The Greek Billionaire's Counterfeit Bride (3 page)

Eva turned her attention to the open house attendees; she considered each one of the men and women who’d come to the apartment, sizing them up.
He’s cheating on her. She knows, but doesn’t care as long as he doesn’t drag the family name into the mud…he’s a hopeless bachelor type, looking for a getaway place to take women that isn’t actually his home. She’s looking for an investment property; the other woman is looking at this place to host parties at.
Little details suggested a backstory, a context for each person’s presence in the apartment.

Eva’s gaze came to a stop on a tall, lean man with sun-bronzed skin, wearing a sharply tailored suit. His dark hair was brushed back from his forehead, his dark eyes gleamed. He was—Eva had to admit—almost stunningly handsome. “This place is completely ideal,” the man was saying to the real estate agent standing next to the fireplace. Eva hung back a little bit, fascinated by the conversation. “I’m absolutely in love with it—the perfect place for what I have in mind,” the man continued. Eva detected a faint accent in his words, though she couldn’t quite place it.
European, for sure—by his clothes and demeanor.
The man seemed oddly familiar; Eva wracked her brain for a moment, attempting to place him.

Turning away, she paid attention to the other prospective buyers, thinking in terms of which of the “games” she had taught herself over the years she could pull on which of the people. The straying husband would be easy: she’d set him up for blackmail after she found him on one of the hookup apps. The bachelor would be susceptible to a luxury goods scam—maybe jewelry, maybe gold. Eva carefully kept up the slowly meandering walk that would make her look like an interested potential client, leaving the living room for the kitchen, taking in the restaurant-grade appliances and polished stone countertops.

God, this place is amazing,
she thought, her breath almost catching in her throat at the sight of gleaming wood and polished metal. The place was so beautiful, so comfortable and soothing, that Eva couldn’t resist picturing herself cooking in the kitchen, lounging in the living room, eating breakfast on the patio. She sighed, estimating the cost of the apartment as she let her fingertips play along a silky-soft chair back.
Probably several million—at least five million, probably more like ten.
Eva went back to the refreshment table for a glass of water and then walked towards the master bedroom.

There she found the tall, lean man from before. He was on his phone, speaking in his accented voice to someone about the prospect of the apartment. Eva tried to ignore him, but as she looked over the burnished walnut dresser and tables and the four-poster king size bed, his words impinged on her thoughts. “Yes—I am sure this is the one. I’ll make an offer tonight. She’s going for ten million, but I think she’ll take eight.” She saw him tense, and started to turn away to avoid his notice; the next moment the man faced her. Eva saw his quick, appraising look as his gaze traveled from her face to her feet. “Excuse me,” he said to whoever he was speaking to on the phone. The man stepped towards her, extending a hand with an empty champagne flute. “Could I get a refill please?” Eva’s eyes widened and she stared at him in shock.

“Excuse me?” Eva felt the anger rising up inside of her.
How dare he assume I’m one of the help? I’m not even wearing the uniform! Asshole.

“A refill?” The man waggled the flute slightly, his voice rippling with his accent—on further exposure, Eva thought it must be Greek. “The Saint-Domaine,” he specified. Eva’s anger intensified; not only had he assumed she was a waiter, but even when she’d gently corrected him, he’d continued in his assumption. She felt the urge to scream at him flit through her brain and pushed it down; causing a scene would only risk revealing her.

“I’m not a server, asshole,” Eva told him instead, keeping her voice carefully under control. She turned to leave the room, ready to mingle with some of the other guests at the event and maybe get a few phone numbers.

From behind her, she heard the man return to his conversation on his phone. “Oh—that was nothing,” he said, his voice amused. “Just some faker, sneaking around the open house.”

The fact that the man was right about her didn’t put a dent in the anger that rose up afresh in Eva’s body.
Asshole! I’ll show him…somehow.
She glanced around the living room, any thought of starting up a con on one of the other guests abandoned in the need for revenge. Her trailing gaze landed on the realtor, answering questions from one of the other prospects. She thought about the conversation she’d heard the man in the bedroom having; he was going to make an offer on the apartment.

Eva sidled up to the realtor as unobtrusively as possible, sipping her water and looking around at the living room admiringly. The prospect wandered away and Eva took his place, smiling broadly. “This whole apartment is so charming,” she said, looking around. “I think it’s perfect for what I need.”

“I’m so pleased to hear that!” the realtor stepped closer to her. “To tell the truth, there’s been a lot of interest—this is shaping up into a competitive listing. I just received an offer, in fact.”

“Oh, I absolutely believe it,” Eva said, nodding with a conspiratorial raise of her eyebrows. “Between you and me, I think I would be comfortable going as high as…say…nine million?”

“The listing value is ten,” the realtor said gently. Eva sighed, looking around again.

“Hmm,” Eva said, pretending to consider. “I thought I heard you mention the appliances in the kitchen were recently replaced?”

“Oh, yes,” the realtor said, nodding. “Restaurant-grade, brand new.” Eva pressed her lips together, nodding again.

She saw the man emerge from the bedroom. “I think I could go for nine-five,” Eva told the realtor with a wheedling voice. “I mean, it’s a beautiful place but I will want to make a few adjustments of my own.”

“Nine five?” The man from the bedroom moved closer to her and the realtor. “I thought the listed value of this place was ten million.”

“It is,” the realtor agreed. “Although of course, there have been more than one or two offers so far…” she gave the man a significant look.

“I’m thinking that ten sounds reasonable indeed,” the man said, glancing at Eva. Eva frowned, remembering that he thought—rightly—that she was a fake.
Prove him wrong, even if he
is
right,
she thought.

“Well, now that you mention it, that view is priceless,” Eva said, smiling tightly. “Thinking about it a little more, considering the demand I’d say that eleven seems more appropriate to such a great place.”

“Eleven?” the Greek man looked at the fireplace, at the windows. “I could picture myself here, relaxing for once in my life.” He turned his attention back onto the agent, his face set in angry lines. “Twelve-five.”

“Twelve million five hundred thousand?” Before the realtor could say anything more, Eva spoke up again.

“Really, I think I must have
underestimated
the value of this unit,” she said sharply. She scowled at the Greek for an instant. “Fifteen million wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility.”

The Greek’s expression shifted from angry to amused. “Fifteen million,” he said, looking her up and down once again. “I’m surprised you’re not drinking champagne, a woman of your caliber.” He turned back to the realtor. “Seventeen million, I think.”

“Seventeen million?” the realtor looked stunned and confused. She glanced from Eva to the Greek man and back. “Is there—do the two of you know each other?”

“Twenty million,” Eva said. She looked at the Greek and then gave the realtor a little grin. “We don’t know each other, though I think under better circumstances we might get along well.”

“I’d be inclined to agree,” the Greek said. “Twenty-five million—provided I could get a few alterations from the seller before I move in.”

“Thirty million,” Eva countered. “I can fund my own alterations; one of my cousins can provide the best contractors for it.” She looked at the Greek man and raised an eyebrow challengingly. He sighed, shaking his head.

“Forty million,” the man said. “Some things are worth the extra money.” He smirked at her, and Eva took a deep breath.

“Sixty million,” she countered. “Since some things are worth it.” She finished her glass of water and set it aside.

“Seventy-five million,” the Greek told the realtor, who continued to stare in shock.

“This—this is beyond what I could have expected,” she said, smiling in a dazed way.

“One hundred million,” Eva suggested. “I’m sure this place will only meet and exceed that value—and it’s important to know the value of things.” She looked at the Greek man significantly.

“If you want it so badly, I will have to do the gentlemanly thing and back off,” he said, nodding towards her. He set his champagne flute down on the mantel and inclined his head at the realtor. “You’ve had a lucky night this evening.” Eva’s heart raced and then stuttered in her chest as she watched the man leave.
Oh god. Oh god.
The enormity of what had just happened filtered through her brain; she had made an offer of a hundred million dollars that she didn’t have. The temptation to call out to the man as he made his way out of the living room rose up in her and Eva swallowed against the tight, dry feeling in her throat.
You can fix this. You can get out of this. You’ve gotten out of worse.

Chapter Three

The rest of the guests had begun to filter out of the apartment during her bidding war with the Greek, and Eva’s panic deepened as the realtor’s attention came back to her again and again. The caterers and bartender packed up. “I’m so glad you love this apartment as much as I do,” the woman said, smiling broadly. “That was an exciting bit of play between you and Mr. Christodoulou.”

“It was exciting, all right,” Eva agreed, running the possibilities in her mind. “It’s been an eventful night for me.”

“I’m sure you’ll want to get back to wherever you’re staying, so if you’ll just bear with me through a few formalities, you’ll be the proud future owner of this beautiful home,” the realtor told her.

“You know—you’re right, I do want to get back to the hotel I’m staying in,” Eva said, swallowing down the fear that rose up in her throat. “If you’d like to give me your details, I can pass them on to my accountant and financial manager, and we can arrange everything within the next few days.”

“No time like the present,” the realtor insisted. “A good-faith deposit won’t take very long at all to take care of, and then you can rest easy tonight, knowing that no one will try to snatch this place out from under you.”

“Oh—oh, but do you really think that someone would want to offer more than a hundred million? The initial asking price was only ten. I’m pretty confident of my chances.” The realtor’s face hardened slightly.

“A ten percent deposit on your bid amount is, of course, only standard,” the realtor said, smiling tightly. “And that ten percent would cover the original listing value of the unit; you’d be in the clear, no matter who came along after.”

“I’d really rather get home,” Eva said, trying to look tired and confident all at once. “Besides—if I make large withdrawals without notifying my accountant, he gets angry with me.”

“If you can afford one hundred million, then I’m sure your accountant would expect a ten million dollar check,” the realtor insisted. Eva looked around; they were utterly alone in the apartment.

“Look,” Eva said, sighing. “I don’t have a hundred million dollars to spend on this place, and I don’t have ten million to give you on a deposit. I was—I was just trying to…” she shook her head. “It’s not important. Will you let me leave now?”

“Absolutely not!” The realtor glared at her, reaching into her pocket and quickly taking her phone out. “You’ve cost my firm tens of millions of dollars with your little prank.”

“I’m sure someone will be happy to buy the unit,” Eva said, her heart beating faster in her chest. “I mean, obviously it was good enough that someone was willing to wager tens of millions.”

“Come in,” the realtor said into her phone. In an instant, one of the guards from the corridor came through the door to the apartment. The realtor ended the call and dialed another number. “Yes? I need the police to come and arrest a
thief
.” The realtor continued to glare at Eva, all of her pleasant, chirpy demeanor gone.

“A thief?” Eva’s sense of pride stirred up. “I am
not
a thief.” The realtor provided the address and ended the call.

“You’re going to stay right here and we’re going to wait for the police to arrive. Alex?” The guard poked his head out through the door and made some comment to the other guards. Alex came deeper into the room and herded Eva towards the couch, looking more broad and muscular than he had in the hallway.

The minutes passed in an agony of expectation for Eva; the realtor made another call, reporting to some superior about the open house and saying that there had been a situation, but she had it under control. After what felt like an eternity, Eva heard the knock at the door. A few seconds later, a pair of police officers came into the living room, looking stern. “We got a report of a theft?”

“Yes!” The realtor advanced on the police; if Eva had thought for a moment that the woman had lost some of her righteous fury in the wait for the officers, she had been mistaken. “This woman is a thief—she’s stolen millions of dollars from my company.”

“I haven’t stolen anything!” Eva stood, ignoring the portentous look from the guard at her side. “She was holding an open house; I got into a bidding war with another guest here, but…” Eva swallowed. “I don’t actually…have the money that I bid on this property.” The cops looked at each other, and Eva considered the possibility of flirting with one or both of them.
Too risky. The one on the left has a wedding band; if he’s happy with his wife he won’t even respond—might even get offended.

“Identification, please,” the non-married officer stepped forward. Eva reached into her purse and took her wallet out, finding the pocket with her ID in it. She slid the plastic card out and handed it over to the man.

“Eva Johansen,” the man read. “Write that down on the incident report, Fred.”

“Got it,” Fred—the married officer said.

“I swear,” Eva told them both, ignoring the realtor for the moment, “I never presented any kind of fraudulent credentials; I just got into the open house on my own and looked around, and then got into a bidding war. I didn’t expect the guy to back off.”

“Is this what happened?” The officers both looked at the realtor.

“Yes, but that doesn’t make it any less of a theft,” the woman said angrily. “I have lost out on a contract because I took her bids at face value!”

“Did she sign a contract?” the married officer glanced from the realtor to Eva.

“Well—no,” the realtor admitted. “But she presented herself fraudulently!”

“She played a game with you,” the non-married cop said with a shrug. “Technically what she did wasn’t a crime; she didn’t sign a contract or actually steal anything.”

“But—but…” the realtor looked as though she might throw herself at the cops, or maybe at Eva, and Eva stood as steadily as possible, almost hoping the woman would assault her; she could take a punch, and if the woman struck a blow, the cops would cart her off instead. “But she committed fraud!”

“Did you ask her for identification?” the realtor shook her head. “Did she present credentials of any kind? Or write some check with a fake name?” The realtor shook her head again.

The married cop sighed. “It sucks, but she is technically not guilty of any crime that we can charge her with,” he said. “You should have vetted her more carefully.”

“This is bullshit!” the realtor turned away from the police and looked at Eva, her bright eyes glittering with anger. “You can be absolutely sure that my people will track you down and you will be in the hole for as much money as I can make you pay.” The woman shook her head. “You’ll be hearing from a process server.”

Eva’s heart pounded in her chest, and her blood roared in her ears. The realtor began gathering up her things and speaking with the police officers, demanding the report that they were writing, demanding Eva’s contact information from her ID. Eva took her license back from the officer and shoved it into her wallet and then into her purse, looking around the room. She had to get out of the apartment; she couldn’t risk the possibility of the woman finding something to accuse her of that the police would be able to charge her with. She spotted a business card on the mantelpiece.
Ari Christodoulou
. Eva’s eyes widened and she looked to make sure that the realtor was still occupied in her tirade. She reached up and snatched the card off of the mantelpiece, slipping it into her purse next to her wallet.

“If that’s all, officers?” the two cops glanced at her and nodded curtly, and Eva let the married officer hold the realtor back as she darted past the group, opening the door with fumbling hands. She plunged into the hallway and followed the corridor to the elevator, shaking her head at the bizarre turn the evening had taken. First she’d been fired, then she’d gone to an expensive open house, and now she had narrowly escaped arrest, and might not escape a lawsuit.
God, my stupid, big mouth,
she thought as she waited for the elevator to arrive. Eva glanced over her shoulder, worried that she’d have to share the car with either the police or the realtor—but she hoped that the cops would give her the courtesy of the chance to get away from the volatile woman before they let her go.

The elevator pinged and Eva stepped through the opening doors, pounding the button for the bottom floor.
How am I going to get out of this? What am I going to do?
Eva knew that she would figure something out—she always seemed to, when the situation came down to the brass tacks—but for the moment she could only curse herself for having gotten in over her head once more, and for the fact that she’d become so wrapped up in the flirtatious revenge.

Eva rode the elevator down, reviewing the previous hour in her mind. She sighed, realizing that she’d done the same thing that had always gotten her into trouble in the past. The image of the Greek man’s face flitted through her mind; he had been so handsome, so striking, and so infuriating that she hadn’t been able to help herself. One of her friends—or what had passed for a friend when she’d been in the game—had told her more than once, “Eva, your temper is going to get you in trouble one of these days. You can’t let it stick to you—you have to let it slide off your back.” She had gotten better at it over the past year; the call center work had helped her, at least a little bit, in keeping her tongue still when it felt sharpest. But something about the man’s only-too-true assessment of her had rankled. Eva had known full well that he was right; she should have just left, and salvaged the opportunity she’d snatched at by looking into scamming one or two of the prospects the realtor had attracted. Instead, she’d let her temper get the better of her, once again.

Eva stepped off of the elevator on the ground floor; unlike her first attempt to leave the building, she put one foot in front of the other, and continued straight to the exit, unwilling to dawdle lest she somehow run into the realtor or the police on their own way out of the building. She knew she had to do something.