Niko stretched his shoulders, working to ease the tension in his muscles. “Greed, Charles. Greed and pride.” He ground his teeth. “You dangle the right bait and the fish will bite.”
Charles gathered up several file folders and hugged them to his suit front. “She thought I was you, sir.” The man turned stiffly to face his boss, his expression almost, but not quite, accusing. Niko mouthed a curse. Blast the tribulations of having a brutally scrupulous workforce. Even such a slight subterfuge, like not correcting an inaccurate assumption, grated on Charles’s sense of propriety. “You won’t do anything rash, sir?”
The man’s cautioning tone sent a rush of bitter resentment through Niko but he held his temper. “Of course not. I intend to plan my revenge very carefully.”
Though it didn’t seem possible, Charles’ pallor increased. “But—but, sir, you made the CEO of Megatronics cry. You can be—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He didn’t cry. He had an eye infection,” Niko snapped, his reserve corroding. “More to the point, the man was a fool. He wasted millions by breaking his word and not heeding my advice. I only made him see the error of his ways.” More to himself than to Charles, he muttered, “Miss Angelis will merely get some hands-on experience about how I deal with those who break their word to me.”
“Oh—dear…” A sparkle of sweat beaded on Charles’s forehead. His expression was so transparently fearful Niko experienced a twinge of compassion. His assistant was an excellent manager, but anything that smacked of ruthlessness made him queasy.
Pressing a hand on Charles’s shoulder, Niko squeezed. “Don’t look so worried. I’m not going to eat the woman alive.” He smiled, but it felt more like a baring of teeth. “I’m merely going to indulge my little ex with some—undivided attention.”
Charles winced, alerting Niko to the fact that his reassuring squeeze had became painful. He removed his hand. “Don’t you think she deserves a little discomfort?”
Charles’s Adam’s apple bobbed, but he didn’t respond.
Niko would have appreciated a glimmer of empathy from his hired right arm, but he didn’t require it. He scanned the man shielding himself with a batch of files and scowled. “Maybe your attitude would be different if it was your face splashed all over the San Francisco press instead of mine,” he gritted out, “and you were the laughingstock.”
CHAPTER TWO
KALLI stepped off the plane in San Francisco, a week later, with no idea what to expect. That morning she’d called Mr. Varos’s office to let him know her schedule, but couldn’t get past some female receptionist, who assured huskily that the message would be passed to the proper department. So Kalli had no choice but to leave the flight information with a stranger on the phone.
She still had niggling doubts about accepting this job, doubts she could not squelch. Would she be left stranded in the airport as some kind of sadistic joke? She still couldn’t imagine Mr. Varos, or anyone else for that matter, really being as magnanimous as he’d seemed when he’d offered her the assignment.
She emerged from the long gangway, sidestepping fellow passengers who had come to abrupt halts to embrace friends and loved ones. Other plane-mates charged by her, cellular phones pasted to an ear as they dashed hell-bent down the cavernous corridor toward baggage claim, taxi cabs and business meetings.
The place was awash with humanity, whirring with activity and clamoring chatter. How was she supposed to find the right “someone” who’d been ordered to meet her? That is, if someone was meeting her, and this job offer wasn’t a mean-spirited hoax.
She found a place to pause beside a pillar where she’d be safely out of the way of frenzied travelers and beeping conveyance vehicles. Anxiety roiled in her belly as she scanned the ordered chaos, wondering how her escort would find her? Had he—or she—been shown the picture she’d sent to Mr. Varos before the wedding was arranged? Would he—or she—even show? The thought of coming all this way just to be left standing at the airport like a potted palm made her shudder.
“How did I get here—and why am I here, at all?” she muttered. Slipping the strap of her carry-on bag off her shoulder, she lay the case on the tile. For the thousandth time she went over the whole bizarre situation in her mind. First she’d rejected Mr. Varos. Then he’d called and offered her the opportunity to refurbish the mansion. When he’d hung up, she still hadn’t actually said she’d come. She remained torn most of the week, first thinking she couldn’t possibly agree, then deciding she couldn’t possibly refuse.
She’d even looked up old photographs of the Varos mansion, when it had been The Gladingstone House in its turn-of-the-century heyday. The estate had been gorgeous. She knew standing before the real thing would take her breath away. If she decided to return to San Francisco.
If? Getting this chance was like getting tapped for the Olympics. Not an offer easily rejected—since such an opportunity was the absolute epitome of everything she’d ever hoped to do in her life.
Aside from that, she owed Mr. Varos. She knew she could do a good job. She could do an excellent job. And she would, because of all she had at stake. She had a huge broken promise to make up for. And that was above and beyond everything this job would do for her career.
She experienced another surge of nervous anticipation and smoothed her navy linen jacket. Her high heels pinched a little, but that was a small price to pay. She’d dressed for success, wanting to make a top-notch impression. Though she wouldn’t see Mr. Varos, himself, he would hear about the project. She didn’t want a single, solitary negative word getting back to him, about her work or herself. She would be a professional from the tip of her head to the ends of her aching toes. No mealymouthed behavior this time. Nothing would go wrong. She would prove to Mr. Varos that his faith in her was not misplaced.
She shifted her weight in her all-business shoes, trying to make the ache in her toes go away. Eagerly she scanned everyone who passed by, her smile hopeful and expectant. Almost pleading, “Please be from Mr. Varos’s staff!”
After forty-five gut-wrenching minutes, her feet were killing her and her face muscles hurt from all the futile smiling. She was near the extreme end of the terminal wing. Everyone had left the area who’d been on her flight. Even stragglers whose loved ones arrived late were gone.
A smattering of strangers ambled by on their way to the final couple of gates, and a handful of early arrivals for the next flight out of Kalli’s gate drifted up and milled around, waiting for a departure still an hour and a half away. Even so, in view of Kalli’s state of mind, she felt very alone as she loitered by a pillar she was beginning to hate. She wished she’d opted to vegetate sitting down. It would have been just as easy to be ignored and forgotten in a seated position as it had been standing around in those cruel new shoes.
She didn’t want to believe the offer was a joke, that Mr. Varos had never intended to give her the assignment. She wanted to believe there was a good explanation, and if she was patient someone would arrive. Possibly the traffic was bad.
She could always call his office. She had the number. The only question was, how long did she wait before she sought out a telephone? Why hadn’t she bought a cellular? Everybody else in the universe had one. That was the very next thing she promised herself she’d do. After this job—or this—prank.
She sighed, worried and tired. What if somebody had been there but didn’t recognize her from the picture. Her hair had been shorter then. At a loss, she mumbled, “Maybe I should have made a big sign that said I’m Kalli Angelis.”
“That’s not necessary,” came a masculine voice from so nearby she jumped and clasped a hand over her