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To Catch A Bride
Renee Roszel


“You promised you wouldn’t be here!” Kalli exclaimed.
One dark brow rose as Niko observed her, his smile gone. “More to the point you promised to marry me.”
“You lied to me….”
“Did I?” Niko challenged her with his most innocent expression.
“Yes. You allowed me to assume you wouldn’t be here while I renovate your house.”
“What you assume, Miss Angelis, is hardly my fault.”
Niko gave her no time to recoup and he dropped a bomb. “The fact is, this is a beautiful piece of property. I own it, so why shouldn’t I stay? After all, this was supposed to be my honeymoon.”


Almost at the altar—will these nearlyweds become newlyweds?
Welcome to Nearlyweds, our brand-new miniseries featuring the ultimate romantic occasion—weddings! Yet, these are no ordinary weddings: our beautiful brides and gorgeous grooms only nearly make it to the altar—before fate intervenes and the wedding’s…off!
But the story doesn’t end there…. Find out what happens in these tantalizingly emotional novels by some of your best-loved Harlequin Romance®authors.
This month, enjoy a lively chase to the altar in popular author
Renee Roszel’s
To Catch a Bride

To Catch a Bride
Renee Roszel



www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Dr. Rebecca Sims, a woman with brains, beauty, grace and kindness. Welcome to the family, Becky!

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u2d86a596-faff-5a9e-9272-74b285a70bd0)
CHAPTER TWO (#u45e617ae-a685-514a-afd2-eb763c7cd4d9)
CHAPTER THREE (#ua69ed82b-1237-56e8-b859-10f7fc9ffc7c)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE
KALLI dashed into Nikolos Varos’s private office, consumed with grief and unreasoning panic. Thankfully, no watchdog of a secretary sat at the reception desk to run interference. Kalli couldn’t cope with making explanations. She needed to get this done and done quickly—hopefully without hysterics.
Her mental turmoil kept her from taking notice of the immense high-rise office. She already knew Mr. Varos was vastly prosperous, but in her emotional state the physical trappings held no interest for her. Working hard to hold back tears, she headed toward a tall, gaunt man standing behind a gleaming desk of stainless steel and glass. She planted both hands on the cool, orderly desktop and focused on his striped tie, too grief-stricken and ashamed to look at his face.
Coward! she shouted inwardly. Look him in the eye! Anybody who jilts her fiancé on their wedding day should do it face-to-face, not sniveling at the floor like a mouse!
Sick to her stomach, she lifted her gaze. Her heart pounded so deafeningly, she wasn’t sure she would be able to hear her words when she spoke them.
“Mr. Varos,” she began, amazed that her voice rang with conviction. “I can’t go through with the wedding.”
The man’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but she forged on, giving him no opening. “My grandfather passed away during the night. When Mother called to tell me, I realized I’d agreed to this marriage for him—because I love —loved him. This arrangement was something he wanted. It wasn’t what I wanted at all. I went along—out of family loyalty.”
He opened his mouth again, but she threw up her hand to halt him. “I know, I know—my family’s Greek and very traditional and so is yours. And yes, my mother’s arranged marriage was a good one. And, it’s true that our grandfathers were lifelong friends and their fondest wish was to join our two families.” She grasped desperately for the right words—anything that didn’t sound lame. “But, I’m an American, Mr. Varos. I was born in the United States and I—I can’t do this! Please understand and—and one day try to forgive me.”
Spinning on her heel, she fled, calling herself the chicken-hearted baby she was. Running away was unforgivable, but she was too close to hysteria and emotional collapse to deal with ranting and raving, no matter how much she deserved it.
She told herself this was for the best. After all, the marriage was little more than a business deal, certainly not a love match. To make that painfully obvious, where had she finally found her so-called fiancé? In his office! At seven o’clock in the morning on his wedding day!
Besides, she hadn’t even met the man. His international finance dealings had kept him out of the country until the last minute. Considering all that, how important could the wedding—or she—be to him?
Surely he’d had deals fall through before. He’d be disappointed, maybe even annoyed, but he’d get over it. When she was more herself, when her grief had ebbed, she vowed to write a letter of apology.
She felt so alone. Oh, if only Grandpa Chris hadn’t taken a drastic turn for the worse just as she and her mother, Zoe, were about to leave for California. Angelis had cared for her father-in-law for so many years, she’d felt compelled to stay behind with the dear man as his health failed and miss her only child’s wedding. Kalli knew Zoe had been torn, but being the kind of woman she was, Zoe couldn’t leave Grandpa Chris to depart this world alone. Kalli understood, of course, and wouldn’t have had it any other way, but right now she felt desolate, lost, and needed her mother’s unwavering support.
Now that the wedding was off, all she had to do was get back to her hotel, pack her bags and fly out of San Francisco. She must get back to Kansas to be with her mother and say her last goodbyes to Grandpa Chris.
The first day of June was turning into a nightmare for Nikolos Varos. His flight from Tokyo had been delayed, not once but twice, making him almost miss his own wedding. Then, in the wee hours, when he’d arrived at his penthouse apartment, he discovered a plumbing leak. The place was a disaster, so he’d had to dress for the formal wedding breakfast in his office bathroom.
And now, as he slipped on his tux jacket, the fiancée he had yet to meet came running into his office announcing to his bewildered assistant that she couldn’t marry him.
Peering around the corner where his executive dressing room adjoined his office, he scanned the space, empty now, except for his buttoned-up, button-down administrative assistant. The poor guy stood as though frozen, staring toward the office’s exit.
Niko leaned against the doorjamb and heaved a weary exhale. “What’s the matter, Charles?” he queried, cynicism ripe in his tone. “Never been jilted?”
Niko’s sarcasm seemed to bring his assistant out of his stupor and he turned, his long, thin face ashen. “Is that what happened, sir?”
Niko shook his head, feeling out of kilter from jet lag and lack of sleep. He’d hardly closed his eyes in the last seventy-two hours, getting his schedule squared away for an extended honeymoon, and now this? “I’m new at being dumped, but that little speech sounded like ‘goodbye’ to me.”
He scanned Charles, meticulously groomed, a fastidious detail-man with a prominent patrician nose and the pallor of desk work. Even as naturally pale and grave as he was, Charles looked so bleak Niko almost felt sorry for him.
For him?
Niko sensed the full impact of what just occurred hadn’t hit him yet. He was too tired to be furious. But he had a feeling it would register any minute.
Pushing away from the wall, he adjusted his tuxedo jacket. “No point standing around licking my wounds. There are things to be done.”
“Shall I inform the guests, sir?”
“What?” Niko frowned, surprised by the question. “Of course not.”
“But, sir—”
“Charles,” he cut in, not planning to discuss whose job it was to inform his friends that his wedding had been canceled by his fiancée. “While I’m giving the bad news to my guests, get that woman’s phone number.”
“You want me to call your fiancée at her hotel?” He sounded worried.
Niko reached the doors to his office and turned back. His brain was starting to record the significance of what happened, and his gut began to burn. He’d been discarded like an old pair of shoes, on his wedding day. People had come from all over the world to attend the festivities. Royalty, political heads of state, even a smattering of Hollywood glitterati. Five hundred guests cooled their heels in a ballroom fifty floors below, while his personal future and his pride were being kicked in the teeth by a wisp of a woman from Kansas—of all places! And now, here he stood, looking like a blasted head waiter who’d just lost his job!
“Damn straight I want you to call my fiancée at her hotel.” He turned to go, then stopped to look back. “Rather my ex-fiancée.”
“What do you want me to say, sir?”
“Don’t worry, Charles. I’ll tell you what to say when I return.” He stalked out the door. His head pounded as his travel-weary brain finally grasped the ugly extent of his predicament—humiliation on a global scale. He jabbed the elevator button to take him down to where the stately breakfast was about to begin. In mere moments he would face the most humbling, emasculating situation he could imagine. In a very public, very costly venue, he would be compelled to admit that, on the threshold of their wedding, his bride-to-be discovered she couldn’t bring herself to marry him.
He stared at the elevator door, wondering if he punched it whether his fist would leave its impression. He shook his head, running an agitated hand through his hair. It would be stupid to break his knuckles simply because some little Kansas hayseed got cold feet. He jabbed the elevator button again, a rush of self-contempt washing over him.
He—Nikolos Varos—who’d always been so condescending of his friends’ broken marriages, scornful of how they hadn’t been able to keep their families together. Nothing like that would happen to him, he’d thought. He was superior, above the fray. Even his parents hadn’t been able to hold their love match together. But he would. He could. “But look at you,” he grumbled, “Mr. Above-The-Fray can’t even get a countrified bumpkin to walk down the aisle.”
After years of listening to his parents arguments, and hearing his friends whimper, brokenhearted over women, he’d decided the old ways were better—to marry based on logic, common values and beliefs.
His brain taunted him with echoes of Kalli’s blunt, hurried rejection and he gritted his teeth. His grandfather, Dionysus, had blathered on about the Angelis family for what seemed like forever. About how, at the age of twelve, Dion had saved Christos Angelis from drowning in a fishing accident. They’d been best friends ever since, and had vowed to join the two families. At first the idea of marrying some stranger from Kansas had only made Niko laugh, but he’d been handed her picture and found her appealing—at least, physically.
Though she wasn’t a classic beauty, she had a lot of dark, shiny hair, large, lavender eyes and a strangely haunting smile. He had to admit, her picture was hardly a negative factor in his tally. Also on the plus side, the Varos family and the Angelis family came from the town of Kouteopothi, in Greece. They had common roots, held common beliefs, traditions. Most importantly, the families were bound by an all-consuming longing between two elderly gentlemen to see an old promise kept.
It hadn’t taken as much soul-searching as Niko believed it would to warm to the prospect. Being a man who put great stock in logic and order, he finally bowed to his grandfather’s coaxing.
Business had kept him away from the States, and he’d had to put off, then ultimately cancel, several planned meetings with Kalli. Still, that didn’t mean he hadn’t grown accustomed to the idea of marriage to her. He’d given her a very fair settlement in their prenuptial agreement. Damn it, he’d even changed his will!
And little Miss Hayloft blithely skips into his office on their wedding day and hacks his well-ordered plans to shreds. His anger surged. Not a man to make weak or empty threats, he growled, “Miss Kalli Angelis, you won’t get away with this.” The elevator doors whooshed open and he stepped inside.
“I won’t need much time,” he pledged, as he formulated his vendetta. “Three weeks will do.”
The elevator doors slid shut and Nikolos Varos began his descent.
Kalli didn’t want to think about anything right now, not the look on her ex-fiancé’s face when she told him she couldn’t marry him, not the fact that she had a long, dreary day ahead of her, trying to get back to Kansas City. And she definitely didn’t want to dwell on how best to pack one, unused wedding dress.
What was she going to do with it once she got it home, sell it? She and her mother had spent hours sewing hundreds of beads on the lace bodice and sleeves, beads from dozens of faux pearl necklaces they’d scrounged from garage sales. She peered at the white confection and experienced a self-condemning twinge. All that time and effort had been such a harebrained waste. An arranged marriage, for goodness’ sake! Had she gone temporarily insane?
Expelling a resigned sigh, she rolled up the dress and shoved it into the suitcase.
Mashing down on the hastily deposited clothes, she struggled with the suitcase zipper. “Do not feel sorry for yourself, Kalli Angelis!” She sniffed. “You weren’t in love with the man. You’d only seen one old snapshot of him—when he was seventeen, yet!” She had to admit the grown man in the office didn’t look much like the picture her grandpa had carried around in his wallet all those years.
According to Grandpa Chris, Nikolos had visited family in Kouteopothi—or as she laughingly translated it, “Crooked Foot”—the summer before her grandfather came to live with Kalli and her mother, Zoe. “Maybe the smile made all the difference,” she mumbled. He definitely did not smile this morning when she’d barged into his office.
He seemed so pale and stiff. Not the image her grandpa had given. He’d said Niko was athletic and fun-loving, always laughing. Maybe over the years the business of international finance had sucked the fun and spontaneity out of him.
“Besides,” she gritted out, yanking on the suitcase zipper. “Just because Grandpa Chris raved about how wonderful he was doesn’t mean he would have made a good match for me. Money and position aren’t everything.”
With a hearty jerk, she coerced the suitcase into zipping shut and hefted it off the bed. The phone rang, startling her so badly she dropped the bag on her foot.
“Ouch!” Making a pained face at the telephone, she wondered who would be calling. Her mother? Who else? “Except maybe Mr. Varos,” she muttered, “deciding he needs to take a shot at me before I get out of town.”
Limping to the phone, she promised herself if it was Mr. Varos bent on his verbal pound of flesh, she could hang up. Another spineless act, but right now she had her own traumas to deal with. His would have to wait.
“Hello,” she said. “Mama?”
There was a pause, then, “No.”
She knew immediately who the voice belonged to. The subdued monosyllable could only have been stated by the starched, bloodless man she’d so recently jilted. “Oh—Mr. Varos.” She swallowed. “I—I really can’t talk now. I have to catch my flight.” That wasn’t totally accurate. She had standby status. All flights that would eventually get her to Kansas City were full. But he didn’t need to know that.
“This will only take a moment.”
She closed her eyes and sank to the mattress. “Oh?” Her life flashed before her eyes. There could be nothing more ominous than the sound of a perfectly calm voice when you know you deserve reaming out. All that solid, well-thought out logic going into an argument would be hard to debate.
On the other hand, Mr. Varos would discover her half of the “debate” would consist of banging the receiver in his ear. She tensed, ready to slam it down. “How may I help you?” She cringed the instant the words were out of her mouth. Why don’t you just hand him a knife? she scolded inwardly. You all but prodded him into saying, “You can take a nosedive off a cliff, thank you very much!”
“Since you are by profession a Historical Reconstruction Consultant, I would appreciate it if you’d remain in California for three weeks, stay at the recently purchased Victorian estate that would have been your home—to use your expertise in making it a showplace. As you know, that refurbishing project was part of the marriage agreement.” Kalli sat up, not believing what she was hearing. “The mansion must be renovated for an important gathering in six months, so time is of the essence.”
She shook her head in disbelief. He was a cool customer. She’d expected almost anything but this. He talked like a hotel concierge, making her the offer without a speck of anger or the hint of ruffled feathers. Of course business deals weren’t usually fraught with emotion. How silly of her to have worried that her last-minute rejection would offend him.
Ha! Mr. Ice-Water-For-Blood-Banker was not only not angry, he was offering her a plum assignment. One of the reasons she’d agreed to the marriage, besides her desire to please her grandfather, had been the fact that Mr. Varos was an influential man with high-level connections.
Time and again as the wedding day approached, she’d told herself Mr. Varos would gain the wife-slash-hostess and two offspring he’d stipulated, and she would get a huge boost for her professional life. Logic had been her watchword, since soft emotions were not a part of the equation. She had reasoned turning the Varos mansion into a showplace would make her career, with her work depicted in slick, respected magazines such as Architectural Digest. Why should he be the only one to get everything he wanted out of the marriage? If he could have a career and children, why couldn’t she?
“Miss Angelis?”
His solemn voice snapped her out of her stunned musings. “Oh—yes. I’m here.”
“What do you say?”
She couldn’t imagine that he would even ask, so the idea of accepting had never entered her mind. It was too fantastic. Jilting a man, then an hour later, having that same man offer her a spectacular job. “But—that’s very—are you sure?”
“As you stated, Miss Angelis, you only have a minute. May I have your answer?”
Kalli was torn. Even pausing to consider such an offer was a blatant indication she wasn’t paddling with all her oars. She sucked in a trembly breath. Her conscience was killing her over breaking her marriage promise. The fact that he would request that she do the work on his home after her abrupt rejection was amazingly tolerant. Did she dare contemplate it? Did she dare refuse? How many Kansas City historical reconstruction consultants got a shot at being featured in Architectural Digest?
“Are you there?”
Fumbling with the phone, she jerked out of her stupor. “Oh—yes—I’m here.” She had a thought and had to voice it. “It’s kind of you to offer me the job, considering—everything. Actually, that’s a concern—”
“If I’m there at all, Miss Angelis,” he cut in, “it won’t be to see you, and any visit will be brief.”
How did he know that’s what she’d been about to ask? Did he read minds? Besides being tolerant he was intuitive. “Well—” She could feel herself wavering, weakening. If breaking her word didn’t bother him, then who was she to deny herself this chance? “Naturally I’ll need to be in Kansas City for my grandfather’s—” Her voice wavered and she cleared her throat. Her loss was still too new and raw.
“Naturally,” he said. “I trust a week in Kansas should be sufficient. Notify me of your flight schedule. Someone will meet you at the airport.”
The phone went dead. After several seconds of absorbing the dial tone, Kalli realized he’d hung up, evidently concluding the deal was made.
Her head swam and she felt dazed, but she supposed he was correct. She hadn’t said no. Planning the refurbishing of the Varos mansion would be good for both of them, really. Doing the job for him would help ease her angst over jilting him, not to mention it would double his property’s value. Besides, all that exacting work would keep her mind occupied, so she wouldn’t dwell on the empty hole in her heart left by her grandfather’s passing.
“Uh—okay,” she mumbled belatedly, lowering the receiver to its cradle. “I’ll see you in a week, Mr. Varos.”
She slumped there, staring at nothing for a long time. This had been a terrible, emotion-battering wedding day, full of grief and guilt. She’d acted like a mealymouthed double-crosser. Never in her life had she behaved so badly, and she was thoroughly ashamed. It seemed to go against nature that she should be rewarded by the very person she’d wronged.
At least, in her mind, she’d wronged him. To hear Mr. Varos’s voice, you’d think this was just another day in his life, filled with endless columns of credits and debits. To Nikolos Varos, being tossed over by Kalli Angelis was obviously nothing more than a huge yawn.
She shook herself and straightened. Right now she didn’t have the mental strength to be either puzzled or shocked by his indifference. She pushed off the bed and grabbed her suitcase. It was time to go home, comfort her mother and bid her beloved grandfather goodbye.
Kalli hurried from the hotel room, fighting a niggling unease.
Niko tugged the knit shirt on over his head and caught sight of himself in his office’s bathroom mirror. Now that he’d shucked the tux, he might be dressed more comfortably, but his expression didn’t exhibit any emotional comfort. He was so irate he was surprised smoke didn’t billow from his ears.
As he reentered his office Charles hung up his telephone and rose from his leather chair.
“When is she coming?”
Charles turned, his expression solemn. “Next week. I said someone would pick her up at the airport, as you instructed.” His perusal dropped to the desk and he began to straighten papers, clearly agitated. “How did you know she would accept, sir?” he asked, with a quick peek.
Niko stretched his shoulders, working to ease the tension in his muscles. “Greed, Charles. Greed and pride.” He ground his teeth. “You dangle the right bait and the fish will bite.”
Charles gathered up several file folders and hugged them to his suit front. “She thought I was you, sir.” The man turned stiffly to face his boss, his expression almost, but not quite, accusing. Niko mouthed a curse. Blast the tribulations of having a brutally scrupulous workforce. Even such a slight subterfuge, like not correcting an inaccurate assumption, grated on Charles’s sense of propriety. “You won’t do anything rash, sir?”
The man’s cautioning tone sent a rush of bitter resentment through Niko but he held his temper. “Of course not. I intend to plan my revenge very carefully.”
Though it didn’t seem possible, Charles’ pallor increased. “But—but, sir, you made the CEO of Megatronics cry. You can be—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He didn’t cry. He had an eye infection,” Niko snapped, his reserve corroding. “More to the point, the man was a fool. He wasted millions by breaking his word and not heeding my advice. I only made him see the error of his ways.” More to himself than to Charles, he muttered, “Miss Angelis will merely get some hands-on experience about how I deal with those who break their word to me.”
“Oh—dear…” A sparkle of sweat beaded on Charles’s forehead. His expression was so transparently fearful Niko experienced a twinge of compassion. His assistant was an excellent manager, but anything that smacked of ruthlessness made him queasy.
Pressing a hand on Charles’s shoulder, Niko squeezed. “Don’t look so worried. I’m not going to eat the woman alive.” He smiled, but it felt more like a baring of teeth. “I’m merely going to indulge my little ex with some—undivided attention.”
Charles winced, alerting Niko to the fact that his reassuring squeeze had became painful. He removed his hand. “Don’t you think she deserves a little discomfort?”
Charles’s Adam’s apple bobbed, but he didn’t respond.
Niko would have appreciated a glimmer of empathy from his hired right arm, but he didn’t require it. He scanned the man shielding himself with a batch of files and scowled. “Maybe your attitude would be different if it was your face splashed all over the San Francisco press instead of mine,” he gritted out, “and you were the laughingstock.”

CHAPTER TWO
KALLI stepped off the plane in San Francisco, a week later, with no idea what to expect. That morning she’d called Mr. Varos’s office to let him know her schedule, but couldn’t get past some female receptionist, who assured huskily that the message would be passed to the proper department. So Kalli had no choice but to leave the flight information with a stranger on the phone.
She still had niggling doubts about accepting this job, doubts she could not squelch. Would she be left stranded in the airport as some kind of sadistic joke? She still couldn’t imagine Mr. Varos, or anyone else for that matter, really being as magnanimous as he’d seemed when he’d offered her the assignment.
She emerged from the long gangway, sidestepping fellow passengers who had come to abrupt halts to embrace friends and loved ones. Other plane-mates charged by her, cellular phones pasted to an ear as they dashed hell-bent down the cavernous corridor toward baggage claim, taxi cabs and business meetings.
The place was awash with humanity, whirring with activity and clamoring chatter. How was she supposed to find the right “someone” who’d been ordered to meet her? That is, if someone was meeting her, and this job offer wasn’t a mean-spirited hoax.
She found a place to pause beside a pillar where she’d be safely out of the way of frenzied travelers and beeping conveyance vehicles. Anxiety roiled in her belly as she scanned the ordered chaos, wondering how her escort would find her? Had he—or she—been shown the picture she’d sent to Mr. Varos before the wedding was arranged? Would he—or she—even show? The thought of coming all this way just to be left standing at the airport like a potted palm made her shudder.
“How did I get here—and why am I here, at all?” she muttered. Slipping the strap of her carry-on bag off her shoulder, she lay the case on the tile. For the thousandth time she went over the whole bizarre situation in her mind. First she’d rejected Mr. Varos. Then he’d called and offered her the opportunity to refurbish the mansion. When he’d hung up, she still hadn’t actually said she’d come. She remained torn most of the week, first thinking she couldn’t possibly agree, then deciding she couldn’t possibly refuse.
She’d even looked up old photographs of the Varos mansion, when it had been The Gladingstone House in its turn-of-the-century heyday. The estate had been gorgeous. She knew standing before the real thing would take her breath away. If she decided to return to San Francisco.
If? Getting this chance was like getting tapped for the Olympics. Not an offer easily rejected—since such an opportunity was the absolute epitome of everything she’d ever hoped to do in her life.
Aside from that, she owed Mr. Varos. She knew she could do a good job. She could do an excellent job. And she would, because of all she had at stake. She had a huge broken promise to make up for. And that was above and beyond everything this job would do for her career.
She experienced another surge of nervous anticipation and smoothed her navy linen jacket. Her high heels pinched a little, but that was a small price to pay. She’d dressed for success, wanting to make a top-notch impression. Though she wouldn’t see Mr. Varos, himself, he would hear about the project. She didn’t want a single, solitary negative word getting back to him, about her work or herself. She would be a professional from the tip of her head to the ends of her aching toes. No mealymouthed behavior this time. Nothing would go wrong. She would prove to Mr. Varos that his faith in her was not misplaced.
She shifted her weight in her all-business shoes, trying to make the ache in her toes go away. Eagerly she scanned everyone who passed by, her smile hopeful and expectant. Almost pleading, “Please be from Mr. Varos’s staff!”
After forty-five gut-wrenching minutes, her feet were killing her and her face muscles hurt from all the futile smiling. She was near the extreme end of the terminal wing. Everyone had left the area who’d been on her flight. Even stragglers whose loved ones arrived late were gone.
A smattering of strangers ambled by on their way to the final couple of gates, and a handful of early arrivals for the next flight out of Kalli’s gate drifted up and milled around, waiting for a departure still an hour and a half away. Even so, in view of Kalli’s state of mind, she felt very alone as she loitered by a pillar she was beginning to hate. She wished she’d opted to vegetate sitting down. It would have been just as easy to be ignored and forgotten in a seated position as it had been standing around in those cruel new shoes.
She didn’t want to believe the offer was a joke, that Mr. Varos had never intended to give her the assignment. She wanted to believe there was a good explanation, and if she was patient someone would arrive. Possibly the traffic was bad.
She could always call his office. She had the number. The only question was, how long did she wait before she sought out a telephone? Why hadn’t she bought a cellular? Everybody else in the universe had one. That was the very next thing she promised herself she’d do. After this job—or this—prank.
She sighed, worried and tired. What if somebody had been there but didn’t recognize her from the picture. Her hair had been shorter then. At a loss, she mumbled, “Maybe I should have made a big sign that said I’m Kalli Angelis.”
“That’s not necessary,” came a masculine voice from so nearby she jumped and clasped a hand over her heart. Spinning she saw him. Tall, straight and powerfully built. A shaft of sunlight gave a luminous radiance to earth-colored hair, and it gleamed like a dark halo. She stared wordlessly.
His face was angular, his features pleasantly strong. Sunglasses veiled his eyes, which was too bad, since a shadowy half smile rode a surprisingly sensuous mouth. She wished she could know what his eyes said, since his lips seemed to find her vaguely amusing—in an annoying way. Maybe having to pick her up had unhinged his schedule. “Miss Angelis, I’m your ride,” he said, in that same, low drawl. A rough-sexy edge to his voice made his innocent statement sound downright naughty, but she sensed the erotic delivery was completely uncontrived.
Dressed as he was, in jeans, rust colored Henley shirt and work boots, he didn’t look like a man who contrived anything. His attitude and attire fairly shouted, “I am what I am, so deal with it!” She experienced an appreciative shiver along her spine. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it certainly hadn’t been anything like this hunk.
He cleared his throat. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, she could see his lips, which indicated the irritation was winning out over amusement. His rankled perusal, even masked by dark glasses, made it clear he expected some kind of response. Preferably this year.
Belatedly she nodded. “Oh—my ride? Great. Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” As he scooped up her carry-on bag, his lips kicked downward at the corners divulging the unvarnished truth. It was really no pleasure at all.
She experienced a twinge. “I—I thought I’d been abandoned—you’re so late.”
“Am I?” He pursed his lips. “Perhaps I got the arrival time wrong.” He indicated the direction and began to walk off with her bag. “This way.”
After an instant’s surprised hesitation by his abrupt departure, she scurried up beside him. “Uh—well, at least you’re here, now. That’s what counts. I gather you’re giving me a ride to Mr. Varos’s estate?”
He canted his head in her direction. “Good guess.”
She made a disgruntled face at his surly attitude, but he didn’t see it, since he’d turned away. His strides were long and she had to run to keep up, which was torture on her pinched feet. “Is there some kind of huge hurry?”
“Not huge.”
He didn’t look at her or slow his pace. She eyed his hawkish profile with growing aggravation. “Really?” she shot back. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to be surly. “Then how fast would we be running if it was huge?”
This time when he glanced her way, he slowed. “Am I walking too fast?”
“Not if we’re entered in a marathon. But if you don’t want to lose me in the airport, you might be. These are not exactly jogging shoes.” She indicated her high heels, her expression admonishing.
She couldn’t tell if he even bothered to glance at her feet, but she could detect bunching in his jaw muscles. “Sorry.” He resumed his trek, only infinitesimally slower than before. A telling indication of how little he cared about her feelings.
“Gee whiz.” She sprinted along beside him. “This is so much better. Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
She scowled. He had a way of saying “My pleasure” that sounded suspiciously like “Go to hell.”
“We’ll need to—go to baggage claim,” she said, sorry to hear herself panting like a thirsty basset hound. “Do you know—the way to baggage claim?”
He flicked a harsh look her way. At least she thought he did, but he didn’t say anything. When he turned a corner, she skidded around it, too.
“So—what do you do when you’re not fetching people at airports?” she asked, trying to make conversation.
“I mind my own business.”
She stumbled, but regained her balance in time to keep from falling on her backside. Breaking into a sprint, she caught up with him. “Well, that—that was rude!” She grabbed his wrist, sturdy and warm and masculine. She didn’t know what she expected, but touching his flesh had a startling effect on her.
She swallowed. “I presume you work for Mr. Varos?” She said it in a tone meant to threaten that she would tattle about his boorishness, and quite possibly get him fired. She would never actually do such a thing, but this bad-mannered lout didn’t need to know. “Because, he should be informed about how you treat people!”
Her escort came to a stop so abruptly she was a step beyond him before she realized it. She whirled back as his head tilted down, making it plain he was focusing on her hand clutching his arm. With a slight twist of his wrist, he separated them. Sweeping the recently freed appendage outward, he indicated the nearest baggage carousel. “Pick a bag, Miss Angelis.”
“That won’t be hard,” she said, sweeping her own arm out. “There’s just the one left!”
“Why don’t I get that for you, ma’am.” He gave a slight, mocking salute and turned away.
She crossed her arms and scowled at the back of his head, deciding she could be as closemouthed as he. A few minutes later she was strapped into a sleek, two-seater sports car. Her belongings had barely fit into the trunk. Another indication that he hadn’t put a great deal of thought or care into this assignment.
As they sped northward, she found herself wondering about this delivery guy who’d been delegated to drive her to the remote Varos estate. She hoped it wasn’t too remote, since sitting beside a glowering grouch was not the most fun she’d ever had.
There were positives about the ride, though. The sun felt good on her face, mild and friendly—not a thing like the short-tempered sphinx at the wheel. She lay her head back to enjoy the cool breeze and the benevolent sunshine. After a time, she realized they were crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, a symphony in steel, recognizable around the world. She sat up to take in the spectacular view of ocean and the cliffs off to the west. On the eastern side, green hills spread out all around. Far below, lay San Francisco Bay, with its teeming marinas. Sailboats glided among verdant islands that dotted blue water. The tangy scent of the sea rose up to greet her and she inhaled, enjoying the extraordinary experience.
She looked at her unfriendly companion and her smile evaporated. His neatly trimmed hair ruffled in the breeze. Glossy brown tendrils skidded and cavorted across his forehead. Bathed in early-afternoon sunlight the way he was, Kalli had to admit he was deliciously handsome—except for the cantankerous set of his jaw. There was a coiled strength about him, a rugged vitality, that both attracted and troubled her. Clearly this was a man who didn’t give a tinker’s damn about what she or anyone else thought about him.
Unfortunately, even as moody and grouchy as he was, there was something in him that sent tremors of feminine attraction zinging through her veins. She hated conceding such a thing even for one fleeting instant. Why did she have to find him tempting? He was a rude, tight-lipped jerk. The sooner he dropped her off and drove out of her life, the better she’d like it.
Sitting more erect, she decided she might as well attempt conversation one more time. It was better than admiring the gleam of his hair or the appealing ridge of his cheekbones.
“Nice convertible,” she said. “Is it yours?”
“It’s one of the Varos cars.”
She nodded. That made sense. Not many people would be able to afford a snazzy vehicle like this. “So you’re the chauffeur?”
“Sometimes.”
“When you’re not teaching the sensitivity training seminars?” she asked, trying to get a rise out of him. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because he could so easily get one out of her.
She didn’t succeed. He merely stared at the highway. No, that wasn’t totally accurate. He flexed one hand. She wondered if that meant he was clutching the steering wheel so tightly his hands were cramping. Ha! Good! If he had to exasperate her then she might as well return the favor.
“Do you have a name?” she asked, “Or are you an android with a glitch in your disposition software?”
His square jaw tensed, and she canted her head in his direction, fascinated by the play of light and shadow on his sharply defined features. As soon as she realized she was admiring him, she shifted to glare at the highway. When he didn’t respond, she had no choice but to reroute her glare in his direction. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted, “I said, do you have a name, or—”
“I heard you, Miss Angelis.”
She continued to glower at him, but refused to say another word. If he chose to be a boor, it was his business. She didn’t care if he had a name or not.
After another ponderous accumulation of minutes, he startled her with, “Some people call me Pal.”
When she stopped reeling from shock that he’d actually spoken to her, she stared at him. “No kidding?” She made a disbelieving face. “No doubt due to your laugh-a-minute personality?”
He said nothing more, just drove.
Pal? It didn’t fit with the obnoxious image she had of the man. She decided to delve into the possible spin-offs of Pal. Out loud. If nothing else, her droning on might annoy him, and that was dandy with her. “One thing we can cross off the list is ‘Pal’ as in buddy or friend. The reasons for ruling them out are so laughably obvious I won’t even go there.”
She wanted to peek at him to see if his jaw muscles reacted to that dig, but she resisted. “Let’s see. Pal…” She scrunched up her forehead. “This is a hard one.” She peered at him. “Care to give me a hint?”
His only reaction was to check the rearview mirror and slide into the passing lane. What was this? Speeding up in order to get rid of her that much quicker? Her antagonism kicked into high gear along with the sports car. “I’ve got it!” She snapped her fingers and beamed at his profile. “You’re nicknamed after the palm crab! The reasons for that would be self-explanatory. And—no, wait, Paltry! That’s it!” She clapped her hands together with glee. “Paltry—meaning wretched, pettifogging and contemptible!”
She presented him with a victorious grin. Proud of herself and her wit, she was positive she’d showed ol’ “Pal” here, a thing or two about exactly who he was dealing with. “Am I right, or am I right?” she asked, a jubilant lilt in her tone.
“Pettifogging?” He stared at her for an instant as he downshifted at an exit.
“It’s a word,” she shot back, her triumphant smile intact. “It means trashy, shoddy—”
“Pal is short for Palikaraki. A nickname from my grandfather. “
“Palikaraki?” Kalli’s smile mutated into a confused frown. “But—but that’s Greek for ‘little hero.”’
The sports car sped along a hilly country road winding through a forest of pines and California live oak. As her companion drove, he slowly and deliberately lowered his head, then raised it. Kalli had to assume the move was a nod.
“Little hero?” She gave him another once-over. “Well, without getting into the delusions of your grandfather—does that mean you’re, by some freaky chance—Greek?”
Again he did that slow up and down thing with his head, another positive, if mute, response.
“I’m Greek, too.” She eyed him with curiosity, concluding it wouldn’t be strange for Mr. Varos to have other Greeks in his employ. There were probably lots of Greeks in California. As a matter of fact, it would make perfect sense. On two levels.
If Mr. Varos would go to the extreme of marrying a woman he didn’t know just because she was Greek, he would surely hire Greeks. And that solved the other burning question. How anybody as bad-tempered as Pal, here, could even get a job—certainly only by playing the Greek card.
“And I thought ‘little hero’ was just a good guess.” He glanced her way. “I’m disappointed.”
Her annoyance flared at his taunt. “You’re disappointed?” she said. “You’re disappointed! Well, Pal, let me tell you about disappointment!”
They came to a stop before a towering wrought-iron gate. Beautiful and ornate, it depicted scrolls, gilded flowers and acanthus leaves. The iron barrier was set in massive stone posts, topped with elaborate wrought-iron lanterns.
Kalli noticed Pal turn and glance up to his left. She followed his gaze, but didn’t see anything at first. After a minute of puzzled scrutinizing, she spotted a small camera mounted unobtrusively in a niche on the pillar, nearly hidden by branches of a towering cedar.
After a short pause, the gate began to open to the accompaniment of a low mechanical hum.
Kalli was surprised Pal didn’t have to say anything. “Do they have eyeball prints of every employee, or something?”
He drove through the open gate without responding to her wisecrack.
She shifted to look back, and watched as the magnificent iron blockade made its ponderous return trek to block access to the Varos property.
“You were telling me something about disappointment, Miss Angelis?”
“Oh!” She jumped in surprise, something Pal seemed everlastingly good at making her do. She couldn’t recall reacting so powerful to any other man who merely initiated a conversation. What was it about Pal that could coax her to the brink of a conniption fit.
“Disappointment?” She shook her head, trying to refocus. The sight of the majestic gate had reminded her why she was here, and she experienced a surge of excitement about the project for the first time since—well, since the proposition of refurbishing the property had been made via Mr. Varos’s lawyers, when the marriage deal was being hammered out.
She swallowed, her throat dry. It was hard to believe she’d even considered such a daft idea as an arranged marriage. “Oh—right. Disappointment.”
She strained to see over the treetops, and thought she spied a spire here and a chimney there. She would see the house very soon. Her heartbeat sped up and she gave Pal a disgruntled peek. She would be rid of her disagreeable escort, too.
That knowledge made her bold.
“I’ll tell you about disappointment!” she said, allowing her resentment free access to her mouth. “Disappointment is being picked up at the airport by a big, grouchy bear. Disappointment is having to spend these past two, unending hours with a snarling sorehead. And real disappointment is discovering that same big, grouchy bear of a sorehead is Greek, a cruel, ugly blot on an otherwise wonderful people!”
Belligerent and full of vinegar, she leaned toward him, hopeful her aggressive slant would rattle him just a little. “That’s real disappointment, buster!” She flicked him hard on the arm. “That’s bottom-line disappointment—Pal!”
They headed around a bend and up an incline. Out of the corner of her eye, Kalli saw a flash of color that wasn’t part of the verdant landscape. She turned instinctively as the Varos mansion rose before her amid a paradise of blooming shrubs, flowers and the heavy perfume of wisteria.
She sucked in a breath, experiencing a warm, rosy feeling she could only describe as love-at-first-sight. The Victorian residence had a fairy-tale quality—a delicate castle, created from a romantic marriage of brick, stone and wood.
It was a three-storied cornucopia of Victorian elements, cleverly mingled from its gables, dormers and Palladian windows to the wraparound graystone veranda and lofty tower. The dwelling was unique and whimsical—a charming reflection of childhood fantasies and make-believe.
“Oh,” she cried, her passion for her work cresting and overflowing. “There’s so much—so much—” Her voice broke, so she waved a broad arch in the air, indicating its potential. The home was not merely plaster, board and stone to Kalli. It was a living, breathing entity—a being with a soul and character, who, over the years, had been wronged and degraded with regrettable paint choices and injurious additions.
To be given the chance to save such a treasure, to restore it to its original glory, would be a dream-come-true to anyone in her profession. Kalli gawked, overwhelmed that Mr. Varos would entrust such an undertaking into her care.
The mansion began to quiver before her eyes, then blurred. As the sports car pulled to a stop, she blinked, dislodging tears of gratitude.
“I gather the house is a real, bottom-line disappointment?”
Pal’s cynical remark coming so near her ear made her cry out. She jerked to glare at him. “You scared me!” She swiped at the tears with the back of her hand, not even slightly embarrassed that he’d seen her cry. Some things were simply worth crying over, and this superb mansion was one of them.
He shifted to lounge against the leather and draped an arm across the back of her seat. “I thought you knew I was here,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “I’m sorry.”
If she’d ever heard a you’re-a-pain-in-the-neck anti-apology, that was it. She bounced around, presenting her back to him and focusing on the house. Her hands trembling with anger, she busily straightened her suit jacket and finger-combed her hair.
“You really should be sorry, you know!” She spun back to glower at him. “And to answer your question, no. The house is not a disappointment. It’s wonderful. I’m deeply moved that Mr. Varos wants me to refurbish it. There’s such innate beauty, such graceful transcendency. With the right creative hand, the right artistic eye, Mr. Varos’s home could become a work of art.”
He lifted his chin, a clear indication his attention had moved in the direction of the house, somewhere behind and above her. She gave him a hard, offended look. Why was she bothering to explain? He wasn’t listening. Besides, this insensitive part-time-chauffeur-handyman-all-round-disagreeable-underling couldn’t possibly understand how aesthetics could stir the receptive spirit.
“Oh—never mind.” Shaking her head, she indicated the rear of the car. “If you’ll pop the trunk, I’ll get my bags. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”
“I’ll get your bags, miss.”
This new male voice came from behind and slightly above her. She jerked around. A trim, white-haired man in black stood midway down the brick staircase that led to the arched entry. The servant wore white gloves and a reserved, yet welcoming, smile. Kalli heard a click as the car trunk popped open.
Without waiting for further evidence of permission to retrieve her bags, the man descended the steps and headed to the rear of the car. Kalli pushed open her door and got out, only partly in a desire to help with her bags. One unruly portion of her brain had an urge to turn and gaze just once more at—well, it was a stupid urge, and she fought it by leaping from the convertible.
As she shut the car door, another man emerged from the shadows of the wide, covered porch. This new arrival was tall and thin, wore a dark suit, green-and-navy striped tie, and carried a black leather briefcase. His long, pale face and receding hairline seemed familiar. Kalli paused to scrutinize him, digging into her memory. When his glance shifted to meet hers, he came to a dead stop, his eyes going wide. That was it! That startled doe look told her exactly were she’d seen him before. She gasped, wagging an accusing finger at him. “But you said you wouldn’t be here!”
She didn’t like the panic in her voice. She’d meant to sound stern, all business. She noticed her finger, still wagging in his direction. It looked so moronic, she dropped her hand to her side, struggling to keep her lower lip from trembling. She felt rotten about what she’d done to Mr. Varos, and she was still acting badly. Working to regain her poise, she made herself breathe evenly.
“I—I’m just leaving.” The man she’d jilted walked down the remainder of the steps to the brick driveway.
Kalli felt wretched. How could she have shouted, especially considering he’d offered her this wonderful job? She hurried over to him and took his free hand in both of hers. “Oh, Mr. Varos, you must think I’m an ungrateful shrew.” She pumped his cool, limp fingers. “Thank you so much for this chance. I’ll do my very, very utmost to make your home the showpiece it deserves to be. I’m thrilled to be here. You’re too kind, and I’ll never, ever forget—”
“Miss Angelis,” Pal cut in. “If you’ll kindly release my assistant, he’s on a tight schedule.”
Kalli stopped pumping and opened her mouth to ask Pal what he was babbling about, but he’d turned to the pale man whose hand she clutched. “Charles, I left the Magnason contracts on my desk. Express mail them this afternoon. Then drive the Boxster to the garage. It needs to be detailed.”
“Yes, sir.” The pale man’s gaze darted from Kalli to Pal and back to Kalli.
Pal held out the car keys but when they weren’t immediately retrieved, he frowned, pointedly staring down at the pallid hand Kalli gripped with all her strength. “Don’t cut off his circulation, Miss Angelis. Charles needs those fingers. He types one hundred words a minute.”
Pal lifted away his sunglasses to reveal darkly fringed eyes the color of smoke. Those eyes captured her gaze and her breath. Without looking away, he signaled the butler. “Take Miss Angelis’ bags inside, Belkin. She’s thrilled to be here.”
Those lips Kalli had found disturbingly sensuous curled in a wicked grin and he winked, the most brazen, most calculated act she’d ever seen. Her reaction was just short of apoplexy.
“What—what’s going on here?” she asked in a fragile whisper. “Isn’t this…” She jerked to stare accusingly at the pale man whose hand she held. “But—aren’t you…?”
“No, ma’am. I’m Charles Early.” He made a sickly effort to smile. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“But—but…” Horrified, she gaped at Pal. The truth trying to seep into her brain was too terrible to contemplate. “But you can’t be…”
He bowed his head slightly, as though being introduced at a formal gathering. “Nikolos Varos, at your service.” Slipping the convertible’s keys into Charles’s coat pocket, Niko kept her gaze locked with his, his grin crooked. “It’s my pleasure to meet you—at last.”
Even in her dazed stupor, Kalli was hit between the eyes with his brazen insolence. He’d made a fool of her and he loved it. As far as Nikolos Varos was concerned, their alliance was so completely opposite from a pleasure, she could feel the antagonism pulsating through her as surely and painfully as if she were standing on a downed electric cable. He didn’t like her, didn’t want to be in the same state with her. So why…
He took her arm, short-circuiting her thought processes. “Allow me to show you to your room.”
Groping around in her brain for balance and sanity, she belatedly managed to yank from his hold. “You promised you wouldn’t be here!”
Niko stood a step below her, but she still had to look up to scan his expression. “Actually,” he corrected, “Charles said he wouldn’t be here.” One dark brow rose as he observed her, his smile gone. “More to the point, you promised to marry me. Why are you still Miss Angelis?”
The blunt rebuke broadsided Kalli. She felt dizzy and she couldn’t catch her breath. This wouldn’t work. She couldn’t be here, couldn’t stay. Suddenly ice-cold, she hugged herself. “This is impossible, Mr. Varos,” she whispered. Her ex-fiancé might not have a broken heart because of her rejection, but his bloodthirsty streak was all too real. “Under the circumstances, I—I can’t stay.”
Niko’s brow furrowed for an instant, then his features became unreadable. “It’s your decision, of course,” he said in that rough-sexy drawl. “Most people in your profession would endure hell on earth to get a prestigious opportunity like this.” He indicated the house. “Look at it again, Miss Angelis. Tell me I’m wrong.”
She didn’t have to look. She knew he was right. In all her experience she’d never seen a more spectacular example of the American Victorian style. With proper refurbishing, the grand edifice could be a masterpiece of the period. How many people got the chance to help create a masterpiece?
Her sense of loss was like a molten steel weight in her belly and she had to fight to keep from bursting into tears. She shook her head, befuddled and stupid. She wished she could be anywhere else, but she knew her cowardly behavior toward Mr. Varos had to end. Choking back a sob, she resolutely met his gaze. “Since you obviously detest me, why would you offer such a five-star job —to me? It doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s very simple, Miss Angelis.” A knife-edged chill clung to his words. “Because I keep my promises.”

CHAPTER THREE
THAT stinging insult hadn’t been Niko’s most shining hour. He watched his ex-fiancée wince. Odd, he didn’t feel quite the surge of satisfaction he’d thought he would.
She opened her mouth, but before she could respond, he grasped her elbow and steered her up the steps into the mansion’s foyer.
“But, Mr. Var—”
“By the way,” he cut in, uncompromising in his plan to teach his fickle ex-fiancée a lesson about breaking pledges. “Regarding your gushing thanks earlier—you’re quite welcome. It’s my pleasure.” He knew his forbidding expression would underscore the lie.
She startled him when she yanked from his hold and spun to confront him. “Will you be here the whole time?” Her eyes, a captivating lavender-gray, sparked with animosity and distress. Though her face was the perfect oval he’d admired in her picture, he was becoming acquainted with her chin of iron determination. At the moment, it jutted accusingly. Her jet-black hair flowed out in soft waves from a center part. Disheveled from the convertible ride, the thick mane gleamed, a dusky aura around her flushed face.
She looked a little crazed, in an engaging way. His heated reaction to a mass of glossy hair and a blush made him furious with himself. He didn’t like this woman. She might be attractive but she was flighty and couldn’t be trusted to keep important promises. This flaw in her character had caused him no end of embarrassment. He hadn’t been able to go anywhere in the city without being ribbed that he’d been “left at the altar,” not to mention all the pointing and staring from strangers.
“Well,” she demanded, aiming that lethal little chin at his heart. “Are you planning to be here?”
With a studied nonchalance he didn’t feel, Niko shrugged his hands into his jeans pockets. “If you’ll recall, I’m on vacation.”
“Don’t you have a place in town?” Her voice had gone high-pitched and shrill. She was truly alarmed about this turn of events. That knowledge sent a rush of malevolent pleasure through him. “My place in town needs repair work,” he said. “I’ll be staying here for the duration.”
“Duration?” she squeaked.
“Three weeks.”
Her horrified expression almost made him smile.
“But—but that’s how long…” Her voice broke and she didn’t finish. They both knew she needed to be there that long. He watched her swallow several times, obviously trying to get her voice under control. “You lied to me,” she whispered at last.
“Did I?” He challenged her with his most innocent expression.
“Yes!” She glared, clearly attempting to kill him with that look. “When you said you wouldn’t be here. You lied!”
“Charles told you he wouldn’t be here.”
“But he—you—allowed me to assume—”
“What you assume, Miss Angelis, is hardly my fault.”
She blinked, then her stare grew wider, as though she’d had a distasteful thought. “Do you think you need to keep an eye on me? Is that why you’re staying? You don’t trust me to get the job done?”
That wasn’t the reason, but the idea had merit. “Why would I need to do that?” he asked. “When have I ever known you to break your word?”
She opened her lips, but plainly shaken by his direct shot, couldn’t seem to form words. Niko gave her no time to recoup and dropped a bomb. “The fact is, this is a beautiful piece of property. I own it, so why shouldn’t I stay? After all, this was supposed to be my honeymoon.”
He heard her guttural moan and knew he’d drawn blood. “This is—this is bad!” She rubbed her temples as though trying to ward off a headache. “I can’t take your insults for three weeks. I can’t even take them for three minutes.” The butler came down the steps. At the sound of his approach, she whirled. “Excuse me, sir.” She waved frantically. “Please, get my bags. I’m leaving.”
“I thought you’d bail out, again,” Niko said, baiting her.
“Bail out?” She whirled, giving him another direct shot with that lethal chin. “How dare you say I’m bailing out! It’s nothing of the sort! I simply won’t subject myself to your mocking and insulting, and if you even thought I might, you’re—you’re demented!”
“I never thought you would,” he lied. He knew damn well what she would do, and stared her down as she blustered and stammered, trying to convince herself she wasn’t a quitter. She might have been able to bail out on him and their marriage, but she had never met him. Her job was another thing entirely. She knew her job, and was passionate about her work. He’d done enough research on her to be sure of that. She would stay, or Niko Varos wasn’t the hotshot international financial consultant people thought he was.
“N-nothing—” she stammered, “not this house, not any house—is worth—” she indicated the faded grandeur of an entry hall, decorated in retro-fifties camp “—worth putting up with your—with your…”
Her glance trailed her broad gesture. Before she completed her sweep, she stilled. Her lips sagged and her distressed expression changed into one of abject horror, as though she only now absorbed the scandalous violation done to this mansion and its proud Victorian roots.
The fine old wood floor had been painted in a green-and-yellow checkerboard pattern. The wallpaper bore a splashy, modern art look Niko assumed were supposed to be untidy piles of pipe. The dangling light fixture consisted of three beach-ball-size yellow, plastic orbs. Beneath them sat a sprawling amoeba-shaped table with a marbled mirror top, supported by spindly metal legs.
She covered her mouth with both hands and strangled a gasp as she staggered around in a circle. Niko watched as her glance fell to a side wall. A round, molded plywood table stood between two doors. Atop its indented surface squatted a funky lamp made to resemble a big lightbulb. Kalli bit her lip, her glance skidding to another wall where a yellow, rectangular clock, the size of a breakfast tray dominated.
The clock’s hands were disconcertingly off-center. An oversize, red secondhand tick-tick-ticked as she stared, wide-eyed. Niko had the sense each jerk of that red, mechanical arm boomed in her head as she suffered, second by painful second. He had to fight a knowing grin as he observed her sluggish, stumbling body language. Only seeing her scream and collapse in a traumatized heap would have made it more obvious she was experiencing a gut-wrenching ache to rescue the place from its gross defilement.
“Cute, isn’t it?” he taunted, well aware he was being cruel. “I especially like the lead-pipe motif in the wallpaper.”
“Oh—dear heaven…” she whimpered, shaking her head. “It’s so—so wrong. It’s dreadful.”
“But is it dreadful enough to endure a brief captivity in a hell-on-earth?”
She stood with her back to him, her shoulders slightly drooped. He sensed her turmoil and gave her a moment to agonize over the knowledge that beneath layers of wrong-headed embellishments a masterpiece cried out to be liberated. He could almost hear her thinking, I could save this house. I must save it! He pursed his lips to suppress a shrewd grin.
The thud of his butler’s footsteps drew his gaze once again to the central staircase. The liveried man descended, carrying a suitcase and shoulder tote.
Niko’s attention slid to his angsting ex. She, too, had heard the butler and looked up. Niko waited, silent. At the moment, it would be unwise to remind her of his unwelcome presence. In order for her to make the decision that fit with his ploy, she needed to think of the house and only the house.
“I—uh…”
Niko watched her straighten her shoulders. “I’m sorry.” She moved toward the stairs, addressing the butler. “I’m staying, after all.” She rushed up the steps and took the bags. “Please show me to my room.”
Belkin glanced at his employer, his expression pinched with confusion.
Niko nodded, experiencing a rush of satisfaction. He allowed himself a crafty grin as he watched her trudge, stiff-backed and squeamish, into the lion’s den.
Kalli unpacked her bag in a bizarre trancelike state. She walked back and forth from her suitcase to the chartreuse dresser with its aluminum top and side trim and cane inset drawers.
As she put her belongings away her brain screamed, Three weeks? You’ve agreed to stay under the same roof with a man who obviously hates you for three whole weeks? What are you using your brain for, Kalli? To keep your skull from imploding?
After a sound tongue-lashing from the logical section of her cranium, the artistic quarter leaped into the fray and lashed back. But he was right when he said three weeks in a hell-on-earth would be worth the opportunity to transform this abused Victorian treasure into the monument to American history it should be.
Reality check, Kalli! The man hates you, and intends to make your life miserable. Are you ready for that?
I don’t know! I don’t know! Leave me alone! She plunked down on the bed and grabbed handfuls of hair. Closing her fingers into fists, she muttered, “I know he hates me and wants me to suffer for running out on the wedding. But…”
She scanned the bedroom with its sublime fourteen-foot ceiling. Once, long ago it had been lovely. The original casement windows still held their quaint bull’s-eye panes. And she’d seen a glimpse of the original parquet planking, visible in the closet. Green and burnt-umber carpeting, sporting a haphazard hoop-and-cube design, hid the wonderful old floor from view. The room’s deep, simply molded baseboards were classically Victorian. The ornate cornices were exemplary, too; but painted the same gray-green as the walls, their splendor was so camouflaged it was all but lost.
Kalli knew the fifties had been a decade of budding space exploration. America’s love affair with aeronautical technology brought with it decorating schemes of unornamental flatness, geometric forms and daring color combinations. Kalli had always considered the look airy, sleek, clean and bright. Unfortunately, in the case of this home, someone had heavy-handedly inflicted the retro-fifties veneer on beautiful old Victorian architecture. Rather than sleek and pleasing, the effect was not only criminally inappropriate but erratic and unnerving.
Could restoring this sleeping goddess to her virginal glory be worth three weeks of guaranteed hell, tormented and badgered by a vindictive male? She inhaled, her gaze roving over the bedchamber. Her heart swelled as she envisioned all it could be. It would be a sin to run away. The house needed her. On both an emotional level and a professional level, she would regret leaving for the rest of her life. “Yes,” she breathed, experiencing a renewed flow of courage. “Yes! It’s worth anything Mr. Varos might choose to put me through.”
She shoved off the bed, glaring toward the room’s chartreuse door. “If insulting me and making me squirm is your idea of a vacation, Mr. Varos, then do your worst. Go ahead and watch me like a hawk, but you won’t find my work wanting. And I won’t run away!” She threw back her head and placed her hands on her hips. “Because Kalli Angelis is made of sterner stuff than you know. I’ll turn this Bitterweed into an American Beauty Rose, no matter how much grief you pile on my head. And you can take that to your precious bank!”
Kalli didn’t want to waste a minute under Nikolos Varos’s roof, so that afternoon she got started, trekking from magnificent room to magnificent room snapping photographs and scribbling copious notes. With each new encounter, she was simultaneously awed and appalled. Obviously Mr. Varos had purchased the place with the furniture included. She couldn’t believe he would have recently acquired it, furnished it to match the misguided decor, only to immediately commission someone to have it completely redone. Not unless he had more money than sense. Which was a possibility, she supposed. Somebody had inflicted this travesty on the lovely old home.
Though she worked with dogged single-mindedness, she could always tell when Niko was near. So much for her reputed single-mindedness. Even his momentary loitering in a neighboring hallway short-circuited her ability to think, let alone be creative.
Every time she heard the distinctive rap of his step or sniffed his woodsy aftershave, her focus grew hazy. Architectural details became nondescript and peculiarly irrelevant. What was her problem? Why couldn’t she concentrate when he happened by? Was it anxiety? Was she waiting for the other shoe to drop and wondering exactly how deafening the explosion would be? Did she expect him to leap out at her and shout “boo”? Or douse her with a water hose?
Working to shut her mind to everything but her note-taking, she peeled away a corner of silvered wallpaper to discover the faded remnants of a stunning handmade woodblock design. Even as agitated as she was, Kalli managed an appreciative smile and jotted the information in her workbook. Once again the wondrous reality of her good luck gave her a fleeting reprieve from thoughts of Nikolos Varos and his lurking glower.
The afternoon passed without any shoes dropping or massive explosions. As a matter of fact, he’d said nothing at all to her. He didn’t even join her at dinner, so she ate alone in a room that could have housed a double-decker bus. In the overpowering silence she picked at something tasty, exotic and crab-meaty, but she hardly noticed it.
Her interest lay in scanning the dining room. Walls, paneled up to the dado rail, had once been stained a rich walnut, but were now painted a nasty orange. Coordinating wallpaper depicted a psychedelic skirmish of color and design that would have sent Kalli scurrying under the table if the structure hadn’t been such a scary, stainless-steel monstrosity. Its brushed serpentine surface was so cold to the touch, Kalli found herself holding her utensils by their extreme ends to keep from making contact.
Twenty molded fiberglass chairs, thinly upholstered in lemon vinyl with skinny metal legs, surrounded the table like half-starved munchkins attempting to hold the slithering beast at bay. She experienced an ironic giggle and mumbled, “Kalli, you’re not in Kansas anymore. You’re definitely in Oz.”
She glanced up. Where crystal chandeliers once sparkled in the lofty space between the paneled ceiling and table, tract lighting now dominated. Fuzzy fiberglass cones angled hither and yon, illuminated random snippets of space. Kalli shivered at the chilly severity the room generated. “If you want my opinion, Mr. Varos,” she muttered, “the decor suits you perfectly.”

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