A Perfect Man: International Billionaires IV: The Greeks (5 page)

This was a floor-to-ceiling splash of life and color, filled with green reeds and palms. A sparkling brook dropped into a little pond surrounded by leafy wisteria and grass. The tank wrapped around one wall of the room and half of another.

“Birds.” She stared at a gaggle of golden finches.

“I’ve chosen white.” The clink of a bottle on crystal drifted across the room. “Come and eat.”

Glancing down, she gaped. “There’s a turtle.”

“There are actually two.”

The pond burbled, moss-covered rocks circling the water. She couldn’t see into the water, yet she saw the movement of something deep below. “There are fish?”

“Yes.”

Right before her eyes, a little brown frog hopped out of the weeds encircling the pond and onto a rock. His bulging eyes looked right at her. “A frog.”

“Sophia.” His voice was arctic. “Your food is getting cold.”

H
e was getting hot
.

The woman had her butt high in the air as she peered down. He didn’t appreciate the old pair of jeans with the whitened patches showing wear. He didn’t like the fact that his gaze had become stuck on the rounded contour of her ass. And he specifically didn’t enjoy the realization he’d become semi-hard.

Yanking his chair out, he sat.

He was a leg man.

He’d always liked the long-legged beauties with their narrow hips and thin thighs. He enjoyed the way they moved, so elegantly and smoothly. He especially appreciated how they matched his height, fit into his kiss and his arms.

“There are two frogs.” The irritating woman leaned over even farther, emphasizing the pert curve of each cheek, the classic form of a heart-shaped female rear.

“Sophia.”

She sprung around to face him. Once again, he noticed how completely wrong that purple sweater was for her coloring. The abomination leached her skin and made her appear faintly ill. Yet the sparkle in her brown eyes told him she was nothing of the sort. “I can’t believe this is here.”

“Why not?” He discarded the manners his
maman
had trained him in. Instead of waiting for the lady to sit, he grabbed his spoon and dug into the food.

“It’s…it’s…” She stumbled to a stop, her little pucker mouth puckering. “Not you.”

Alex had no idea what she meant and didn’t much care. He’d put the terrarium in his design because he liked the contrast with the simplicity of the rest of the house. Nothing more, nothing less. He gestured to her bowl. “Come and eat.”

The quizzical look stayed on her face as she walked to the table and sat down. Sticking her fork into his creation, she brought it to her mouth. She should be using a spoon, but he was too tired to point the fact out.

Her eyes popped wide and a low hum came from her throat.

“Good, huh?”

She shot him one of her annoyed glares, still, she did take another bite. He sipped the chardonnay, letting the blend of oak and butter tones roll in his mouth as his muscles relaxed. His day had been filled with long meetings going through the last of the drawings on the Khani building as well as buttoning down the investors for a new skyscraper in Shanghai. He’d taken two minutes to pull Henry aside and give him the news.

“Sophie?” Henry’s voice had risen as well as his eyebrows. “That was fast.”

“I thought you’d be pleased.” His shoulder muscles tensed as he noted his best friend’s dubious reaction. “This will seal the deal in Paris.”

His partner stared at him, a slight frown curling his brow. “Ah, sure.”

“Sophia will be with us.” He didn’t think much of her, but everyone else who met her thought she was just about perfect. “She’s agreed to come along.”

“During the busiest part of her business year?”

Henry had eventually acknowledged the timing was great, yet his question had lingered in Alex’s brain the rest of the afternoon. He hadn’t thought about her business when he’d concocted his scheme and he’d tried to convince himself for the last six hours that it made no difference.

But it did.

“You’re ready to go to Paris in three weeks?” His words came out far harsher than he’d have liked because he sensed the guilt simmering below.

Her eyes lit with eagerness. “Oh, yes. I can’t wait.”

“Won’t this cut into…” He stopped before he showed his concern, but the woman clued in immediately.

“Don’t worry.” She took a gulp of wine, her unpainted lips pursing, pale pink on the crystal. “I’m going to hire another assistant and I’m sure Tamika can run the show for a few days. Plus, I talked to my producer today and she’s ecstatic.”

Exactly like most of the conversations he’d ever had with this woman, he felt adrift. “She’s ecstatic about your engagement?”

Another annoyed glance came his way. “No, Freddie’s excited about filming in Paris.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to a film crew.”

“They aren’t coming along to film
you
.” Her tone turned acid. “We’re going to arrange a series of meetings with the best pastry chefs in Paris and film
them.
”

“You’ll be busy.” The urge to put his foot down rose inside. This trip wasn’t supposed to be a fun time for Ms. Feuer. She was supposed to suffer. “The purpose of going to Paris is to make my endeavor a success. Not yours.”

“I’m always busy so don’t get your panties in a knot. I can handle your stuff and mine.” She dismissed his concern and his hard look without blinking an eye. “I’ve dreamed of going to Paris and you aren’t going to mess around with that dream.”

“You’re going there on my dime.”

“True.” A sly grin slipped across her mouth. “Which makes it all the more delicious.”

His usual anger towards this woman surged. Twisting his revenge into a benefit for herself shouldn’t have surprised him. Yet it did. However, before he reacted, he sipped his wine and thought. Begrudging her this wouldn’t give him much of anything. Perhaps it would sweeten her disposition enough she wouldn’t spend her entire time using that sharp tongue on him. “I’ll require you to attend every one of the banquets the emir throws. Still, most of them will be at night.”

“Require.” Her dark eyes flickered with rage. “Lovely.”

He curbed a satisfied smile and put on a thoughtful look. “I suppose I can allow you the time off.”

“Allow.” Predictably, her voice tightened in anger. “You are such a sweet guy.”

“I am that and much more.” He finished his meal and eased back in his chair, wine glass in hand. “Which is why we’re having this pleasant dinner tonight. I know everything about you. Now it’s time you know more about me.”

“You know everything about me.” Her freckled hand tightened on the fork. “Really.”

“I had a thorough background check done.” He took a sip of wine, noting that she stared at the fork as if wishing for a knife. “And I know your best friend. She talked about you often.”

“That must have been delightful for you.”

“No, but it did provide valuable information.”

Sophia gave him a deadly stare. “Okay, hotshot. Tell me all about myself.”

“Not needed.” He gave her back a smile. “What’s needed is for you to know more about me.”

“I know everything I need to know.”

“Doubtful.” By the look in her eyes, she was going to launch into a litany of his faults. He’d had too long of a day to put up with that.

“I know that—”

“Sophia. Please.” He made his voice ooze with condescension and hauteur before sipping his wine again. Then he added another touch purely to aggravate her even more. “Hush.”

For a moment, he was sure her half-filled bowl of food would land on his head, but she abruptly quieted. Dipping her fork into the stir-fry, she kept her gaze down. “Go ahead. I’m all ears.”

What was the imp planning? He knew this woman. She wouldn’t be submissive without a plot to stick the knife in somewhere. A strand of disappointment slunk through him as he realized she had decided to dismiss their battle for now instead of fighting on.

He’d been enjoying himself.

The thought unsettled him enough to stir the usual anger against this woman. “The most important thing you need to know for now is that I have four sisters.”

“I know that.” She slurped her wine, and once more, his attention got snagged by her mouth. “Mel told me.”

“Two older and two younger.” He loosened his tie because it felt too tight all of a sudden. “They’ll all be at the ball.”

“Okie doke.” She didn’t appear fazed. His other girlfriends, even Melanie, had been a bit intimidated at all the females in his life.

“They won’t like you.”

“Are you sure?” Her brown eyes lit with unholy glee. “Because ouch. That would be horrible for you if your sisters and I became best buddies.”

“It’s not going to happen.” His sisters would take one look at this woman and question his sanity. “You’ll have to convince them you’ve fallen in love with me. They’ll have to be satisfied with that.”

She ate the last of her stir-fry and picked up her wine. “I’m sure it will work out fine.”

She’d come around so quickly and thoroughly, Alex found himself suddenly suspicious. “You’ve told your friends about this engagement, right?”

“You mean Mel?” Her eyes narrowed, calling his attention to her long, dark lashes. “In one word, yes.”

“And everything—”

“She’s very happy she’s not your fiancée anymore.”

His jaw tightened. “You didn’t tell her the real—”

“No.” Slugging down the rest of the wine, a wine he’d carefully chosen when he’d last been in the south of France, she slammed the empty glass on the table. “I lied to her and all my other friends, too.”

A stiff shot of guilt sparked through him, but he ignored it. Ms. Feuer had planted herself in this situation and he was merely paying her back. “I hope you did an effective job.”

“Oh, yes.” Her eyes sparkled with fury. “They are amazingly happy for me.”

He let the grin spread across his face and she behaved in her typical pissed-off fashion. “Why wouldn’t they be? You’ve caught an amazing prize.”

She made that ugly sound again, deep in her throat. “Which begs the question that’s been roaming around in my brain since yesterday.”

“What’s that?”

“Why me?” she blurted. “I mean, you must have a list of women who’d love to be your fiancée.”

“Yes, that’s true.” When her tiny hands fisted on her lap, satisfaction swam through him. “Yet none of them suited.”

“I don’t get it.”

He wouldn’t make a promise to a woman and then break it. His conscience revolted at the thought of leading a woman on or paying her to play a part. Much better to strike a hard deal with a smart cookie. He slowly sipped the last of his wine and gently put the glass down. “Well, first. I had something to use as a prod.”

“As a threat, you mean.”

Ignoring her, he continued. “Second, I had a score to settle.”

She made that same unfeminine sound deep in her throat.

“And finally,” he rose and took the two bowls in his hands, “you fit the bill.”

S
ophie’s breath
frosted in the air as she walked away from the subway. The streets were comparatively quiet at four-fifteen a.m., making it her favorite time of day.

Usually.

Walking past the few straggling remnants of the late-night drinking crowd, she snuggled into her peacoat and took stock of what this particular day was going to give her.

Nothing but bad.

The day had started out bad and it was going to get worse.

The ring on her finger tightened along with her mouth. The ring he’d declared she needed to wear
all the time
, even as she baked. The ring he’d eyed over his coffee, making sure she had it on before she stormed through his ostentatious front door a half hour ago.

She’d expected some peace and quiet this morning. Instead, she’d found Alexander the Great perched on one of the steel stools in his kitchen, apparently waiting for her arrival.

“I’ll drive you to work,” he’d said, his hair slicked back in the usual ponytail, his suit impeccable.

She’d been a bit shocked at the almost gallant gesture, but his impossible perfection, compared to her usual messy self, trounced any feelings of charity. The gesture had to be an attempt to make her feel inadequate in the face of his brilliance.

She’d nailed him by stating she’d rather start the day without seeing his face.

Then he’d gotten all arrogant and snotty. She’d had to leave immediately before even drinking one cup of coffee or else she would have bopped him in the nose.

That was okay. She had coffee at the bakery. Plus, she’d squashed any further attempt by Mr. Gallantly Arrogant to run her day. Hopefully, he’d take the hint and not disturb her in the morning anymore.

“Wear the ring. All the time,” he’d snarled right before the door had slammed behind her.

She wasn’t going to comply with that particular demand. The last thing she wanted to show her assistants was the ring. Nope. As soon as she got into her office, this horrible ring was going right into that…that…

Unbelievably beautiful silver box.

An antique box with the words scrolled over the top in a lovely flourish.

Pour l’amour de l’amour.

She didn’t know a lot of French but being a pastry chef meant she knew enough.

For love’s sake
.

The box didn’t fit the man and didn’t fit the ring. The ring she was sure he’d purchased to impress.

Pour l’amour de l’amour
.

None of it fit. Including this stupid ring on her finger.

She sighed into the rough edge of her coat.

Having dinner alone with Alexander Stravoudas had led to another long night of thrashing around in bed without getting much sleep. At the rate she was going, hanging out with
him
was going to cause her to collapse with fatigue.

She could blame the unfamiliar size of the king-size bed compared to her own snug double. Or she could say that lying on the slinky silk sheets had caused her to worry about sliding off the bed into a heap on the stark gray carpet. Then there had been the preternatural silence of being on top of the world when she was used to the honking horns and loud voices of her own comfortably familiar street only one level below her bedroom window.

But to be truthful, none of those problems had been at the heart of her inability to sleep.

The problem had been
him
.

Walking over to concrete steps leading to her bakery, she stifled the urge to scream. This was her quiet time; her time to reflect and plan her day. This was the time when everyone else slept while she put her best ideas into practice. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about
him
.

Mulling over his ability to cook amazingly good food wasn’t on the agenda.

Wondering about what that incredible terrarium said about who he truly was shouldn’t be buzzing in her brain.

Remembering the image of his sexy butt wouldn’t help her forget about him completely for the rest of the day.

And reflecting over and over again on what he’d meant by
fitting the bill
wouldn’t do her a spot of good.

Add to everything else running around her head, she was now questioning all her assumptions about his stupid ring.

Screaming wouldn’t help.

Killing him would.

But she hadn’t been able to figure out a plan for that. Yet.

Yanking the steel door open, she slid inside, flicking the bright overhead lights on. The big room was quiet and hushed as if it waited for her arrival to come alive.

Sophie suddenly smiled. And remembered.

This was worth it. This bakery, this dream.

Even if she had to endure another hundred nights and mornings as bad as this past one, she’d still have this when his stupid deal had been completed.

She shook her coat off and hung it on the steel rack her dad had given her when she’d first moved into this building. Slipping on a clean apron, she walked into her office, determined to shake Alex Stravoudas from her mind. She clicked on her computer and the day’s list of orders flashed onto the screen, calling for her attention.

She’d begun her business a few months before graduating from the intensive six-month pastry and bakery program she’d signed on for right after getting her degree at Mercy College. Her tiny apartment’s little stove had pumped out hundreds of rolls and breads as she’d went on to serve a two-year apprenticeship with Jacques Boulanger at his famous shop, Korova Patisserie, in Soho.

Bread, she could do. She’d grown up with it.

Yet she’d always known pastry would be her calling card.

Slowly, she’d built a reputation with the small, family diners and then the ritzy ones. Instead of just buying her bread, a bread as good as her dad’s, they began to order a dozen of her fruit tarts. Then her city-famous caramel and chocolate éclairs. As fast as she learned her lessons with Jacques, she twisted the recipes and made them her own, much to her clients’ and Jacques’ delight. Eventually, she’d managed to sign deals with quite a few surrounding restaurants.

Then New York City’s most popular morning TV show had called.

Her mom hadn’t been happy about the show.

Her mom had dreamed of grandchildren.

Sophie figured kids were in the future—the far future. Right now, though, pastry was her perfect present.

Marching back into the main room, she turned on both mixers. She had two hours to get the brioche and scones done before Jorge came in to start the deliveries. Measuring the flour, eggs, and sugar into one spinning bowl and then the other, she began to hum.

Baking settled her like nothing else could.

Every bit of
him
slipped from her brain.

“Hey, Soph!” Tamika banged into the room, slamming the door behind her with a decisive clunk. The long white trails of her iPod earplugs hung from her ears and explained why she yelled her greeting.

“Hey, yourself.”

Her assistant’s dark eyes flashed with an excitement that was unusual. Tamika didn’t start all her engines until after her second cup of coffee. “What’s going on?”

Sophie’s humming stopped. “What?”

“There’s three guys standing outside in front of our door.” Her assistant rolled onto her toes as if about to take flight. “Paparazzi! At four in the morning!”

Tamika and Megan had become used to the occasional reporter after she’d joined the morning show. This level of excitement shouldn’t be happening.

I
’
ll send out a press release on our engagement so the news will hit the papers the morning after you move in.

“Oh. Crud.”

Tamika slung her coat off onto the rack and raced over to where Sophie stood. The mixers churned away, entirely forgotten. “Tell me. Because you wouldn’t believe what questions they were asking.”

“Well—”

The door blew open once more, bringing a flash, flash, flash of camera lights and a discordant mix of yelling. Her other assistant, Megan, blocked the growing crowd before banging the big door closed. Her eyes were wide and her red wool hat was askew. “What's going on?”

“This is very exciting.” Tamika pulled her phone from her jeans pocket and began texting.

“This is crazy.” Megan yanked off her hat and paced to the mixers, a frown of concern on her face. “They are saying…saying…” Her eyes dropped to Sophie’s left hand. “My God.”

The ring. The damn ring. She’d forgotten—

“Look, Tamika.” Before she could slip her hand behind her back, Megan latched onto it and yanked forward the damning evidence. “Sophie’s engaged.”

“Wait. What those reporters were shouting is true?” Her other assistant crowded around the other side of the mixer. “It’s beautiful, Soph.”

The ring was beautiful. She hated to admit that if only to herself, but it was beautiful. The center stone glowed—a golden fancy diamond. Around it wove a series of diamond studded petals, their gleaming, pure-white brilliance making the warmth of the center of the ring even more striking.

“I should take it off.” For good.

“If I had that on my finger,” Tamika kept staring, “there’d be no way I’d ever take it off.”

“I have to bake.” Sophie shook herself. This was her business. The business was most important—not standing around worshiping a ring.

Megan glanced up from the ring. “One of those reporters—”

“We all have to bake.” Tugging her hand out of the inspection zone, Sophie marched to the other mixer.

“Those reporters said you’re engaged to Alex Stravoudas.” Megan’s hushed voice filled the big room as if she were in a church.

“That’s what I heard, too.” Tamika’s usually booming voice turned faint. “I couldn’t believe it.”

She swiveled around and stared her assistants down. “I’m engaged. To Alexander Stravoudas. No big deal.”

Both sets of eyes staring at her widened.

Megan gulped. “This is a huge deal.”

“Yeah.” Tamika bobbed her head, her weaved ponytail bobbing. “Huge.”

“You said you didn’t like him, Soph.”

“Yes, well, things change.” She stared down into the mixer, monitoring the dough as it began to curl on the edges of the steel bowl. The memory of the last conversation she’d had about change came to her.

Anything can change. Quite quickly too. But you know that, don’t you, Sophia
?

She kept staring at the dough, willing her assistants to leave the topic alone. However, Tamika and Megan had worked with her for two years now, and any professional courtesy had fallen away after long, sweltering hours standing by the ovens.

“You are so lucky,” Megan crowed as she danced to Sophie’s side. “He’s so hot.”

“Girlfriend.” Tamika’s long arms wrapped around her and lifted her in the air as if she were a doll. “You have definitely hit the jackpot with Mr. Stravoudas.”

Crud. This was the exact same reaction her best friends had given her last night. If it weren’t so awful and horrible, it would be hilarious. “Put me down.”

“He’s beautiful,” Megan cooed, her hands clasped in front of her like she was a starving child gazing at a Christmas feast.

Tamika bounced around, ignoring Sophie’s demand. “He’s rich.”

“That’s not why I’m—”

“He was never the right one for that Melanie girlfriend of yours.” Tamika nodded her head, the iPod’s earplugs bopping in a white line along her neck.

“Well, that’s true—”

“I’ve read everything about him.” Her other assistant’s hands tightened, her eyes going dreamy. “He’s perfect.”

“He’s not perfect.” Anger and frustration rippled from the pit of her gut and filled her voice. Each word spit out of her mouth with fervor. “Put. Me. Down.”

Tamika stopped and peered into her face, her brown eyes puzzled. “Why aren’t you happy?”

“She has to be happy.” Megan came to stand next to them, her face equally quizzical. “She’s marrying the Perfect Man.”

“I’m happy, okay?” She squeezed the words from her mouth. “But our clients aren’t going to be if we don’t start baking.”

She got plopped on her feet. Finally.

“We’re so glad for you, Soph.”

“Yeah, we are.” Tamika looked like she was about to pat her employer on the head, something she’d done a time or two when Sophie had been mad about something.

She stepped back. “Time to bake.”

The next two hours went by at a quick clip, filled with the smell of yeast and butter and vanilla. Racks of her favorite lime and ginger scones slid from the hot ovens while dough for the cream chocolate tarts rolled out on the steel tables. She kept her mind on the baking, answering all the excited questions with short, prickly answers. By the time Jorge appeared at the door, her two assistants had quieted down to giving her an odd glance every once and awhile.

“Well, well, well.” The older man stomped into the room, closing the door behind him. For the moment the door stood open, surprisingly, there was no longer any cacophony of reporters yelling questions and clicking off photographs.

“Where did the reporters go?” Megan stopped pounding the dough, appearing to be ready to launch herself at the door.

“They’re still there.” He waved away the question. “Some guards are keeping them back.”

“Guards?” Sophie couldn’t help her curiosity.

“Guards. I’m figuring they weren’t hired by you, huh, Soph?” Jorge brandished his usual papers in front of him. “What’s going on with this?”

She went back to rolling out the dough, ignoring him as she’d ignored her assistants. Still, the fact
he’d
sent guards to protect her burbled deep inside.

“She’s engaged.” Megan piped in, excitement filling her voice once more.

Tamika’s broad smile came back on her face after disappearing in the last hour. “She’s marrying Alex—”

“Stravoudas.” He marched to the steel table and stared at her. “I thought you didn’t even like the guy.”

I don
’
t.
“I didn’t—”

“But he did say the other night you two were old friends.” The bald head cocked to the side.

“The other night?” Tamika pounced.

“He was here.” Jorge leaned on the table and finally smiled, pleased to have more gossip to share. “Two nights ago.”