Greek Tycoon's Mistletoe Proposal

She flinched and the flush deepened on her cheekbones. ‘Please, I can’t apologise enough. I know how wrong it was to do what I did.’ Her speaking voice, as opposed to her singing voice, was pleasant and well modulated.

‘How long did you intend to stay here in my home?’

‘Tonight. Then I—’

‘You mean for as long as you could get away with it?’

‘No!’

Lukas didn’t reply. He’d learned silence often elicited more information than another question.

‘Until I could find somewhere I could afford to live. I’m expecting a funds transfer from home any day. I...I haven’t been working for Maids in Chelsea long enough to ask for an advance.’

She might not appear like the typical backpacker but it seemed she was as perpetually broke. That might play well into his hands.

‘What kind of visa are you on that allows you to work in the UK?’

‘No visa. My father is English by birth. I have an EU passport and the right of abode here.’

‘Yet you live in Australia?’

‘My grandparents emigrated when my father was a child. But we lived in Manchester for two years when I was a teenager while my father studied for his PhD.’

‘Your father is an academic?’

‘He’s the principal of a secondary school in Bundaberg in Queensland where we live.’

‘And your mother?’

‘She’s a schoolteacher too.’ She tilted her head to one side in query. ‘I don’t know what that has to do with me doing the wrong thing here.’

‘It interests me,’ he said. She interested him.

She bit her lip, as if against a retort she wouldn’t dare utter considering the precariousness of her situation.

‘Have you always been a maid?’

‘Of course not.’ She spat out the words then backpedalled. ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with being a maid. In fact I consider myself to be a very good maid, and waitress and front-of-house person—all learned since I’ve been in London. But my real job is something quite different. I’m an accountant. I have a degree in commerce from the University of Queensland.’

‘You—’

She put up her hand in a halt sign. ‘Don’t say it. If I had a dollar for every time someone told me I don’t look like an accountant I’d be a wealthy woman.’

Lukas had to suppress a smile. That was exactly what he had been about to say. Of course there was no reason a woman so exquisitely feminine shouldn’t be an accountant—it just made her even more interesting that she didn’t fit the mould of an outmoded stereotype.

‘You manage money for a living, yet you end up homeless in a big, ruthless city?’ he said.

‘Circumstances beyond my control,’ she said, tight-lipped.

‘Were you brought up by your family to be honest?’

Her eyes flashed with barely concealed outrage. ‘Of course I was.’

‘I could ask you to tip out the contents of your backpack for me to check, then to turn out your pockets.’

Her chin lifted. ‘To see if I’ve stolen anything? I’d be more than happy for you to search my bag.’ She gripped the arms of the chair and leaned forward. ‘Go ahead. I have nothing to hide. But ask me to undergo a body search and it will be me calling the police.’

Lukas found he couldn’t meet her fierce glare. He swallowed hard in distaste at his own actions. He had taken this too far. He had no desire to burrow through her personal belongings. Or undertake anything as intrusive as a body search. That would be...sleazy and he was not that kind of man. ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he said gruffly.

She nodded but her lips were pressed tight.

One of the reasons he’d been able to lift his family company from the verge of bankruptcy to a business turning over in the multiples of millions was his ability to read people. Every instinct told him this young woman had been foolish but not dishonest.

‘I know Maids in Chelsea are scrupulous in the background checking of their employees,’ he said. ‘I assume the same was done for you.’

She rolled her eyes, just slightly, but he didn’t miss it. It was an action he found unwarranted—but perhaps he would have done the same if he were on the other side of the desk.

‘I can assure you I have no criminal record back in Australia,’ she said. ‘All I’m guilty of is an error of judgement. I know it was wrong of me and I reiterate my apology.’

‘You admit you have slept under my roof. No doubt you were planning to spend tonight here too?’

‘Yes. But it was only until—’

Lukas looked down at his tablet. ‘I’ve calculated how much three nights at a West End hotel of equivalent comfort would cost you.’ He named a figure that made her gasp. ‘You owe me.’

Ms Murphy paled and he could see a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. ‘But I can’t afford it. If I could pay that I would have gone to one of those hotels in the first place.’

He leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers under his chin. ‘That’s really not my concern,’ he said.

Lukas didn’t like threatening her. But she could be a solution to his problem. And once he’d made up his mind on a course of action, he didn’t stop until he’d got what he wanted.

‘I...I can’t,’ she said. ‘I just can’t pay that.’ Her lush, wide mouth trembled. ‘You’d best call the police.’

Bravado or bravery? Whatever it was, he admired her spirit.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘There’s no need for me to call the police. I have a way you can pay off your debt to me without money exchanging hands. Something not very arduous that you might even enjoy.’

* * *

Ashleigh was up and out of her chair so fast she tripped on her backpack and had to steady herself against the desk. She could hardly believe what she’d heard. Sexual favours to pay off a so-called fabricated debt? Clio had warned her there was a certain type of man who considered maids and waitresses to be fair game. Already she’d had to fend them off—especially towards the end of the night at a party when they’d had too much to drink. But this man! She was shocked—and disappointed. Lukas Christophedes had seemed better than that.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Never.’

He frowned, got up from his chair. The man was tall and powerfully built and she was glad there was a desk between them. ‘You say “no” before you’ve even heard my proposition?’ he asked, his frown deepening.

‘Sex is sex, no matter which variant you want me to trade with you.’ She glared at him then glanced at the open door, ready to bolt. ‘And the answer will always be no.’

He frowned. ‘You’ve got this wrong. I didn’t mean that at all.’ He wiped his hand across his forehead. ‘I would never suggest such a thing. My English...’

His lightly accented English was perfect. It wasn’t what he’d said but how he’d said it. Then she took in the bewilderment in his deep brown eyes and swallowed hard. Or could it be how she’d interpreted his words?

‘Maybe I...misunderstood?’ she asked hesitantly. Misunderstood big time, perhaps.

He came around the desk towards her. She took a step away, the back of her knees pressed against the edge of the chair. Just in case. After all, he was a stranger and she was alone with him in his house.

‘Whether I did not get my message across correctly or you misunderstood is beside the point,’ he said. ‘I am not asking you for sex. That is not how I do business.’

‘I...I’m glad to hear it.’ He must think her hopelessly naïve. ‘So...what is your proposition?’

‘I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend.’

Ashleigh felt as though all the air had been expelled from her lungs. ‘You what! How is that different from—’

He put up one large, well-shaped hand to halt her flow of words. ‘Completely above board, I assure you. Just for one evening. An important business dinner tomorrow. I’ve decided I need a date to...to deflect unwanted interest.’

‘And you want me to be a fake date?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Why? I can’t imagine a man like you would have a shortage of real dates. You’re wealthy, handsome. You’d just have to click your fingers for a multitude of women to come running.’

‘Perhaps not a multitude.’ He gave a wry, self-deprecating smile she found herself warming to. ‘Of course I know a few women in London.’ Ashleigh suspected that was a serious understatement. ‘But none whom I want to involve in this. No one I want to get the wrong impression.’

‘You mean the impression you’re serious about her.’

‘That is correct,’ he said. ‘This would be purely a business deal, with no continuing personal involvement. You are unknown in London and that suits me perfectly.’

Would being this man’s fake date be any worse than being hired as a waitress for an upscale private party? The idea intrigued her. He intrigued her. Wasn’t this why she’d come to London? To climb out of the deep rut she’d found herself in. To revel in freedom and independence. To be brave and take risks and open up to new experiences.

‘So tell me more about this “proposition”?’ she said.

Ashleigh stood by the chair close to her backpack, on the off chance she needed to pick it up and run. He paced up and down as he spoke.

‘I met this afternoon at The Shard with a potential business partner, someone I very much want to work with.’

Ashleigh loved the beautiful old buildings in London where history was alive on every corner. But she was fascinated by The Shard—London’s futuristic glass skyscraper. The first day she’d arrived, she’d stood at its base and craned her neck to gaze up at the incredible ninety-five-storey building, so tall its jagged top disappeared into the clouds. One rare free evening when they weren’t working, she and Sophie had gone up to the bar for a drink—just one as they were so expensive—and gawked at the incredible views of London old and new.

Of course The Shard would be just the place for a visiting billionaire to hold his meetings.

‘Excuse my ignorance,’ Ashleigh said. ‘But what exactly is your business?’

There was no point in pretending she knew anything about him—or in pretending she was anything other than who she was. Of course, if she agreed to be his fake date, that would take pretending to a whole new level. He was so handsome it wouldn’t be a hardship.

‘There are various arms to the Christophedes business but the one that concerns me now is electrical appliances. We dominate the Greek market, are one of the bestselling brands in mainland Europe, and export to Scandinavia and the Middle East. But the British market eludes me. I need a local partner.’

‘You mean a distributor?’

‘Yes. I did my due diligence and decided this woman’s company would be the best fit for what I need. I approached her and today was our initial meeting.’

‘Is she interested in doing business with you?’

‘Yes.’ He stopped his pacing, looked directly down at her. ‘She is also interested in me.’

‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ she said, perplexed at the doom-laden way he said it. ‘You would have to get on with her if you’re working on such a big deal.’

He cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot. Ashleigh was surprised at his display of discomfort. ‘I mean she is interested in me as not just a business partner but as a man.’

For the first time Ashleigh saw a crack in the billionaire’s confident air of arrogance. She tried not to smile. Somehow she doubted that was the reaction he would expect. ‘I see,’ she said, trying to sound very serious.

‘Do you? Tina Norris is a very beautiful older woman used to getting her own way.’

‘So...she’s a cougar and she wants you as part of the deal?’ Who could blame the woman? The man was good-looking in the extreme. And, she suspected, when he wasn’t glaring or shouting at misbehaving maids, he could be charming.

‘That is the impression she gave me this afternoon.’ He shuddered. Again Ashleigh had to suppress a smile. He was no doubt used to being the hunter, not the hunted.

‘But you’re not interested?’

‘Not in the slightest. I found her...predatory. Besides, I would never get involved with a business partner.’

‘I see your dilemma—you don’t want to offend her.’

‘That is correct. I want her on side for the business.’

‘But not in your bed.’

He paused. ‘That’s a blunt way of putting it, but yes.’

‘Hence the fake date. It would be diplomatic if she could see you had a girlfriend.’

‘Exactly,’ he said.

‘But you don’t want to give the wrong idea to someone you might actually date.’ Ashleigh felt she had to reiterate to make sure she completely understood what she might or might not be getting herself into. She was surprised at how at ease she felt with him.

‘Yes.’

‘And that’s where I come in? If I agree, that is. What would my—’ she used her fingers to make quotation marks ‘—duties involve?’

‘Accompany me for the evening. Make intelligent conversation—I can see that won’t be a problem—and behave as though we are a genuine couple. Convince Ms Norris that there is no point in pursuing me as I am already involved with a beautiful redhead.’ He looked at her with what seemed like genuine admiration. She couldn’t help but preen a little.

‘So, act all lovey-dovey?’

‘I’m not exactly sure what you mean by that but I think I get the gist of it,’ he said with that ghost of a smile she was beginning to anticipate.

‘You know, act affectionate and smoochy with each other.’ Why had she said that? Because she realised that if she had met this man in different circumstances she would find the idea of smooching with him more than a touch appealing.

‘It will be a business dinner,’ he said. ‘Anything...physical would have to be discreet.’

‘I get it,’ she said. Ashleigh wondered if he was subtly warning her not to form any expectations of anything other than a fake date with him.

He stood with his back to the window, his hands clasped behind him. The curtains were drawn against the cold of a December evening, but she knew the window looked down to a city-sized garden, perfectly maintained with formal clipped hedges and a centrepiece fountain. No doubt there was a team of gardeners to keep it in shape for when the absentee owner decided to drop into London.

She looked up at him, wishing she wasn’t wearing flat shoes—he was so much taller than her and his superior height seemed to emphasise the balance of power that tipped firmly in his favour. The billionaire and the maid.

‘If I agreed to your proposition, what would be the consequences for me?’ she asked.

‘No complaint would be made against you to your employer or the police.’

‘And my “debt” to you?’ That calculation of hotel rates rankled. She doubted he would be able to enforce something so spurious. But she was hardly in a position to question his methods. Not when he had every right to report her to the police.

‘Of course your debt would be wiped completely.’

‘In return for one dinner date with you and your potential business partner?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

Ashleigh didn’t ask if she would continue to be his daily maid. She knew she’d flicked her last ever duster around this house. She’d have to invent a good excuse to give Clio for why she wanted to quit such a pleasant job.

‘It sounds like it could be fun,’ she said, forcing a smile. What choice did she have but to agree?

‘As I said, you might even enjoy it,’ he said. ‘The dinner is at an excellent restaurant in Mayfair.’ The kind of place maids usually didn’t eat at was the implication. Or indeed accountants from Bundaberg.

She took a deep breath. ‘Okay, I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘But there’s just one more thing.’

He raised a dark eyebrow. ‘Yes?’

‘How will we get around the fact that we’re total strangers and know absolutely nothing about each other?’

CHAPTER THREE

‘HOW DO WE get over the hurdle that we are strangers? We start finding out about each other,’ Lukas said. ‘We have until tomorrow evening to make our story sound feasible.’

He was pleased Ashleigh had acquiesced so readily. So he’d had to use some leverage to get her on board, but that was what it took sometimes to get a deal across the line. He’d learned that at twenty-one when he’d had to sort out the mess his profligate parents had made of the company. It had been a tough lesson—he’d discovered people he’d thought he could trust could not be trusted, that he had to be guarded, tamp down on his reactions and feelings. The episode had marked the end of his youth.

‘You mean I get a crash course in Greek billionaire and you learn what makes an Aussie maid tick?’ she said.

‘Aren’t you masquerading as a maid? That’s just a vacation job, isn’t it? I suggest you stick to Aussie accountant,’ he said. ‘We’ll skirt around the maid thing as far as Tina Norris is concerned.’ No doubt Ms Norris would have done her research, discovered he was a steadfast bachelor, would scrutinise the woman he chose to accompany him. He shuddered again at the thought of the predatory gleam in the older woman’s eye when they’d met. Buried in his past was good reason for his revulsion.

‘Actually, I don’t much like being an accountant,’ Ashleigh said. ‘I was steered into it by my parents, who thought accountancy would bring a secure job. I’ve got my options wide open when it comes to changing career.’

‘You’ll need to brief me on all that,’ he said.

The briefing would not be onerous—there was something about this girl that intrigued him. Ashleigh Murphy seemed somehow different to the women he usually met. Perhaps because she was Australian. More likely because she didn’t move in the same social circles. He liked that she didn’t seem intimidated by him or fall over backwards to impress him.

She shrugged. ‘Not much to tell, really. I managed a flooring company back home.’

‘You were a manager? That’s impressive.’ She didn’t appear to be long out of university.

Her slight smile in response hinted at dimples and he found himself wanting to make her smile properly. Not that he was adept at telling jokes or funny stories. In fact he’d been accused of being over-serious. Since he’d been forced to swap his carefree life as a wealthy kid who’d known he would never have to work for a living, there had been little room for laughter. Or for love.

Where did that come from? Perhaps prompted by the knowledge that, at the age of thirty-four, he had to pretend he had a serious woman in his life. A wife, children—there wasn’t room in his life for marriage. He didn’t want all that. And, he told himself, he didn’t miss it. The Christophedes companies took up all his life. The business was his life.

‘The title sounds more impressive than it is,’ she said. ‘It’s a small company and I wore a few different hats. But it had a good product and I worked with really nice people. Truth is, you can’t be too picky when it comes to getting a good job in a country town. There aren’t many opportunities.’

Lukas couldn’t imagine why a woman as smart and lovely as Ashleigh Murphy would want to bury herself in some far-flung country town. He would find out why tonight.

He glanced at his watch. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘No. I was...er...going to have something after my bath.’

‘So you’ve been using my kitchen too?’

She nodded. ‘I won’t lie,’ she said. ‘Though it sounds like I might be doing a lot of lying tomorrow night.’

‘Not lying.’ He refused to contemplate that he was planning anything that smacked of dishonesty. ‘Think of it as role playing.’

Her auburn eyebrows rose. ‘Not a bad idea. I’ve done some acting—amateur, of course—so I’ll think of this as preparing for a role.’ She pulled a face. ‘You might have to help me with the script.’

‘Starting from now,’ he said. They had until tomorrow, but a good part of his day would be, as usual, taken up with work. ‘You haven’t eaten and I haven’t eaten. Come out to dinner with me and we’ll start the get-to-know-you process.’

‘Uh, okay,’ she said, obviously disconcerted. ‘But...but I need to find somewhere to stay tonight. I have to phone around my friends.’ She looked at her feet, obviously uncomfortable at the reminder of her transgression. As well she might be.

‘You can stay here tonight,’ he said.

She looked up. ‘As part of the deal?’

‘Yes,’ he said. Whatever she might think of him, he would not let a young woman risk being alone in London without a safe place to sleep. ‘Though you can steer clear of my bathroom.’

‘And what about tomorrow night?’ she said, audacity trickling back into her demeanour.

‘Tomorrow night too.’

For the first time since he had encountered her in his bathtub Ashleigh smiled. Delightful dimples bracketed her cheeks and light danced in her eyes. He found himself dazzled by the warmth and vivacity that smile brought to her face. She really was lovely, in a wholesome, unsophisticated way.

‘Thank you,’ she said again. ‘That will give me the breathing space I need to make other arrangements.’

‘After that you’ll be on your own,’ he cautioned her.

‘I’m aware of that,’ she said. ‘I realise I’m only here on sufferance.’ She paused. ‘Just checking I won’t be charged accommodation fees for those two extra nights?’

‘Of course not,’ he said, an edge of impatience burring his voice. ‘You’re now an invited guest.’

‘Just needed to be sure,’ she said, but there was an impish gleam to her eyes that made him unsure if she was completely serious. He wasn’t used to being teased.

He looked pointedly at his watch. ‘I suggest you go back downstairs and change.’

She looked down at her jeans and trainers, as if seeing them for the first time. ‘Yes, these clothes won’t do, will they? I’m warning you, though, I don’t have the wardrobe to be a billionaire’s escort.’ She flushed. ‘I mean “escort” in the old-fashioned sense of the word, not...uh...the other.’

‘I thought I’d made it very clear that this is strictly business.’ Now he felt like rolling his eyes.

‘Yes, you did,’ she said. ‘And I didn’t mean...’ Her words petered to a halt. She walked back to the desk and picked up her backpack. ‘I’ll go down to change now. Shall I meet you at the bottom of the stairs in ten minutes?’

He nodded, secretly sceptical about the ten minutes. Never had he known a woman to get ready for a dinner date in that small amount of time.

She headed towards the door. Again, he thought how gracefully she moved. It made watching her do something as simple as walk away a pleasure. But she stopped and turned on her heel to face him again. ‘Mr Christophedes, before I go, I want to thank you for...well, for being so reasonable about all this. I appreciate it and I want to assure you that in return I’ll do my very best for you with the fake date scenario.’

It gave him a jolt that she called him Mr Christophedes. The formal usage felt as if she had put him in his place—an older guy, an employer, someone of a different generation to be kept at a distance.

He didn’t know why he didn’t like it. But she couldn’t keep calling him Mr Christophedes when they were together with Tina Norris. That would give away the game.

Ashleigh didn’t wait for an answer and her quickened pace as she left the room made it clear she didn’t expect one.

Lukas looked at the doorway for a long moment after she’d left. Who would have thought the maid in his bathtub would turn out to be such an interesting woman?

Ten minutes later, he was amazed to find Ashleigh waiting for him at the base of the staircase. She’d used the time to advantage. He was so taken aback by the result he was momentarily lost for words. Once again, she’d surprised him.

No trace of backpacker remained. She wore a simple black dress, buttoned down the front and belted at the waist, with elbow-length sleeves. The hem stopped just above her knees to display slender legs encased in fine charcoal stockings and finished with low-heeled black pumps.

‘Do I look okay for the restaurant?’ she said, aware of his overly long inspection.

Her hair had been tamed and pulled half back off her face. She’d darkened around her eyes, which made them look even bluer, and her mouth gleamed with a warm pink lipstick.