A Perfect Man: International Billionaires IV: The Greeks Read online

  What their poor Soph was in was a tub of hot water that was getting hotter and hotter, and she couldn’t jump out. She was going to have to do this and somehow make them believe—

  Her hand shot out from underneath the table, the ring blazing its presence on what appeared like her completely normal finger. Her hand slammed down in the middle of the table making the warm, bright candle wobble and the tall, ornate glasses shiver.

  A hush fell over them, filled only by the chatter of the groups scattered around the busy bar and the low jazz music wailing in the background.

  “That looks familiar.” There was a cool clip to Melanie’s voice.

  “Very familiar.”

  “Yes, I would agree.”

  All three heads glanced back at Sophie’s face in disbelief.

  “I’m engaged.”

  “I can see that.” Melanie tipped her head back down to the ring. “To—”

  “Alexander.”

  “Would that be Alexander Stravoudas?” Sam frowned.

  “Correct.” Before they noticed her hand was now shaking, Sophie stuffed it beneath the table again.

  “The Alexander Stravoudas our other girlfriend was engaged to less than six weeks ago?” Jade arched a black brow.

  “Yes.” She was never going to pull this off. She wasn’t a liar like he was. She couldn’t manufacture emotion to get ahead or get her way.

  This was awful.

  Horrible.

  Stunned silence fell over the table one more time. Perhaps she’d get lucky and explode into a million bits and disappear in a cloud of smoke because she truly couldn’t think of one single thing to say. Tiny, blasts of thought zipped around in her brain. She’d lose every one of her friends. She’d end up all alone. She’d never earn their respect again.

  He’d done this to her.

  The toxic, tyrannical toad.

  Now not only her finger burned. Her entire body boiled in a mix of anger, misery, and fear.

  Then, then Mel laughed.

  Mel was all that was gracious and elegant. She was beautiful and lovely and never had a hair out of place. To Sophie, she was the epitome of what a lady should be.

  Except for her laugh.

  To be kind, it was rather horsy. And loud. And not ladylike in the slightest.

  “Oh, man,” Sam murmured.

  “Oh, Lord,” Jade muttered.

  “Oh, crud.” Sophie put her forehead on the table. “Mel’s gone crazy with anger.”

  Another peal of laughter rolled around the bar.

  “She looks pretty happy to me,” Sam said.

  “This is not an upset Mel I see here,” Jade contributed.

  “She’ll never forgive me.” She closed her eyes and dreamed she’d walked away into the magic forest surrounding them, never to be seen again.

  “I’m not crazy.” Melanie’s hand came down on Sophie’s head. “I’m also not mad at you.”

  “You should be.”

  “No.” The long-fingered hand smoothed through her ponytail. “You didn’t like Alex at all when you convinced me he was wrong for me.”

  “But—”

  “And you were right.” The hand brushed along her shoulder. “Alex was a rebound. Jack’s the right guy.”

  “But—”

  “I know I’ve said it before,” her friend continued past her objection. “Yet it bears repeating. I really appreciate it that you took care of breaking it off with Alex. He’s too charming when he gets determined and I might have fallen for his pitch.”

  “Our Sophie was well aware of that.” Jade gave her a wry smile. “Which is why she volunteered to do the dirty deed.”

  Sam chuckled. “Our tiny friend can be fierce when she needs to be.”

  While their compliments warmed her, she still hadn’t stated what needed to be said. “But—”

  “Anyway, knowing my friend as I do, I have to assume something magic happened in the last month.” Mel sighed, a bittersweet sound. “And, well, Alex can be magic.”

  At that absurd statement, Sophie popped her head up. “He’s not magic in any way,” she blurted. “He’s the most—”

  “This is amazing.” Jade jumped to her feet and danced around her chair, her stilettos clicking on the hardwood floor.

  “This is fantastic.” Sam hooted and lifted her glass in a cheer.

  Melanie’s blue eyes were soft. “I’m happy for you, Soph. I never thought of you two together, but now that I do, it’s perfect.”

  “Yep. You got that right.” Jade bent forward, her black eyes sparkling. “Alex Stravoudas is the absolutely, positively perfect man for you.”

  Oh. God. She suddenly wished they’d all been pissed at her instead of this. This reaction made her seethe. “I don’t think—”

  “He isn’t going to take any guff from you.” Her friend tapped a long red fingernail on her nose, making her want to scratch it. “He’s not going to roll over like the rest of your losers. He’s bold and strong, exactly like you.”

  “They weren’t los—”

  “This is like a romantic fairy tale,” Sam cooed, her eyes dreamy. “I think it’s enchanting.”

  “Sophie.” Mel’s mouth compressed and she lurched over to wrap her long arms around her. “Don’t look like that. We’re very happy for you. It’s going to be wonderful.”

  No. It wasn’t. It was going to be awful. Horrible.

  And it was all because of him.

  Chapter 4

  He lived in the penthouse.

  Of course, he did.

  Sophie dragged her one suitcase from the silver-plated spaceship of an elevator and into a large, square foyer carpeted in white. The walls were painted in a chilly, bleached alabaster that hurt her eyes.

  All of this non-color served to draw a person’s gaze to the door.

  The one door.

  She walked over to it. The thing was black. Very black. Some kind of exotic wood he’d probably had towed here from Africa or Ecuador or Mars. The doorknob and the door knocker stood out in sterling splendor, not greeting you but rather questioning whether you were meant to be here in the first place.

  She wasn’t meant to be here.

  Sophie had never entered this hallowed ground. She’d had enough of Mr. Perfectly Horrendous as it was. Still, she’d heard enough about his place from Melanie and the girls.

  “The place is gorgeous,” her friend had gushed.

  “His penthouse is amazing,” Jade had commented.

  “Well,” Sam had cocked her head, her eyes narrowing, “I guess I’d say it’s dramatic.”

  The thought of her three friends, friends she’d left only an hour ago at Ghee, made her stomach sink.

  They’d been so happy for her.

  Happy. That she was engaged to Alex Stravoudas. Unbelievable.

  What were they going to say when this farce came to an end? And how was she going to keep the truth of what this really was from them for the rest of her life?

  Her shoulders slumped.

  Awful.

  Horrible.

  After enduring endless congratulatory hugs, she’d pulled herself away and gone back to her apartment. Packing the bare minimum had been a puny attempt to reinstate her independence. But no act of defiance could stop her next step. She’d taken the subway to the land of the rich and famous. The Upper East Side.

  Where the upper crust lived, her dad always said as he bit into one of his own bread’s crusts.

  She didn’t like this neighborhood, with its soaring towers of ultra-expensive condos mixed in with courtly brownstones and Greek Revival facades. The sidewalks were constantly filled with fussy matrons, in their old-fashioned couture, walking by boxed flowers lined in a row like little soldiers. She’d always imagined a small cadre of ghosts came out every night to sweep the streets squeaky clean.

  The neighborhood seemed artificial to her. Not surprising he lived here, huh?

  It was almost eight o’clock at night. She was tired. Hungry.

 
; And oh, yeah. Angry.

  She slammed the knocker down.

  The wide door opened immediately. “Finally.” A smiling older woman dressed in a plain cotton dress appeared. “You’re here. Mr. Alex was getting worried.”

  I’ll expect you at my apartment when I get home from work.

  “I doubt it.”

  The woman’s face filled with shock. “Naturally he would be. Mr. Alex is always concerned about his family and friends.”

  His friend. Please.

  “Especially for you,” she continued to chatter. “You’re special to Mr. Alex, of course.”

  Of course.

  “I’m Mrs. Palmer.” The cheerful woman smiled once more, the tiny wrinkles near her eyes creasing. “I’ve been Mr. Alex’s housekeeper for years and years.”

  And loved him for all that time; it was clear in the devotion coloring her voice. Like everyone else on earth. Except herself.

  “What am I thinking? Come in, come in.” The woman waved her hand and Sophie rolled her way into…

  A colossal cavern of a room.

  Did a person live in such a thing?

  “Here, let me take your coat.” A firm tug on the sleeve of her peacoat made Sophie drop her fierce grip on her suitcase.

  “There, you’ll be more comfortable now.” The woman hummed as she opened another black door and grabbed a steel hanger.

  Comfortable? In this place?

  Sophie didn’t think you were meant to be comfortable here. No, no. Mr. Perfectly Obnoxious wanted you to be impressed.

  She was not.

  The great room she walked into had floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides. The dark night sky twinkled with a myriad of gold and silver lights shining from the next door buildings. However, this did nothing to lighten the effect of a long string of low black sofas crouching in a sea of gray carpet. Dwarf-like white balls that must be chairs were scattered here and there, looking like they would unwind and zing a girl to the moon if given half a chance.

  “Why don’t you take a seat?”

  No, she didn’t think she would. She’d likely be swallowed whole or shot into the sky.

  “Mr. Alex tells me you two have become recently engaged.” The woman beamed as if his previous engagement, that ended mere weeks ago, had never even happened. “I’m extremely happy for you both.”

  A stilted silence fell. Sophie suddenly realized she hadn’t said a word since the front door had opened. Even if this was not where she wanted to be, she could at least be cordial. “Um.”

  “Goodness.” The woman turned in a flurry and hustled from the room, her words growing muffled as she ran around the corner. “I promised to call Mr. Alex as soon as you arrived.”

  So he wasn’t here yet.

  Sophie took the opportunity to scout out enemy territory. She paced across the wide expanse of ugly carpeting to the black marble fireplace. On top of the mantel stood a series of photos and sculptures.

  She picked the first picture up.

  Then the next.

  She stared at the three glass figurines.

  And snorted.

  Nothing homey or family here. Evidently, this was where Mr. Perfectly Dreadful had arranged his personal altar to his accomplishments. The photos were all of him with various dignitaries and clients who had been bamboozled. She could tell by the sly smile on his face and the dazed look on the others. The steel and stone objects, every one of them pointy and ugly, were numerous awards for his architectural brilliance.

  Another snort.

  Turning, she eyed the window-enclosed lap pool lying beyond the living room. Walking to the glass wall, she stared into the water, dull and dark in the unlit room.

  Yuck.

  She marched back past the fireplace and opened a side door. She didn’t worry about breaching any privacy. This wasn’t a home. This was a monument to his ego.

  The door led into a study.

  An imperious black desk dominated, its surface completely clear other than for an ultra-modern laptop. The commanding chair behind it was covered with some kind of ebony animal skin. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with leather-bound books consummately aligned to the edge of each shelf. The fourth wall was, again, a floor to ceiling window looking out on darkness intermixed with the lights coming from other skyscrapers.

  Not a green plant or tossed book or empty coffee cup to be seen, giving any indication an actual person lived here.

  Immediate thoughts of where she’d just left sprang to mind. Her cozy, warm apartment with its comfy blue-checked sofa, big pots of flowers in the foyer, the tiny glass chandelier hanging over the round wooden table she’d found at an antique store. Her collection of books scattered across the old, lopsided shelves lining the fireplace, whose mantel was stuffed with a mishmash of memories.

  The difference between them could not be more apparent and how anyone in their right mind could think she and Mr. Perfectly—

  “You’re finally here.”

  Sophie glanced over her shoulder, surprised he’d been able to sneak in without her hearing the clunking close of his intimidating front door.

  “On command.” The first of three promises fulfilled. Two more and she would never have to share space with this man again. It couldn’t happen soon enough.

  His wide mouth twisted in a wry tug. “You’re making yourself comfortable?”

  “Getting comfortable in this place would be a fruitless task.”

  Sighing, a weary sound as if he were dealing with a squawking child, he stuck his big, brutish hands in the pockets of his blue silk suit. The movement stretched the edges of his coat apart, revealing the gleam of pure white cotton plastered over muscle. “I was beginning to think you’d decided to be stupid.”

  Her teeth clicked together. “You didn’t give me much choice on the decision I made.”

  “Correct.” A faint smile of satisfaction crossed his face. “That was the point of the conversation.”

  “Well…” She tugged her old purple cardigan down past her jean-clad hips, suddenly aware of the difference between them. He, all sparkly Upper East Side. She, all grungy Lower East Side. But she didn’t care. She’d changed from her classy dress when she’d gotten back home. He wasn’t worth primping for. “I’m here. You should be happy.”

  A short bark of laughter was her answer and then his pointed blue gaze went down her length and back to her face. Yet it wasn’t the kind of look a man gave a woman he was interested in. Rather it was a glance assessing her worthiness.

  Her temper flared but before she could take a verbal shot, he spun around and paced toward the front door. She immediately noticed her suitcase had disappeared. “Hey. Where’s my—”

  “Mrs. Palmer took your things to the bedroom you’ll be staying in.” His gait didn’t slow. “I can show you to it now if you’d like. I hear you’re an early-to-bed-type person.”

  Even though his tone held not a hint of disapproval, Sophie’s temper continued to rise. “I’m a baker. I get up at four a.m.”

  “Makes sense.” His voice stayed even. “Are you hungry?”

  Her stomach growled in response and he must have heard because he turned, his smile tight, his eyes alive. “You are. And so am I.”

  She didn’t like the way her looked at her. His gaze wasn’t sexual in the slightest, but it was predatory. The thought of eating with him made her stomach go quiet. “I think I’ll go to bed.”

  “Come on, Sophia.” Leaning on the wall right beside a modern painting filled with wild strokes of onyx and blood-red paint, his smile widened into the full blown deal that always won him a prize. “You can cook for me.”

  She snorted. “I didn’t promise to cook for you.”

  “No, that’s true.” He didn’t appear to be fazed by her rejection, his smile remaining. “Then I’ll cook for you.”

  His words shocked her into stilled silence. Before she could muster any response, he disappeared around the corner.

  Alexander the Great cooki
ng?

  A muffled clank of a pan carried across the cold sea of carpet. Sophie made a face at the nearest crouching couch and wound her way across the room to stand in another doorway she’d missed when she first came in.

  The kitchen was as spare and bleak as the rest of the penthouse. Two big steel refrigerators lined one wall while another wall sported more floor-to-ceiling windows. A rigid island of glass and black marble stood in the center of the huge kitchen designed not for comfort but a caterer.

  “You entertain a lot.” Her words shot out as an accusation.

  He discarded his silk jacket and tie on one of two black leather stools tucked into the edge of the island and rolled up his sleeves. Glancing at her, he wore a quizzical look. “Naturally.”

  “That’s what this place is all about, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not getting your point.” Moving to one refrigerator, he pulled out a passel of plastic bags filled with cut vegetables and meat. “Stir-fry okay?”

  Of course, the man could not be troubled with slicing his own food. Sophie gave him a sneer. “Does it matter?”

  “No.” With short, economical movements, he slid a wok onto the glass-covered stove and poured some oil into it. The scent of bacon and chicken wafted into the air and her stomach growled once more.

  He chuckled, a wicked, provoking sound.

  Sophie’s pride demanded she march down some hallway somewhere and into her unknown bedroom, yet curiosity about this man and her hunger made her stay. She walked over to the other bar stool and plopped down. “You. Cook.”

  “Yes.” He pulled another pan out from one of a thousand black-paneled cabinets. “Rice or noodles?”

  “Gee.” Sarcasm riddled the word. “I get a choice?”

  “You know what?” He slammed the pot on the stove and turned to face her, his eyes burning blue with the usual animosity. “We can make these next couple of months easy. Or we can make them a pain in the ass.”

  “I vote for pain in the ass.”

  He glared at her before swiveling back to the stove. “Fine. Rice it is.”

  She watched as he dribbled the red peppers and broccoli into the pan, watched as the muscles of his back moved underneath the cotton, watched as his tight butt—