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“You should be proud of your exceptional abilities and talent, not ashamed,” he said.
“Do you think my father should have hired me?”
“I do.”
Her gaze found his again, her expression somber. “Would you hire me?”
Damen straightened, feeling sucker punched. What a question. How could he answer that without becoming a villain, like her father? “I’ve hired a number of women for management positions. There is also a woman on my board.”
“Out of what? Twelve?”
He didn’t answer since they both knew the answer. Kassiani didn’t pull punches, did she? Damen was beginning to understand why Kristopher preferred not to deal with his youngest. “The Greek shipping business is dominated by men, and in general, it isn’t very receptive to women in key positions.”
Kassiani sipped her champagne thoughtfully. Her silence felt like a condemnation and Damen didn’t enjoy feeling judged.
“I didn’t say I agreed with the attitude,” he added somewhat defensively, and then felt angry about being made to feel defensive. “Men just want to get things done without all the emotional baggage women bring to the table.”
She shot him a look of surprise that quickly morphed into one of disappointment and Damen gripped his flute so hard he was certain it would shatter.
“I had no idea you were one of those,” she said calmly with just a hint of censure. “For some reason I thought you were more...progressive.”
“Business is business,” he said curtly. “I don’t spend long hours at the office because I enjoy sitting at my desk. I’m there to get things done.”
“And women don’t get things done at the office?”
“You’re twisting this, you know. You are deliberately twisting my words. But to answer your last question, this is exactly what I don’t want in my office. I don’t want to spar with a woman over real or perceived slights. I want to execute contracts. I want financial growth. I want to develop markets. What I don’t want is to be challenged on my domain. It’s not conducive to company morale—”
“Or yours,” she interjected softly.
He broke off, frustrated, and rather furious, because this entire conversation had flipped. A couple of minutes ago they were having a really good and open conversation and now it was antagonistic. Why? What had happened?
And before he could answer that question, he had a sudden insight into why Kristopher had chosen to leave Kassiani at home, behind.
It wasn’t because she was dumpy and dull. It wasn’t because she was the proverbial Ugly Duckling. It was because Kristopher didn’t know how to manage his youngest daughter. Kassiani was too smart for him, and probably talked circles around him, and Kristopher—not the brightest of men—couldn’t cope. The only way he knew how to handle her was by shaming her.
Marginalizing her.
Making her feel small and less than.
Damen didn’t agree with Kristopher’s behavior, but he felt an unexpected surge of sympathy for the older man. Kristopher knew exactly what to do with Elexis and Barnabas—indulge them, give them money and toys. But Kassiani couldn’t be bought off so easily. She was young, smart and fierce, honest and real.
“You know, kitten,” he said quietly, “if you want to be part of the game, you have to play the game.”
“Is there a game, then?”
Damen flashed back to Adras, and the horrors of being a young male trapped in a situation beyond his control, forced to do and say things that still made him physically ill. He knew then, at fourteen and fifteen, he’d never forgive himself, and he hadn’t, even though twenty-two years had passed. “If you feel like you’re always on the losing side, I’d say there is a game in play.”
“And if I’m tired of losing?”
“Then figure out the game.”
* * *
Dinner was strained that evening and Kassiani knew she was to blame—not because she was wrong, but because she couldn’t remain silent on issues. Growing up, she’d never been able to accept the status quo, and she realized early on that what was acceptable in one family wasn’t going to be acceptable in hers. Her family was old-world. Traditional. And if her feminist opinions weren’t welcome at home in San Francisco, she should know they’d be a problem here in Greece.
Back in her bedroom, she kicked herself for not being able to hold her tongue. It had changed their evening. Damen had been in a good mood when he had joined her on the deck and had champagne delivered, and then she had to ruin the lovely champagne toast by being too pointed, and too direct, creating conflict, which was so typical of her.
Kass didn’t know why she couldn’t stop when she was ahead. If only she could harness the frustration she felt at not being given more opportunity.
The narrowness of her life wore on her.
The lack of challenges made her feel somewhat desperate and crazy.
She read half a dozen international newspapers a day, and tried to stay busy by digging in deeper into current events, researching current topics in world economics, international politics and international law. She subscribed to various university magazines, wanting to know what was happening in the academic world, as well as the corporate world. But all the research in the world did little to alleviate her sense of isolation.
But Kass didn’t feel isolated when Damen claimed her, and made love to her. Kass didn’t feel like a failure when he responded to her in bed. She wasn’t a radical feminist. She didn’t think of herself as a rabble-rouser. But Kass had always struggled with remaining silent when confronted by injustices. Women really were capable of so much.
And she, personally, was capable of so much more.
Maybe her need to be heard and seen...to contribute...was based on the fact that she didn’t feel valuable as a decorative object. How could she? She wasn’t very decorative. She added little value in terms of physical beauty. The only time she truly felt attractive was when she was using her brain.
Or using her body to seduce Damen.
She smiled weakly, ruefully. At least she still had her sense of humor. It wasn’t appreciated in her family but Kassiani had always been grateful she could laugh at herself. Far better than always crying over one’s faults and failings.
The door to the master bedroom opened. Kass jerked her head up, and her heart fluttered as Damen stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
Suddenly the tears she’d been holding back fell and she reached up to swipe them away, one after the other before he could see.
“Why the tears?” he asked, standing at the foot of the bed.
So she hadn’t successfully hid them. She sat taller and swiftly swiped away another, scrubbing at her cheeks to make sure they were now dry. “I didn’t think you were going to come tonight. I thought I’d chased you away.”
“So you don’t believe what you were saying?”
“No, I do.”
“Then don’t apologize. Your problem is that you’re smarter than everyone else.”
She sniffed and swiped away a last tear. “Not smarter than you.”
“I wouldn’t say that. You are certainly book smarter. To be fair, I probably have you beat when it comes to street smarts.”
She settled her nightgown over her knees, and exhaled slowly, trying very hard to bridge whom she was with what a wife was supposed to be. It was a tricky balancing act. “All right, so I don’t apologize for having opinions, but I am sorry if I upset you at dinner. Trying to be a good wife is more complicated than I imagined.”
“Why shouldn’t you speak freely? I do.”
She exhaled in a painful rush, her cheeks heating. “We both know the answer to that.”
“Because men can, and women can’t?”
“You’ve told me that my value lies in me being a supportive wife, not a critical, oppositional one.”
“I actually don’t think I ever told you that,” he said mildly.
“A traditional Greek wife—”
