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CHAPTER ONE
‘BONSOIR, CHARITON ENDEAVOURS.’
‘I will speak with Célia d’Argent.’
‘May I ask who’s calling?’
‘You can warn her that it’s Loukis Liordis.’
‘Consider her warned. What can I do for you this time, Mr Liordis?’
Only a brief pause hinted at any semblance of recognition from her client. And Célia d’Argent meant recognition. For Liordis would never lower himself to feel as human an emotion as contrition. If anything, the small moment had been one of reprimand, one that hinted it should have been for her to feel contrite. And normally Célia would be mortified to utter such a response. But this wasn’t such an occasion. Loukis Liordis, Greek billionaire, renowned playboy and presently the biggest pain in her neck, had driven Célia beyond the brink of her usually impeccable civility.
‘You answer your own phone?’ he demanded as if such a thing should have been beneath her.
‘I do when it is nine thirty at night, Mr Liordis.’
‘What has that to do with anything?’
The absolute gall of the man!
Célia glared at her reflection in the windows of her office. Loukis might have been their first client, and might be the reason why she and her business partner Ella Riding had been able to achieve the success that they had enjoyed in the last few months, but that didn’t mean she had to like him, or jump to his every command. Just the majority of them.
‘You can explain to me how it is that you have spectacularly failed to deliver on your promise, Mademoiselle d’Argent.’
Célia frowned, mentally scanning through the lists of current events they had planned for him. ‘I’m not quite sure what you mean, Mr Lio—’
‘I will speak with Ella, then.’
Célia ground her teeth, not caring whether he heard the sound through the phone or not. She hated that his words had spread anxiety through her chest. Hated that her pulse was beginning to speed up and a wave of insecurity threatened to overwhelm her.
‘I am afraid that is not possible.’
‘Why not?’
‘As I have explained—’ many, many times ‘—Ella is presently on maternity leave.’
‘Surely she is able to pick up a phone?’
‘No, Mr Liordis. She is not. Now, if you could, I would like the opportunity to hear your concerns.’ She wouldn’t, of course. It was late, she hadn’t even had dinner, and the hastily consumed half-lunch was now a distant memory.
‘My concern is that you have not fulfilled your obligation.’
‘Which obligation are we speaking of?’
‘The one that would restore my reputation, Ms d’Argent.’
Célia dropped into the soft leather chair that was her favourite piece of office furniture and swirled round to her computer, absolutely speechless.
‘You have nothing to say?’
‘Forgive me, I was just checking the letterhead of our company stationery. At no point or place does it say that we are in the reputation business. Our role is—’
‘I know what your role is, and don’t be crass, Ms d’Argent. Ella—and by extension I presume you—knew exactly why it was that I signed on with your company. And the resulting publicity from my first event with your company was not positive.’
‘I appreciate that. I do. While the charity event backed by you and your company has given the Erythra Foundation the ability to do some incredible things in the future, personally for you, it has perhaps not gone as well as we had envisaged. Quite possibly down to the fact that you did not deem it important enough to make an appearance.’
The line went completely quiet. Icy. Frigid even. And Célia suddenly realised that she had gone too far. It was not for her to question her client. No. The headlines following the event had done that well enough. That she and they appeared aligned in the belief that he had, once again, found himself in bed with his lady du jour—a lady probably of statuesque physique, impeccable proportions and in all likelihood platinum blonde—was neither here nor there.
‘We will talk about this further.’
Before she could even offer the possibility of a meeting, the line went dead, and the phone went limp in her hand.
What had she just done?
>
She never spoke to people that way, let alone their most valuable client. But Loukis’s constant hounding over the last few months, his absolute determination for everything to be perfect had driven her and her team out of their minds. In the months since Ella had signed him in Fiji, Chariton Endeavours had taken on even more clients and had been absolutely run off their feet working hard to fulfil their promise to both the business side and the charitable side of their organisation. They’d undertaken twelve events in the last month alone, and all without Ella, who was Célia’s rock, sounding board and confidante.
In truth Célia was exhausted, which was the only reason that she had let her usually ironclad guard down and said exactly what had been on her mind. She ran a slightly trembling hand over her face and finally put the phone down.
Tomorrow she would have to do damage limitation. But for now, she needed to return to her apartment and sleep. Eat. Perhaps even indulge in a cool white glass of Australian Pino Gris.
That decision rose within her like defiance, as if she still had to justify something as silly as her taste in wine to her father, even if she did imagine a look of abject horror crossing the proud Frenchman’s features. His distant disapproval a constant presence in their interaction. But as Célia looked out at the Parisian streets from her window, she mentally shielded herself from being drawn down that dark path.
She grabbed her bag, her keys, locked the front door of the ground-floor office and turned onto the street only to pull up short.
The absolute gall of the man!
* * *
In a dramatic turn of his recent luck, Loukis Liordis had found a parking space just outside Chariton Endeavours about thirty minutes earlier. He had terminated his call to Célia d’Argent only ten minutes ago and was now leaning against the sleek McLaren supercar he’d leased for his time in France, scrolling through the latest headlines pontificating on his absence from the charity gala last week. Each successive screenshot fuelled an ire ignited by the steely voiced Célia.
If it hadn’t been for the barely audible gasp of indignation he might not have even noticed her departure from the building. He certainly would not have noticed her. But that was partly due to the fact that, dressed in what could only be described as a deeply unappealing beige top, she had been camouflaged by the stonework behind her. And had it not been for a pair of black jeans he might not even have known she was there. Especially since the moment she’d caught sight of him, she had pulled up short and not moved a muscle.
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Barely.
‘Ms d’Ar—’
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.
He’d barely taken a breath before she continued, ‘You can’t be here.’ Finishing the inhalation, slowly, he locked a well-honed, utterly devastating gaze on her and tried again. ‘Ms d’Argent, as I said. We need to talk further.’
