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Mel’s expression changed. ‘Good grief—are you serious?’
Nikos nodded. ‘There are some...let us say restless places in the world, where it is advisable to have someone riding shotgun beside you.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Why do you go to such places?’
‘I do business there,’ he answered drily. Then, at the questioning and indeed wary look in her eyes, he went on swiftly. ‘And, no, before your fervid imagination carries you away, I am not an arms dealer. I am a very boring and tediously respectable banker,’ he informed her.
‘Yes, I know,’ she admitted. ‘I looked you up. Just in case,’ she said dulcetly. ‘Though of course,’ she went on, allowing herself a provocative glance at him, ‘I didn’t think bankers were very respectable these days...’ She paused, quirking an eyebrow questioningly. ‘Or should that be respected?’
‘Ouch!’ said Nikos. He took another mouthful of his martini. ‘Given the sorry economic state of the world, and the role that reckless lending by the banks has played in that, I can appreciate your scepticism. However,’ he stressed, ‘what banks should be doing—what I strive to do myself—is aid business recovery. Primarily for the Parakis Bank in Greece, which has been so badly hit by recession, but also in other parts of the world, as well.’
She was looking at him with an interested expression—no dumb blonde, it seemed—and the knowledge gladdened him.
He went on with his explication. ‘The Parakis Bank is an investment bank, and we have always strived for genuine partnership with our clients—which means we take a financial hit if they lose money. It also means we have to choose clients very carefully—reckless, over-ambitious companies run by greedy, lazy people who want only to enrich themselves are not on our books. I look for clients who have a passion for the sector they are in, who understand the global trends in their markets and know where opportunities lie—who have worked hard to build their businesses so far, and who simply need a loan to get them to the next level, which is what we provide, to our mutual benefit.’
He smiled at her.
‘So, have I convinced you that not all bankers are evil incarnate?’ His voice was infused with wry humour.
Mel looked at him. ‘It sounds persuasive,’ she conceded.
‘And are you persuadable?’ he pressed.
His stance had changed subtly, and so had his tone. She heard it and broke eye contact, making herself glance away briefly, then looking back again. There was a subtext going on, she knew. One that had nothing to do with the banking industry.
She flashed a smile at him. Deliberately coruscating. Deliberately calling him on his challenge.
‘Sometimes,’ she said.
She let the ambiguity hang in the air. He wanted subtext—she could do subtext. Or so he could think if he wanted. Which it seemed he did. She saw long eyelashes dip over his dark expressive eyes.
‘How very reassuring,’ he murmured, and again Mel knew the subject was not banking or finance.
She made a face, abandoning her pose of ambiguity.
‘Well, you knew that anyway, didn’t you? I mean, you persuaded me to turn up here tonight,’ she exclaimed, in a half-exasperated tone.
‘And how incredibly glad I am that I did,’ he answered, his voice openly warm. ‘Or I would have missed out on having the most beautiful woman in London on my arm and being the envy of every male here.’
There was humour in his voice, too, and Mel gave a laughing shake of her head at the over-the-top compliment.
‘Yeah, yeah...’ she said with good humour, playing down his over-the-top compliment. Even as she spoke, though, she could feel a little thrill of gratification go through her that he had given it.
She drained the last of her mineral water and replaced the glass on the bar. ‘So...’ she changed the subject ‘...do we actually get to eat tonight? It might sound weird, considering I work in a sandwich shop, but I never get time for lunch and I’m totally starving.’
‘Excellent,’ said Nikos. ‘The food here is outstanding—even when you’re dining en masse as we shall be doing—so a hearty appetite is a distinct advantage.’ He threw an assessing glance at her slender figure. ‘I do hope you’re not the type of woman who considers two lettuce leaves a feast?’
Mel laughed again. ‘Not tonight, I promise you,’ she assured him.
‘Excellent,’ he said again. ‘In which case, shall we go through? I see people are beginning to make a move.’
He set his own empty martini glass on the bar and with the slightest flourish proffered his arm to Mel with a very small bow.
