The Greek Billionaire's Counterfeit Bride (4 page)

Chapter Four

The following afternoon, Eva sat down at her coffee table, reaching into her purse for the business card she had snagged from the mantel at the apartment. She opened up her laptop and waited for it to load. She glanced around the living room, comparing it with the penthouse she’d seen the night before with a sigh; in a certain sense, she almost wished—even above and beyond her altercation with the realtor—that she hadn’t even gone to the open house. All it seemed to have done was start trouble for her.

She turned her attention back onto her computer, unlocking the laptop and scrubbing at her face as she opened a browser window. Eva carefully typed the Greek man’s name into her search engine, checking the business card twice to make sure she was spelling it correctly.
Now, let’s see where I’ve seen him before.
Results came up quickly: a Wikipedia article, along with a long list of headlines. “Well apparently he’s at least somebody,” Eva said to herself, opening results in new tabs. A picture of Ari Christodoulou confirmed at least that the Greek had been who he said he was—something that Eva had, in the back of her mind, doubted.

She began to read, starting with the Wikipedia entry. Ari Christodoulou was apparently a very, very wealthy man indeed; he was worth billions, the son of wealthy parents who had come to America and expanded on the fortune they had given him. Most of the man’s obscene money had come from an international shipping concern that he’d built up in his twenties.
That answers why he would be able to bid tens of millions of dollars without batting an eyelash, but not why he looked so damn familiar.
Eva turned away from the Wikipedia information and pulled up the news items about the man.

A quick look at the headlines informed Eva that “news” about the man mostly centered on his social life; Ari Christodoulou was a person of interest to at least half a dozen tabloids, and as Eva read bits and pieces of the articles on him, it was easy to see why.
Billionaire Shipping Magnate Spotted Leaving Exclusive NY Club. Ari Christodoulou Seen with Rising Supermodel. Christodoulou Takes Out Fourth Girl in Two Months.

Eva grinned to herself; the headlines finally put the issue of the man’s familiarity into context. She had heard of him before, seen him in the gossip rags at the supermarket. He was clearly a well-known womanizer, rarely seen with the same date twice but often spotted at clubs, bars, and the most important parties in the city.

She delved deeper into her research, trying to think of a way to get in touch with the man. Eva skimmed articles about Christodoulou’s tumultuous, party-driven life, filing away names and references. She noticed that the most recent gossip stories about him had been a few months before, and wondered what had changed in the man’s life to make him decide to take a break.
Addiction? Heartbreak?
It was impossible to know and even more impossible not to wonder.

Eva scribbled a few references down on the pad she kept on her desk, thinking hard about the best way to go about what she wanted to do. She needed to talk to Christodoulou; that much was clear. He had wanted the apartment—and he might, possibly, be able to help her get out of trouble by buying it up, if she put it to him the right way. But the difficulty would be getting him to meet with her at all; not only had Eva not given her real name at the open house until the police had come, but even if she gave the name that Christodoulou would recognize, she didn’t doubt that he’d dismiss her and refuse to meet.

Eva used one of her favorite sites from her grifting days; one of Jared’s strong points as a criminal entrepreneur had been that he had no qualms about investing in the tools he and his people would need to get their intel taken care of. Her credentials still worked on the private investigator site that she’d learned how to use under Jared’s tutelage. She put in Christodoulou’s name and predictably a few details began to come up: who he had been seen with more frequently than once or twice, his preferred haunts, and even a few of the hotels that he had previously lived in for weeks or months at a time. “Hmmm.” She compared the list to the names she had scribbled down, and the tabloids she had read. There were a few women in Christodoulou’s life that he might be willing to meet with again.

She quickly narrowed down the list of possibilities; if she were going to pose as one of Christodoulou’s previous ladyloves, it would behoove her to pick one she could at least convincingly imitate for a few minutes over the phone.
Phone isn’t that hard. If I can get him to meet somewhere, it needs to be a place where he won’t want to make a scene.
A strategy began to come together in her mind and she found a few videos of interviews with one of his previous lovers.

It was almost six o’clock when she unplugged her phone from its charger and checked the number on Christodoulou’s business card one final time. Eva took a quick, deep breath and dialed.

“Hello? Who’s this?” Eva’s lips curled in a smile and she pitched her voice low, mimicking the woman she had decided to pretend to be.

“Really, Ari? You’ve lost my number so soon?” Eva let her voice ripple with the suggestion of a French accent.

“New phone,” Christodoulou said. “Who is this?”

“Laurette,” Eva said. “I still can’t believe you didn’t put my number into your phone.”

“Well, maybe there was a good reason,” Ari said, his voice amused. “You are trouble on two legs.”

“I’m trouble?” Eva laughed, keeping her voice pitched low. “I thought you were the one with the party on speed dial.”

“That might be true,” Christodoulou admitted. “I never expected I would hear from you.”

“Well, I’m in town,” Eva said. “Thought it might be nice to catch up. Besides, I have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?” Christodoulou clucked his tongue against his teeth for a moment. “Considering the day I’ve had, I can’t help but be intrigued. Are you free tonight?”

“As a bird,” Eva replied. “Where can we meet?”

“Let’s say…” Christodoulou seemed to consult something. “Mise en Place, in an hour. I’ll get us my usual table there, reserved under my name.”

“I’d expect no less,” Eva said, letting her voice crackle slightly. “One hour. I’ll see you there.” She barely waited for Christodoulou to say goodbye before she hung up, setting the phone down on the desk once more. She considered the situation in front of her: she needed to blend in at the restaurant that the Greek had suggested.

Eva stood and strode into her bedroom, heading directly for her closet. There were still a few items that she’d been able to keep, a few things that hadn’t been confiscated under eminent domain or taken as evidence of the crimes Jared had committed. She chose her favorite dress from the back of the closet, sighing with a mixture of pleasure and regret at the sight of the lace and fine fabric.

She stripped off the pajamas she had gotten into when she arrived at her apartment and brought the dress with her into the bathroom. Eva took a quick shower and redid her makeup—not her usual professional, subtle fashion, but more akin to the way she’d been used to wearing her face when she’d been in the game. She let her hair cascade around her shoulders and slipped into the fine designer dress, along with the heels she’d gotten to go with it. Eva looked at herself in the mirror; if she didn’t know better, she would have almost thought she’d never even left the con world. “Either he’ll hear me out, or he won’t,” she said to her reflection, turning her head one way and then the other. At worst, she didn’t think that Christodoulou would make a scene—he would just leave, if he decided not to speak to her. But a man like him would hopefully be at least a little intrigued.

Chapter Five

When Eva arrived at the restaurant, she felt the familiar tingle through her nerves that she’d gotten every time she’d pulled off a con: her heart beat faster, her body felt strangely alive and numb all at the same time from the adrenaline flowing in her veins. More than once as she’d made her way downtown, she’d considered the possibility that Christodoulou had set her up; that he had known she wasn’t who she said she was, and wanted to further humiliate whichever pretender had called him.
“Never give a mark too much credit,”
one of her friends had told her, once upon a time. Eva had learned from experience that it was just as bad to not give a mark enough credit: there were at least half a dozen people in jail from Jared’s operation—Jared himself included—that could attest to that fact.

She stepped up to the hostess stand and kept her polite, wealthy-woman smile on her face as she waited to be noticed by the skinny blonde in charge of the book. “Good evening, and welcome to Mise en Place,” the woman said, returning Eva’s smile. “Do you have a reservation?”

“I am meeting someone, actually,” Eva said, instinct taking over. Her voice remained perfectly cool, her body language confident. “The reservation should be under Ari Christodoulou?”

“Yes, of course,” the blonde said, her eyes warming up slightly. “We’re always happy to have a friend of Mr. Christodoulou’s as our guest.” The woman plucked a small sheet of card stock off of a pile next to her stand, and gestured for Eva to follow her.

“Has Ari arrived yet?” The hostess shook her head.

“He should be here within minutes. Feel free to peruse the menu while you wait.” The hostess pulled out a chair and Eva seated herself at it. She glanced at the menu, trying not to feel conspicuous. It was both like and unlike how it had been a year or more before; Eva could remember, readily, other dinners at high-class restaurants. All of that had gone away with the money she’d earned so much of; it was hard not to feel a twinge of resentment at anyone who could afford to eat at a restaurant like Mise en Place on a regular basis without resorting to con games or other semi-criminal activities.

Eva hoped that at least Ari would hear her out; reading the options on the menu made her mouth water. If he wouldn’t help her, then she was screwed anyway—but if he at least heard her out, she might get a good meal out of the situation.
Braised leeks with hazelnut brown butter…scallops with porcini mushroom dust…chilled lobster jell with crab and cod roe.
Everything on the menu sounded like the most delicious thing that she could put in her mouth. Eva sighed as quietly as possible.

Movement in the corner of her eye pulled Eva’s attention away from the menu. She set it down and looked up to see the hostess bringing Ari Christodoulou to the table. His gaze lit on her and his eyes widened; Eva’s heart beat faster in her chest as she considered the possibility that she might have—once more—overplayed her hand. For an instant, she worried that he might out her, might disgrace her. Instead he merely sat down at the table and thanked the hostess for her attendance.

“Where did you get my number?” Eva shrugged, glancing around the dining room; the hostess had left, and at least Christodoulou didn’t seem to be inclined to humiliate her.

“Business card,” Eva admitted.

“That was pretty clever,” Christodoulou said. “Laurette would be appalled, of course—but somehow I doubt that you care very much about that.” Eva smiled wryly.

“Means to an end,” she told him.

“So tell me why I shouldn’t get up and walk away? Maybe tell the hostess that I’m being stalked?” Christodoulou looked in the direction the blonde had gone in.

“I’m in a predicament,” Eva said frankly.

“I figured as much,” the Greek said, smiling slightly. “Tell me about it, and let’s see if it’s something I might be interested in.”

Before Eva could explain, however, the waiter arrived. She hesitated, holding Christodoulou’s gaze with one eyebrow raised in question. “I think we’ll take the tasting menu,” Christodoulou told the man, glancing at the menu and then setting it aside. “With the white Bordeaux.” Eva didn’t argue; she was too glad to have the chance to at least explain herself to the man.

“So,” Eva said, pressing her lips together as she fought down the sense of pride that rose up in her, paradoxically, in reaction to having to expose herself. “You were right about me being a faker.”

“Of course I was,” Christodoulou said with a shrug. His lips twitched with amusement. “I’m surprised no one else caught onto it.”

“I’m pretty good at faking,” Eva told him sharply. She took a quick, deep breath and drank a sip of her water. “Anyway, I obviously don’t have a hundred million dollars to spend on an apartment.” She sighed. “I don’t even have the ten million that the deposit would require.”

“How much do you have to your name?” Eva snickered softly.

“When my last paycheck from my job posts, I’ll have about three thousand dollars in the bank—if that.” She cringed at the idea of it; the pay would see her through maybe another month of rent and bills and food—but she knew she was going to have a difficult time after that, especially since she knew it was next to impossible to get a new job. She could get unemployment, but even at the maximum benefit, she wouldn’t be able to cover everything she needed.

“Well, obviously you won’t be living in that apartment then,” Christodoulou said with a shrug.

“The problem is deeper than that,” Eva admitted. Their first course arrived and she waited for the waiter to explain the food on their plates and the wine he was pouring into their glasses before she continued. When the waiter bowed out and stepped away from the table, she looked at Christodoulou once more. “The realtor tried to get me arrested.”

“For pretending to be a rich person?” The Greek laughed quietly. “That’s not a crime.”

“She tried to claim it was fraud, but the police didn’t go for it.”

“So if the police wouldn’t arrest you, what’s the issue?” Eva took the first bite of her food; it was an amuse-bouche made of quick-cured fish, finely diced radish and micro greens. The flavors spread over her tongue and Eva sighed with pleasure.

“The issue is that the realtor is going to sue me,” Eva said. “She thinks that I’ve ruined her sale—and I guess technically she’s right about that, since you were the only one willing to put up the amount of money she wanted.”

“Who are you really?” Christodoulou finished off his first course and drank a sip of his wine. “When you’re not pretending to be some kind of heiress, I mean.” Eva held his gaze for a long moment; Christodoulou was clearly enjoying the advantage he had over her.

“I work in a call center,” Eva admitted. “Well…I used to work in a call center. In that building, in fact.” She chuckled wryly. “I got fired yesterday.”

“And went up to the open house to amuse yourself, maybe have a couple of free drinks?” Eva nodded.

“That’s about the size of it,” she confirmed.

“So what is it that you want me to do?” Eva finished off the last bite of her food and set the plate aside.

“I figure if you buy the apartment, she can’t come after me,” Eva said with a shrug. “Or she could, but I don’t see why she would.”

“That’s a possibility,” Christodoulou said, nodding. Eva had to wait for the rest of his response; the waiter arrived with two bus boys and cleared the table of their first course before placing the second in front of them: slices of paper-thin raw beef, dressed with oil and vinegar, salt and pepper, and more micro greens. Eva ate a bite of her food and washed it down with another sip of wine.

“What’s another possibility?” Christodoulou shrugged, enjoying his own plate of food for a moment.

“There are several possibilities—no sense in discussing them all,” he told her teasingly. “But it’s definitely within the realm of possibility that I could help make it go away.”

“I’m assuming that you’ll want something in return?” Christodoulou grinned.

“I may give generously to charity, but I don’t usually consider con artists in that domain,” he said. “I’m potentially willing to help you—but it depends on a few things falling into place.”

“What kind of things?” Christodoulou shook his head.

“Not a discussion I feel like having right now,” he explained. “Right now I’d rather enjoy this meal. Wouldn’t you?” Eva chuckled.

“That is an excellent point,” she agreed.

As she ate, Eva had to admit to herself that Christodoulou was more attractive even than she had originally thought; there was something about his sun-bronzed skin, his dark eyes, his ready smile, that made her tingle all over in a way that had nothing to do with any desire to scam him. Under the tailored, beautiful suit he wore, Eva was certain that he was lean and muscular—she wondered whether he was hairy, as so many Greeks seemed to be, or if he was as well-maintained as his hands, his hair, his clean-shaven face suggested.
He’s a little vain, you can tell; he gets manicures and probably pedicures too. He’s not above wearing a little makeup if he has to cover up a blemish.
She felt a little burst of heat at the idea of what Ari might look like naked. Eva reminded herself that she was there to talk business—not to find a new boyfriend.

Course after course came to the table, and Eva let her guard down, delighting in taste and texture. Ari was—as Eva would have expected—genuinely interested in the food, the wine, and everything that went along with the meal. “How did you get to become a call center person? I’ve never known someone in that position.”

“Sort of by default,” Eva admitted. “After an operation…” she shrugged, letting the kind of operation go without saying, “I almost found myself on the wrong side of the law and decided to go fully straight. The job wasn’t that bad until it was.”

“I can only imagine,” Ari said, grinning. “You must have some real stories.” With very little prompting, Eva found herself telling the Greek about the worst of the worst callers: the man who had wanted to dispute charges on his bill until she’d gotten him to admit that the charges—for an escort service—were accurate, the woman who had refused to believe that charges on her son’s account for pornography were correct, even though the investigation had determined that they were, and of course the final call she had taken on her last shift at the center.

Ari paid for their meal without batting an eyelash, and Eva—her mind already slightly fuzzy from the wine—wondered if he would tell her what he wanted from her in exchange for helping her out of her conundrum. Instead, he rose from the table and gestured for Eva to accompany him. “The night is young,” he said, leading her away from the table. “Care for a drink? There’s a great bar about two blocks down from here.”

“I could use one,” Eva said. They walked together to the bar, and the host at the front of the tiny, secluded enclave nearly jumped at Ari’s entrance; in a matter of only a few moments they were seated at a table in a private lounge within the bar, with a dedicated server to bring them drinks. Eva ordered a Tom Collins, and Ari chose a martini.

“I should have pegged you for a con artist,” Ari said, shaking his head. “You’re too charming by half.”

“Charming?” Eva smirked. “You didn’t seem to think I was all that charming in the bedroom of that apartment.” Ari shrugged.

“You were too—what’s the word? Uppity?” Eva snorted. “Overplayed your hand, at least as far as I’m concerned.”

“Well, I’ve seen plenty of ‘uppity’ rich people,” Eva countered.

“I’m sure you have,” Ari agreed. “But there’s a certain kind of overconfidence that comes with wealth; not the kind you showed up there.”

“You shook me up a bit,” Eva admitted. As she finished her first drink and considered another, she felt the fuzziness in her head intensifying.
He’s hot, and he’s rich, and he might—might—be willing to help you. If it weren’t for the fact that he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with you, he’d be worth luring in.

“You? Shaken up?” Ari chuckled. “I can’t even fathom it.”

“You saw right through me! That never happens.” Eva leaned in closer, and smelled the cologne that Ari used: something with hints of greenery, a warmth underneath it.