Bound to the Greek (3 page)

Sighing, Eleanor nodded hello to the doorman on duty and then headed in the high-speed lift up to the thirtieth floor.

Her apartment was, as always, dark and quiet. Eleanor dropped her keys on the hall table and flicked on the recessed lighting that bathed the living room with its modern sofa and teakwood coffee table in soft yellow light. Outside the Hudson River twinkled with lights.

Her stomach rumbled and she realised she had skipped dinner. Again. Kicking off her heels, she went to the galley kitchen and peered in her near-empty fridge. It held half a carton of moo shoo pork and a yogurt that was—Eleanor peered closer?two weeks past its sell-by date. Neither looked appetising.

Dispiritedly Eleanor closed the fridge. It was hard to believe she’d once baked cookies and muffins by the dozen, had dreamed of owning her own café. She’d been unbearably, determinedly domestic, and now she could barely feed herself.

She grabbed a handful of rather stale crackers from the cupboard and went back to the living room. Funny, she hadn’t thought of her old café dream in years, yet when she’d known Jace she’d spent hours embroidering that daydream, how it would be a little bit of everything: coffee shop, bakery, bookstore, gallery. Warm, cosy, bright, and welcoming. The
home she’d never felt she’d had. It—everything?had seemed so possible then, so bright and shiny.

And now having Jace back in her life so suddenly, so surprisingly, brought it all back. The dreams, the disappointments.

The despair.

Eleanor thrust the thought away as she munched another cracker. Her stomach rumbled again. Perhaps sleep was better. She was exhausted anyway, and at least when she was asleep she wouldn’t feel hungry. Neither would she have to think—or remember.

Dropping her uneaten crackers in the bin, Eleanor turned towards her bedroom.

Yet as she lay in the darkness of her room, the duvet pulled up to her chest, sleep didn’t come. She was exhausted yet her eyes were wide open and gritty. And despite her best effort for them not to, the memories came, slipping into her mind, winding around her heart.

Lying there in the dark, she could almost feel the late autumn sunshine slanting onto the wide-planked wooden floors of her college apartment. She saw herself, tousle-haired, young, laughing, holding out a cupcake to Jace. They weren’t lovers then; they hadn’t even kissed. Yet. He’d invited himself over to taste the treats she’d been telling him about when he’d come into the café where she worked for his morning latte. And high with anticipation, Eleanor had invited him in, revelling in the charged atmosphere as he took a bite of the cupcake right from her hand, and then, laughing, pulled her close for a kiss.

It had been so easy, so right, and she’d gone without even considering another option, a different choice. He’d tasted like chocolate.

She closed her eyes, her throat tight and aching. She didn’t want to resurrect these memories. She worked hard never to remember them. Yet they came anyway, so sweet and yet so bitter for what came afterward.

The empty apartment. The disconnected cellphone. The bounced emails. The cold, cold despair when she’d realised just how alone she was.

Groaning alone, Eleanor turned on her side, tucking her knees up to her chest, and clenched her eyes shut as if that could keep the memories from coming and consuming her.

The blip of her baby on the monitor. The hard, sharp edge of the examining table, the cold slime of the gel on her tummy, and the endless silence of the technician, frowning, as she stared at the scan.

What’s wrong?

Eleanor bolted up in bed and went to the bathroom for a herbal sleeping pill. She might have faced down Jace today, but she couldn’t face the memories at night. They tormented her in a way even he never had. Their stark truth remained lodged in her gut, in her heart, like a stone. Nothing would remove it, or take away the bleak knowledge that she could never—

Eleanor closed her eyes again, tightly, and to her relief she finally slipped into a sleep made sweet by its absence of memories or dreams.

Despite her bad night, Eleanor was at her desk by eight o’clock in the morning. She saw Lily walk past her office door, nodding grimly, and she knew she’d been right to hurry to her desk that morning. She’d email the party plans to Jace, and then she’d put him out of her mind for ever. Or at least until he emailed back.

It took her nearly an hour to compose the email; it was aggravatingly difficult to strike the right tone, professional yet personable. She didn’t want Jace to think for a second that she was affected by him. That she’d been hurt. Yet she hardly wanted to seem too friendly, either; that smacked of desperation.

Too tired to tweak the email any more, Eleanor just ended up sending a rather boring list of details, explaining in dry terms the choice of venue, the seating plan, the floral arrangements, the menu.

Then she determined ly pressed send.

Two minutes later her phone rang.

‘This is completely unacceptable.’

Dumbly Eleanor stared at her computer screen, with its ‘your message has been sent’ confirmation still visible. It seemed impossible that in the approximately one hundred and twenty seconds since she’d pressed send, Jace had read her entire email and deemed it all unsuitable. Unacceptable, even.

‘Excuse me?’

Over the phone Eleanor heard Jace exhale impatiently. ‘This is all very standard, Ellie?’

‘Don’t call me that,’ she said sharply. He ignored her.

‘If I wanted a run-of-the-mill upscale do, I could have gone elsewhere. I came to Premier Planning because I was told you’d give me something extraordinary.’

Eleanor closed her eyes and prayed for patience. For mercy. She counted to ten, all the while listening to Jace’s impatience, hearing it in those short little exhalations of breath, and then said coolly, ‘I assure you there will be nothing run-of-the-mill about this party.’

Jace made a sound of disbelief that came close to a snort. ‘Salmon pâté? Gardenias? Champagne? Standard luxuries.’

‘That’s an oxymoron, if ever I’ve heard one—’

‘All of it is run-of-the-mill, Ellie.’

‘I told you, don’t call me that,’ she snapped.

‘Then impress me.’

That was the last thing she wanted to do. Why would she want to impress the man who had treated her like dirt, who had ground her heart into dust? Was her job really worth that much, worth her own dignity and pride?

Of course it was. It had to be. For the last ten years her job had been just about the only thing she had valued, the one thing she’d poured herself into. She wasn’t risking it for Jace. He’d already done enough damage in her life.

‘You gave me less than twenty-four hours to come up with
an entire event,’ she finally ground out. ‘Of course I haven’t worked out all the details yet—’

‘I expected better than this.’

‘Funny, I said that ten years ago,’ Eleanor snapped. Then she closed her eyes. The last, the very last thing she wanted was to drag the past—their past—into this mess. And from the taut silence crackling along the phone lines, she had a feeling Jace felt the same.

‘You have no idea,’ he said coldly. ‘Meet me at my office building for lunch, twelve o’clock sharp.’ And then he hung up.

Eleanor cursed aloud, just as Lily poked her head in her office door and smiled narrowly.

‘Everything all right, Eleanor?’

‘Fine,’ Eleanor replied thinly. ‘I just got a paper cut, that’s all.’

Jace hung up the phone, massaging his knuckles as if he’d been in a fight. That terse conversation had not been a satisfactory outlet for his anger, for from the moment he’d walked into Eleanor Langley’s office and seen her cool little smile that was what he’d been feeling.
Rage.

He was furious that she seemed so unrepentant, that she’d attempted to foist another man’s baby on him and didn’t even possess the decency now to admit it or apologise. Yet what had he really expected of a woman who was willing to sink so low, to lie to someone she’d said she loved?

He didn’t want to feel so angry, hated how it made the control he’d guarded carefully these last ten years slip away, so he hardly even knew what he was going to say or do. Or feel.

He’d never expected to feel so angry. He’d thought he’d got over Eleanor Langley and her betrayal, had put it far, far behind him. Now it felt fresh and raw and that made him even angrier. He didn’t want Eleanor to affect him this much. He didn’t want her to affect him at all.

Sighing impatiently, Jace turned back to the papers on his
desk. Atrikides Holdings was a mess and he had plenty to occupy both his mind and his time. He didn’t need to waste either on Eleanor Langley, not even for a second.

All he wanted from her was a party. That was the only reason he was inviting her to lunch, why he was even bothering to see her again. He’d make it clear just what kind of high standard of service he expected. He’d put her in her place. His lips curved in a humourless smile as his sense of calm return to cloak him in reassuring coldness. All he wanted from her was a party, and by God he’d get one.

Three hours later Eleanor stood in front of the dark gleaming skyscraper that housed the offices of Atrikides Holdings. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then resolutely headed for the door.

After she was cleared through security she took the lift to the building’s top floor and stepped out into a room of elegant, old-style luxury with a stunning view of Central Park. She stared at the yawning rectangle of green, surrounded by concrete, the trees stark and bare above, as the elderly assistant pursed her lips before pressing a button on her telephone.

‘Mr Zervas, I have Eleanor Langley for you.’

The reply was sharp, terse. ‘Send her in.’

‘You may go in,’ the assistant said, nodding towards the wood-panelled double doors at the far end of the room.

Eleanor nodded back, swallowing down the sudden flutter of nerves that had risen to flurry wildly in her throat. She hated that she was nervous, almost as if Jace scared her. She would not let herself be cowed by him, not when he had been in the wrong ten years ago, not when
he
had been the coward then.

She certainly wouldn’t be the coward now.

Squaring her shoulders, she knocked once, perfunctorily, before opening the doors and striding into the room.

The office was elegant, huge, and clearly not his. In one quick glance Eleanor saw the portraits of several Atrikides
men on the walls, a side table cluttered with family photos. Children. She averted her eyes from the pictures. This had to be the office of the former CEO of Atrikides Holdings, Eleanor surmised, whom Jace had ousted along with half of the company’s employees. A cold-blooded, corporate takeover. Should it really surprise her at all?

Jace stood behind the desk, his back to her. He didn’t turn around even though he must have heard her come in.

Faintly annoyed, Eleanor cleared her throat. He turned, and in that moment—a single second, no more—her breath dried and her heart beat fast and she remembered how good it had been between them, how she’d lain in his arms as the sun washed them in gold and he’d kissed her closed eyelids.

She forced the memory—so sweet and painful—away and smiled coolly. ‘You’ve taken over the CEO’s office, I see.’

Jace waved a hand in dismissal. ‘For the time being. It’s convenient.’

‘And he was fired along with most of the employees, I suppose?’

‘Most is an exaggeration,’ Jace replied, his eyes narrowing, flashing steel.

Eleanor wondered why she was asking. It was almost as if she was trying to pick a fight?and perhaps she was, for the anger and resentment still simmered beneath her surface, threatening to bubble forth. She wanted to hurt him, and yet she knew she wouldn’t succeed with these silly little jabs. She’d only hurt herself, by revealing her own vulnerability. The fact that she was making them at all spoke of how hurt she had been and still was. She drew in a steadying breath and managed a small smile. ‘You’d like to talk about the plans?’

Jace didn’t smile back. ‘I’m not sure they’re worth discussing.’

Eleanor bit the inside of her cheek. ‘Fine,’ she said when she could be sure her voice was level, ‘let’s discard them if you find them so unsuitable. But you could at least make an effort to be civil.’

To her surprise, Jace acknowledged the point with one terse nod. ‘Very well. Let’s have lunch.’

He led her to a table hidden in the alcove, a tiny little table set intimately for two. Eleanor swallowed hard. She didn’t know if she could do this. Every second she spent with Jace strained the composure she’d been working at maintaining for the last ten years, the air of professionalism that had become her armour. Just one sardonic look from those steely eyes—she remembered when they’d softened in pleasure, in love—made her calm façade crack. It crumbled, and she was defenceless once more, the cracks in her armour letting in the memories and pain.

She hated that she was so weak.

Jace drew her chair for her, the epitome of politeness, and with a murmured thanks Eleanor sat down. Her hands trembled as she placed her napkin in her lap. Jace sat in the chair opposite, his fingers steepled under his chin, his dark eyebrows drawn together. He looked so much the same, Eleanor thought with a lurch of remembered feeling, and yet so different. His hair was cut closer now, sprinkled with grey, and his skin looked more weathered. That glint of laughter in his eyes was gone, vanished completely. Yet he still possessed the same compelling aura, like a magnetic field around him. He still drew her to him, even though she hated the thought. Even now she could feel her body’s traitorous reaction to his—the shaft of pleasure deep in her belly, the tingle of awareness as he reached for his own napkin, his fingers scant inches from hers. Eleanor made herself look away and a staff member came in to serve them.

‘Would you care for a glass of wine?’ Jace asked.

‘I don’t normally—’

‘Half, then.’ He held up the bottle, one eyebrow arched in silent challenge, poised to pour. Jerkily Eleanor nodded. This felt like a battle of wills, a contest over who could be the most professional. And she’d win. She
had
to. If he was so unaffected, well, then, she could be too, or at least seem as if she were.
Pretend.