, whether personally or professionally. Yet the empty seat beside him spoke volumes—Costa was not here to impress anyone. And that empty seat spoke of restlessness too. It said that this was only a small part of his plans for the night.

His gaze briefly roamed the restaurant and Mary was certain that all he’d have to do was meet the eyes of one of the many women he held entranced and she would simply get up and walk over to be seated beside him.

Mary would rather like to do the same!

There was an energy to him that was compelling. Even his voice had captured her thought processes—it was low and deep, and though heavily laced with a rich accent his English was near perfect as he addressed Eric.

‘I had reserved a quiet spot at the bar so that we could speak undisturbed and in private.’

‘There’s nothing that can’t be said here.’ Eric dismissed Costa’s concerns. ‘Mary knows we’ll be talking business, don’t you, darling...?’

He reached and took her hand, but as he moved to plant his wet mouth on her cheek Mary couldn’t help but flinch, darting her head to the side in an attempt to avoid his touch.

But there was no escaping the wetness of his lips on her cheek.

It was her first kiss since childhood.

And it was a form of contact that Mary had thought she craved.

Yet she sat there, feeling utterly revolted, and as Eric spoke on she surreptitiously reached for her napkin and dabbed her cheek.

‘Costa and I go way back,’ Eric said to Mary—though not for her benefit, she was sure. ‘How long have you been in business now, Costa...? Fifteen years?’

‘Oh, I’d say it was longer.’

‘It can’t be.’ Eric shook his head. ‘You were just twenty when I backed that loan for the Anapliró resort?’

‘Retreat,’ Costa corrected.

‘And you’re how old now?’

‘Thirty-five.’

‘There you go, then.’ Eric was triumphant. ‘I knew I was right.’

Mary glanced over, and Costa’s brief, almost imperceptible smile told her that Eric only thought he had won and had in fact just been duped. Gosh, there was something far more than champagne and business going on at this table, and if she hadn’t been so petrified then Mary would have been riveted.

It was then that Costa looked over to her and she properly met his eyes.

His expression was completely unreadable, though it could never be described as blank, for there was far too much knowing in his eyes. She could not, even on close inspection, define their colour—a mix of silver, black and grey, as if angels had crushed onyx and diamonds and at the last moment thrown a chip of emerald into the mortar. And they had ground in some sapphire with their pestle too, for, yes, there was a glimmer of blue...

Had she not been sitting beside the most appalling man imaginable, there might have been a moment for her to consider that Costa was truly beautiful. Except as Eric spoke Costa flicked his gaze away, and Mary saw his flash of contempt for the man who sat opposite him. She sensed danger.

‘A right slag heap, wasn’t it?’ Eric continued, and without turning his head he addressed Mary again. ‘Costa grew up there.’

‘Did you?’ Mary politely enquired, and Costa gave a brief nod.

‘Not that he told me so at the time.’

‘I wouldn’t have merited your attention if I had,’ Costa said, and unlike Eric he did not use Mary as a channel to deliver his words.

Eric continued to do so, though. ‘I have to hand it to him,’ he droned, ‘Costa saw its potential. God knows how, though. Still, without my backing...’ He carried on, puffing himself up at every turn. And while he seemed to be speaking to Mary, it was all an attempt to belittle Costa.

And it was a futile attempt, Mary knew, because Costa Leventis remained utterly composed.

‘Well, it’s history now...’ Eric said. ‘To be honest, I’m glad to be shot of the last piece of it.’ He looked around. ‘Where the hell are our drinks? I want to toast our foray into the Middle East. Ah, here they are...’

Costa had been looking forward to this moment for what felt like a lifetime—in fact he had been planning it for most of his own. Yes, this went back way past fifteen years.

He thought of his very first purchase: a single room in a seedy hotel. At the time, Anapliró’s only one. It had been far from an impulse buy. And what he’d told Eric was right. Eric would never have exchanged so much as a glance with a poor boy from Anapliró, nor a desperate woman collapsed on the floor, come to that. Oh, there were many reasons for him to relish this moment to come.

But as he went to deliver his well-rehearsed spiel he glanced over to Ridgemont’s date and knew, simply knew, that Eric’s vile temper would find an outlet. That this ‘Mary from London’ would bear the brunt of Costa’s actions this night.

Whatever her relationship with Ridgemont, it should not affect this business meeting.

Ridgemont’s choice of date for the night and the consequences to her of the news he was about to impart would not usually enter his head.

Costa was not an unkind person. It was more that he had trained himself to be an unemotional one.

Except...

His gaze flicked to her, and then away, although with that brief glance the details he had taken in were stamped on his mind. She wore a very simple grey dress and no make-up or jewellery. Her blonde hair was styled and pinned up—all that he knew. But it was not her delicate bone structure, nor the sapphire of her blue eyes that played on his mind. It was more that there was a certain prudence to her that disquieted his soul.

There was a certain naivety too, which did not quite equate—for he was beyond certain that Ridgemont would have paid for her company. She troubled him, and Costa wanted to be the hell away from trouble—hence this meeting tonight.

She was like a little bird, sitting on a ledge, alert and nervous but with no real idea of the might of the tigers that prowled beneath.

Oh, despite Galen’s warning, Costa doubted there would be a scene. Costa would deliver his news, and Eric would posture, but then he’d bluster off with his posse in tow. Then there would be perhaps a week of difficult meetings, followed by the legal fallout, for which Costa had been long prepared. But now there was an unexpected issue that had arisen—one he had not considered at all when he’d carefully made his plans: the fact that Ridgemont would storm off into the night with her.

‘Cheers,’ Ridgemont said, and held up his glass. ‘What is it they say in Greece? Yamas!’

‘Yamas,’Costa duly answered, and decided he would drink to improving Ridgemont’s black soul. ‘To your health...’

He clinked Ridgemont’s glass and then looked over to Mary. How the hell did he clink her glass and wish her well when he knew she would be leaving with that pig?

Costa felt something that he didn’t even want to acknowledge...something that verged on protectiveness for a woman to whom he had barely spoken.

Costa Leventis did not clink her glass—not that Eric noticed—and Mary sat, wishing the ground would open up and she might simply disappear. Except she felt safe at the moment. Relieved by Costa’s presence. Which was odd, for it was clear that everyone else seemed set on edge by him. Eric was now sweating with nerves, and the waiters were all waiting to pounce, and still so many heads turned towards him.

‘So!’ With the formalities over, Eric pushed for answers. ‘I’m assuming there’s a reason for your early arrival?’

‘Indeed...’

There was a certain ominous note to Costa’s tone that forced attention, and as the waiter approached again to offer menus, or another drink perhaps, Costa waved him away with a perfectly manicured hand.

He was going to leave, Mary realised, and she suddenly dreaded what he was about to say.

And that she would be left with this man.

‘I didn’t want to put it in an email or talk through a screen...’ Costa knew his voice was calm, eerily so. ‘You know I prefer to speak face to face.’

‘We can’t wait to hear—can we, darling?’ Ridgemont said.

Costa watched as he again reached for Mary’s pale hand and squeezed it. The tips of her slender fingers turned a bloodless white, and very deliberately Costa did not blink. Glancing up from her hand, he registered fear in her eyes.

Costa’s gaze flicked back to Ridgemont. ‘I would rather speak with you alone.’

‘Of course.’ Mary, flustered, took her cue... ‘Please excuse me for a moment.’

Eric was still gripping her hand, but as she stood he had no choice but to release it. She put down her napkin and made a rushed excuse about finding the powder room.

She walked briskly away, asking a waiter to direct her, but then she turned and looked back at the table. Mentally kicking herself, she realised she had left her purse there.

Costa saw that she had too. He saw the tatty evening bag with its fraying handle and then he glanced over to where she was making her way through the restaurant. Her gait told him she was struggling in heels that didn’t fit properly. He saw her look back, and in that very second she again met his gaze. He was certain then that she’d been looking for an opportunity to flee.

It was only for a second, perhaps less, that their eyes met, and Mary did not quite understand the almost imperceptible nod he gave. Was he thanking her for leaving them alone, perhaps? Telling her to take her time before coming back maybe?

She truly didn’t know.

Blindly she turned and pushed open the door to the powder room and stood gripping the sink, trying and failing to calm down as she worked out what she should do.

Good news was not being delivered out there, Mary was certain. She would not be returning to smiles and celebrations!

Though she knew she should just get the hell out, her purse held the salon keys, and the little money she had, as well as her travel card, and this smart hotel was an awfully long way from home.

Home.

She let out a mirthless laugh that was more a strangled sob, for though she had been lonely for a very long time, never had Mary felt quite so alone.

Tonight—on her birthday—it was especially hard to accept that she had no one to call on to ask for help. Really, there was not a single soul who would notice if she didn’t make it home tonight.

A missing person...unmissed.

Mary pressed her fingers into her eyes. Almost fourteen years after her mother’s death, she still missed her each and every day.

She still spoke to her. In her head, of course. But for Mary, all motherly advice had run out at the age of seven, and there was nothing she could draw on for nights such as these.

Except...

She heard the once steady voice of her father: ‘You go up to someone and ask for help...’

She could remember her daddy telling her what to do if she got lost in a shop or parted from her group on a field trip or such.

‘A police officer if you can see one, or a woman...’

Mary peeled her hands from her face, feeling calmer now, knowing what she could do. She would head out to Reception and there ask them to retrieve her bag for her and that they see her into a taxi. She couldn’t afford one, of course, but she had her emergency funds. And if Coral fired her, well...

Mary had already decided she was leaving her job anyway.

Oh, she’d prefer to have a new job lined up, as well as some accommodation, but those issues rather paled into insignificance right now.

Braver now, but still terrified, she smoothed down her dress and then popped a loose curl behind her ear. She took a deep, calming breath before heading out, her intention to exit the restaurant.

Except a brief glance at the table revealed only Costa sitting there, drumming his fingers. Furthermore, Eric Ridgemont’s men were nowhere to be seen, so Mary decided to retrieve her purse herself.

And then leave.

On closer inspection, Costa Leventis looked irritated.

Decidedly so.

Costa was way more than irritated—all his plans had been blown out of the water, for when it had come down to it he hadn’t told Ridgemont he was severing all ties. Instead Costa had sent him off to an exclusive party and said he would join him there soon.

Why?

It was a good question, and one he was having trouble accepting the answer to.

His whole night had been upended all because of this ‘Mary from London’, who meant precisely nothing to him.

Costa glanced up as she made her way back. He did not stand as she approached. In fact, it was only when she reached for her purse that he spoke. ‘He’s gone.’

Mary assumed he meant that Eric had gone to the restroom and that his security men had accompanied him. Of course she did not tell Costa of her plan to flee. Instead, she quickly came up with a reason to be reaching for her purse, even if she had no make-up either on her face or in it!

‘I forgot my lipstick.’

‘Mary,’ he said, in a rather world-weary voice that had her looking over at him. ‘Ridgemont hasn’t just gone to the restroom—he has left for the night.’

And it would seem that Costa Leventis was doing the same, for he was standing now.

Goodness, he really was tall.

Mary was five foot two, plus her borrowed six-inch heels, yet he still stood head and shoulders above her.

‘Is he waiting for me...?’ she asked, her eyes glancing to the exit, envisaging Ridgemont pacing in the lobby waiting for her and, even worse, angry, especially if he and Costa had just had a row.

‘No, I told him about a party taking place in Soho—it’s invitation-only. I’m supposed to be joining him there later.’

‘Oh.’

‘It’s not the sort of party where one generally arrives with a date.’

Double oh!

Thank goodness!

She had no idea what had just occurred and she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to find out. Still, it was obvious the night was over—and she was clearly the worst escort in the world, for she hadn’t even been paid. The thought came as a relief—her regretful brief foray into this world was officially over and done with.

She had walked into the restaurant with Ridgemont and was walking out with Costa, but her legs were shaky, for she was still unsure as to what had happened in between.

Actually, she felt a little ill.

‘I’ll say goodnight,’ Costa said, and moved to head off and return to the quiet table he had reserved at the bar before Ridgemont had attempted to railroad him.

Except then Costa was suddenly cross, and turned and faced her. ‘I’m going to tell you something, “Mary from London”.’ He pointed one of his beautifully manicured fingers at hers. ‘Don’t mess with the big guns. Don’t play games when you don’t know the rules.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she attempted. ‘And actually my name is Mary Jones.’

‘I don’t need your name,’ Costa said, but for clarity’s sake put things more bluntly. ‘Just know this—I saved your ass tonight.’