Читать книгу To Catch A Bride - Renee Roszel - Страница 7

KALLI dashed into Nikolos Varos’s private office, consumed with grief and unreasoning panic. Thankfully, no watchdog of a secretary sat at the reception desk to run interference. Kalli couldn’t cope with making explanations. She needed to get this done and done quickly—hopefully without hysterics.

Her mental turmoil kept her from taking notice of the immense high-rise office. She already knew Mr. Varos was vastly prosperous, but in her emotional state the physical trappings held no interest for her. Working hard to hold back tears, she headed toward a tall, gaunt man standing behind a gleaming desk of stainless steel and glass. She planted both hands on the cool, orderly desktop and focused on his striped tie, too grief-stricken and ashamed to look at his face.

Coward! she shouted inwardly. Look him in the eye! Anybody who jilts her fiancé on their wedding day should do it face-to-face, not sniveling at the floor like a mouse!

Sick to her stomach, she lifted her gaze. Her heart pounded so deafeningly, she wasn’t sure she would be able to hear her words when she spoke them.

“Mr. Varos,” she began, amazed that her voice rang with conviction. “I can’t go through with the wedding.”

The man’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but she forged on, giving him no opening. “My grandfather passed away during the night. When Mother called to tell me, I realized I’d agreed to this marriage for him—because I love —loved him. This arrangement was something he wanted. It wasn’t what I wanted at all. I went along—out of family loyalty.”

He opened his mouth again, but she threw up her hand to halt him. “I know, I know—my family’s Greek and very traditional and so is yours. And yes, my mother’s arranged marriage was a good one. And, it’s true that our grandfathers were lifelong friends and their fondest wish was to join our two families.” She grasped desperately for the right words—anything that didn’t sound lame. “But, I’m an American, Mr. Varos. I was born in the United States and I—I can’t do this! Please understand and—and one day try to forgive me.”

Spinning on her heel, she fled, calling herself the chicken-hearted baby she was. Running away was unforgivable, but she was too close to hysteria and emotional collapse to deal with ranting and raving, no matter how much she deserved it.

She told herself this was for the best. After all, the marriage was little more than a business deal, certainly not a love match. To make that painfully obvious, where had she finally found her so-called fiancé? In his office! At seven o’clock in the morning on his wedding day!

Besides, she hadn’t even met the man. His international finance dealings had kept him out of the country until the last minute. Considering all that, how important could the wedding—or she—be to him?

Surely he’d had deals fall through before. He’d be disappointed, maybe even annoyed, but he’d get over it. When she was more herself, when her grief had ebbed, she vowed to write a letter of apology.

She felt so alone. Oh, if only Grandpa Chris hadn’t taken a drastic turn for the worse just as she and her mother, Zoe, were about to leave for California. Angelis had cared for her father-in-law for so many years, she’d felt compelled to stay behind with the dear man as his health failed and miss her only child’s wedding. Kalli knew Zoe had been torn, but being the kind of woman she was, Zoe couldn’t leave Grandpa Chris to depart this world alone. Kalli understood, of course, and wouldn’t have had it any other way, but right now she felt desolate, lost, and needed her mother’s unwavering support.

Now that the wedding was off, all she had to do was get back to her hotel, pack her bags and fly out of San Francisco. She must get back to Kansas to be with her mother and say her last goodbyes to Grandpa Chris.

The first day of June was turning into a nightmare for Nikolos Varos. His flight from Tokyo had been delayed, not once but twice, making him almost miss his own wedding. Then, in the wee hours, when he’d arrived at his penthouse apartment, he discovered a plumbing leak. The place was a disaster, so he’d had to dress for the formal wedding breakfast in his office bathroom.

And now, as he slipped on his tux jacket, the fiancée he had yet to meet came running into his office announcing to his bewildered assistant that she couldn’t marry him.

Peering around the corner where his executive dressing room adjoined his office, he scanned the space, empty now, except for his buttoned-up, button-down administrative assistant. The poor guy stood as though frozen, staring toward the office’s exit.

Niko leaned against the doorjamb and heaved a weary exhale. “What’s the matter, Charles?” he queried, cynicism ripe in his tone. “Never been jilted?”

Niko’s sarcasm seemed to bring his assistant out of his stupor and he turned, his long, thin face ashen. “Is that what happened, sir?”

Niko shook his head, feeling out of kilter from jet lag and lack of sleep. He’d hardly closed his eyes in the last seventy-two hours, getting his schedule squared away for an extended honeymoon, and now this? “I’m new at being dumped, but that little speech sounded like ‘goodbye’ to me.”

He scanned Charles, meticulously groomed, a fastidious detail-man with a prominent patrician nose and the pallor of desk work. Even as naturally pale and grave as he was, Charles looked so bleak Niko almost felt sorry for him.

For him?

Niko sensed the full impact of what just occurred hadn’t hit him yet. He was too tired to be furious. But he had a feeling it would register any minute.

Pushing away from the wall, he adjusted his tuxedo jacket. “No point standing around licking my wounds. There are things to be done.”

“Shall I inform the guests, sir?”

“What?” Niko frowned, surprised by the question. “Of course not.”

“But, sir—”

“Charles,” he cut in, not planning to discuss whose job it was to inform his friends that his wedding had been canceled by his fiancée. “While I’m giving the bad news to my guests, get that woman’s phone number.”

“You want me to call your fiancée at her hotel?” He sounded worried.

Niko reached the doors to his office and turned back. His brain was starting to record the significance of what happened, and his gut began to burn. He’d been discarded like an old pair of shoes, on his wedding day. People had come from all over the world to attend the festivities. Royalty, political heads of state, even a smattering of Hollywood glitterati. Five hundred guests cooled their heels in a ballroom fifty floors below, while his personal future and his pride were being kicked in the teeth by a wisp of a woman from Kansas—of all places! And now, here he stood, looking like a blasted head waiter who’d just lost his job!

“Damn straight I want you to call my fiancée at her hotel.” He turned to go, then stopped to look back. “Rather my ex-fiancée.”

“What do you want me to say, sir?”

“Don’t worry, Charles. I’ll tell you what to say when I return.” He stalked out the door. His head pounded as his travel-weary brain finally grasped the ugly extent of his predicament—humiliation on a global scale. He jabbed the elevator button to take him down to where the stately breakfast was about to begin. In mere moments he would face the most humbling, emasculating situation he could imagine. In a very public, very costly venue, he would be compelled to admit that, on the threshold of their wedding, his bride-to-be discovered she couldn’t bring herself to marry him.

He stared at the elevator door, wondering if he punched it whether his fist would leave its impression. He shook his head, running an agitated hand through his hair. It would be stupid to break his knuckles simply because some little Kansas hayseed got cold feet. He jabbed the elevator button again, a rush of self-contempt washing over him.

He—Nikolos Varos—who’d always been so condescending of his friends’ broken marriages, scornful of how they hadn’t been able to keep their families together. Nothing like that would happen to him, he’d thought. He was superior, above the fray. Even his parents hadn’t been able to hold their love match together. But he would. He could. “But look at you,” he grumbled, “Mr. Above-The-Fray can’t even get a countrified bumpkin to walk down the aisle.”

After years of listening to his parents arguments, and hearing his friends whimper, brokenhearted over women, he’d decided the old ways were better—to marry based on logic, common values and beliefs.

His brain taunted him with echoes of Kalli’s blunt, hurried rejection and he gritted his teeth. His grandfather, Dionysus, had blathered on about the Angelis family for what seemed like forever. About how, at the age of twelve, Dion had saved Christos Angelis from drowning in a fishing accident. They’d been best friends ever since, and had vowed to join the two families. At first the idea of marrying some stranger from Kansas had only made Niko laugh, but he’d been handed her picture and found her appealing—at least, physically.

Though she wasn’t a classic beauty, she had a lot of dark, shiny hair, large, lavender eyes and a strangely haunting smile. He had to admit, her picture was hardly a negative factor in his tally. Also on the plus side, the Varos family and the Angelis family came from the town of Kouteopothi, in Greece. They had common roots, held common beliefs, traditions. Most importantly, the families were bound by an all-consuming longing between two elderly gentlemen to see an old promise kept.

It hadn’t taken as much soul-searching as Niko believed it would to warm to the prospect. Being a man who put great stock in logic and order, he finally bowed to his grandfather’s coaxing.

Business had kept him away from the States, and he’d had to put off, then ultimately cancel, several planned meetings with Kalli. Still, that didn’t mean he hadn’t grown accustomed to the idea of marriage to her. He’d given her a very fair settlement in their prenuptial agreement. Damn it, he’d even changed his will!

And little Miss Hayloft blithely skips into his office on their wedding day and hacks his well-ordered plans to shreds. His anger surged. Not a man to make weak or empty threats, he growled, “Miss Kalli Angelis, you won’t get away with this.” The elevator doors whooshed open and he stepped inside.

“I won’t need much time,” he pledged, as he formulated his vendetta. “Three weeks will do.”

The elevator doors slid shut and Nikolos Varos began his descent.

Kalli didn’t want to think about anything right now, not the look on her ex-fiancé’s face when she told him she couldn’t marry him, not the fact that she had a long, dreary day ahead of her, trying to get back to Kansas City. And she definitely didn’t want to dwell on how best to pack one, unused wedding dress.

What was she going to do with it once she got it home, sell it? She and her mother had spent hours sewing hundreds of beads on the lace bodice and sleeves, beads from dozens of faux pearl necklaces they’d scrounged from garage sales. She peered at the white confection and experienced a self-condemning twinge. All that time and effort had been such a harebrained waste. An arranged marriage, for goodness’ sake! Had she gone temporarily insane?

Expelling a resigned sigh, she rolled up the dress and shoved it into the suitcase.

Mashing down on the hastily deposited clothes, she struggled with the suitcase zipper. “Do not feel sorry for yourself, Kalli Angelis!” She sniffed. “You weren’t in love with the man. You’d only seen one old snapshot of him—when he was seventeen, yet!” She had to admit the grown man in the office didn’t look much like the picture her grandpa had carried around in his wallet all those years.

According to Grandpa Chris, Nikolos had visited family in Kouteopothi—or as she laughingly translated it, “Crooked Foot”—the summer before her grandfather came to live with Kalli and her mother, Zoe. “Maybe the smile made all the difference,” she mumbled. He definitely did not smile this morning when she’d barged into his office.

He seemed so pale and stiff. Not the image her grandpa had given. He’d said Niko was athletic and fun-loving, always laughing. Maybe over the years the business of international finance had sucked the fun and spontaneity out of him.

“Besides,” she gritted out, yanking on the suitcase zipper. “Just because Grandpa Chris raved about how wonderful he was doesn’t mean he would have made a good match for me. Money and position aren’t everything.”

With a hearty jerk, she coerced the suitcase into zipping shut and hefted it off the bed. The phone rang, startling her so badly she dropped the bag on her foot.

“Ouch!” Making a pained face at the telephone, she wondered who would be calling. Her mother? Who else? “Except maybe Mr. Varos,” she muttered, “deciding he needs to take a shot at me before I get out of town.”

Limping to the phone, she promised herself if it was Mr. Varos bent on his verbal pound of flesh, she could hang up. Another spineless act, but right now she had her own traumas to deal with. His would have to wait.

“Hello,” she said. “Mama?”

There was a pause, then, “No.”

She knew immediately who the voice belonged to. The subdued monosyllable could only have been stated by the starched, bloodless man she’d so recently jilted. “Oh—Mr. Varos.” She swallowed. “I—I really can’t talk now. I have to catch my flight.” That wasn’t totally accurate. She had standby status. All flights that would eventually get her to Kansas City were full. But he didn’t need to know that.

“This will only take a moment.”

She closed her eyes and sank to the mattress. “Oh?” Her life flashed before her eyes. There could be nothing more ominous than the sound of a perfectly calm voice when you know you deserve reaming out. All that solid, well-thought out logic going into an argument would be hard to debate.

On the other hand, Mr. Varos would discover her half of the “debate” would consist of banging the receiver in his ear. She tensed, ready to slam it down. “How may I help you?” She cringed the instant the words were out of her mouth. Why don’t you just hand him a knife? she scolded inwardly. You all but prodded him into saying, “You can take a nosedive off a cliff, thank you very much!”

“Since you are by profession a Historical Reconstruction Consultant, I would appreciate it if you’d remain in California for three weeks, stay at the recently purchased Victorian estate that would have been your home—to use your expertise in making it a showplace. As you know, that refurbishing project was part of the marriage agreement.” Kalli sat up, not believing what she was hearing. “The mansion must be renovated for an important gathering in six months, so time is of the essence.”

She shook her head in disbelief. He was a cool customer. She’d expected almost anything but this. He talked like a hotel concierge, making her the offer without a speck of anger or the hint of ruffled feathers. Of course business deals weren’t usually fraught with emotion. How silly of her to have worried that her last-minute rejection would offend him.

Ha! Mr. Ice-Water-For-Blood-Banker was not only not angry, he was offering her a plum assignment. One of the reasons she’d agreed to the marriage, besides her desire to please her grandfather, had been the fact that Mr. Varos was an influential man with high-level connections.

Time and again as the wedding day approached, she’d told herself Mr. Varos would gain the wife-slash-hostess and two offspring he’d stipulated, and she would get a huge boost for her professional life. Logic had been her watchword, since soft emotions were not a part of the equation. She had reasoned turning the Varos mansion into a showplace would make her career, with her work depicted in slick, respected magazines such as Architectural Digest. Why should he be the only one to get everything he wanted out of the marriage? If he could have a career and children, why couldn’t she?

“Miss Angelis?”

His solemn voice snapped her out of her stunned musings. “Oh—yes. I’m here.”

“What do you say?”

She couldn’t imagine that he would even ask, so the idea of accepting had never entered her mind. It was too fantastic. Jilting a man, then an hour later, having that same man offer her a spectacular job. “But—that’s very—are you sure?”

“As you stated, Miss Angelis, you only have a minute. May I have your answer?”

Kalli was torn. Even pausing to consider such an offer was a blatant indication she wasn’t paddling with all her oars. She sucked in a trembly breath. Her conscience was killing her over breaking her marriage promise. The fact that he would request that she do the work on his home after her abrupt rejection was amazingly tolerant. Did she dare contemplate it? Did she dare refuse? How many Kansas City historical reconstruction consultants got a shot at being featured in Architectural Digest?

“Are you there?”

Fumbling with the phone, she jerked out of her stupor. “Oh—yes—I’m here.” She had a thought and had to voice it. “It’s kind of you to offer me the job, considering—everything. Actually, that’s a concern—”

“If I’m there at all, Miss Angelis,” he cut in, “it won’t be to see you, and any visit will be brief.”

How did he know that’s what she’d been about to ask? Did he read minds? Besides being tolerant he was intuitive. “Well—” She could feel herself wavering, weakening. If breaking her word didn’t bother him, then who was she to deny herself this chance? “Naturally I’ll need to be in Kansas City for my grandfather’s—” Her voice wavered and she cleared her throat. Her loss was still too new and raw.

“Naturally,” he said. “I trust a week in Kansas should be sufficient. Notify me of your flight schedule. Someone will meet you at the airport.”

The phone went dead. After several seconds of absorbing the dial tone, Kalli realized he’d hung up, evidently concluding the deal was made.

Her head swam and she felt dazed, but she supposed he was correct. She hadn’t said no. Planning the refurbishing of the Varos mansion would be good for both of them, really. Doing the job for him would help ease her angst over jilting him, not to mention it would double his property’s value. Besides, all that exacting work would keep her mind occupied, so she wouldn’t dwell on the empty hole in her heart left by her grandfather’s passing.

“Uh—okay,” she mumbled belatedly, lowering the receiver to its cradle. “I’ll see you in a week, Mr. Varos.”

She slumped there, staring at nothing for a long time. This had been a terrible, emotion-battering wedding day, full of grief and guilt. She’d acted like a mealymouthed double-crosser. Never in her life had she behaved so badly, and she was thoroughly ashamed. It seemed to go against nature that she should be rewarded by the very person she’d wronged.

At least, in her mind, she’d wronged him. To hear Mr. Varos’s voice, you’d think this was just another day in his life, filled with endless columns of credits and debits. To Nikolos Varos, being tossed over by Kalli Angelis was obviously nothing more than a huge yawn.

She shook herself and straightened. Right now she didn’t have the mental strength to be either puzzled or shocked by his indifference. She pushed off the bed and grabbed her suitcase. It was time to go home, comfort her mother and bid her beloved grandfather goodbye.

Kalli hurried from the hotel room, fighting a niggling unease.

Niko tugged the knit shirt on over his head and caught sight of himself in his office’s bathroom mirror. Now that he’d shucked the tux, he might be dressed more comfortably, but his expression didn’t exhibit any emotional comfort. He was so irate he was surprised smoke didn’t billow from his ears.

As he reentered his office Charles hung up his telephone and rose from his leather chair.

“When is she coming?”

Charles turned, his expression solemn. “Next week. I said someone would pick her up at the airport, as you instructed.” His perusal dropped to the desk and he began to straighten papers, clearly agitated. “How did you know she would accept, sir?” he asked, with a quick peek.

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.”