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CHAPTER TWO
BELLA STARED AT THE name on the shining silver board, her pulse racing faster than she knew to be wise, and yet she couldn’t calm it. She couldn’t still her breathing. She traced her eyes across, from Katrakis Industries to the number beside – forty seven, and then took a step backwards.
The bay of lifts behind her were busy – people coming and going constantly. She turned towards one, saw the upwards arrow and moved into it, her fingers unsteady as she pressed the button for the forty seventh floor.
It wasn’t just nerves that had her body in overdrive, though of course there was anxiety. But it was also the prospect of seeing Vitalo again – the man who’d driven her wild and filled her body with a new notion of pleasure, who’d redefined her in countless ways and then gone on with his own life, a man she’d sworn she wouldn’t see again because that’s not what that night had been about – for either of them.
And yet, here she was, nine weeks later, in the foyer of a high rise in Athens about to drop a bombshell in his lap.
Her hand curved protectively over her still-flat stomach, and she fought a wave of nausea that had more to do with her anxieties than the pregnancy she’d only just learned about.
The lift shot up, and her eyes banked downwards. The journey was mercilessly long, making stops on several floors before finally pinging at the building level dedicated to Katrakis Industries.
She held her breath as she stepped out, unsurprised to find herself enveloped immediately by corporate luxury. White leather sofas banked against one wall, enormous, modern floral arrangements and a square desk in the centre of the high-ceilinged foyer showing four receptionists – three women and a man, all dressed in navy suits and white shirts.
“I’m here to see Vit – Mr Katrakis,” she said as she approached, the words soft, her expression unknowingly haunted.
The man looked up. “Your name?”
“Bella Salbatore,” she said, using her married name out of habit, without even realizing she was doing it. She’d spent so much time with her Godparents, the Salbatores, after her father’s death, she continued to use the name even now, years after her divorce.
“Ms Salbatore,” the man frowned, scanning his iPad. “Do you have an appointment?”
She lifted her eyes to the view framed by the floor to ceiling windows, shaking her head in a small demur. “No. But I n
eed to speak to Mr Katrakis. It’s urgent.”
The man’s expression assumed a look of disconnect. “I see.” He flicked the iPad. “Mr Katrakis could see you in ten days. I can schedule you in after lunch on the eleventh?”
She startled, the very idea she might not be able to see Vitalo one she foolishly hadn’t contemplated. “It has to be today,” she insisted, clearing her throat. “It’s important.”
“Everyone who sees Mr Katrakis does so on important business,” the man pointed out. “And his schedule today is full.”
“Would you just… tell him I’m here?” She murmured, smiling weakly in an attempt to engender the man’s sympathy. “And see what he says?”
The receptionist stifled a sigh – poorly – then nodded. “Fine. Take a seat and I’ll let you know.”
Bella cast a glance towards the sofas but shook her head. “I’d prefer to wait here.”
The man shrugged and picked up the phone, speaking into it in Greek. His face was impossible to read as he spoke and Bella only realized, when the call was disconnected, that she’d been holding her breath.
“Mr Katrakis says he can see you, but he has only two minutes before he has to leave. He said he could spare you more time on the eleventh, if you’d prefer to take the original appointment.”
Something like fear curdled inside of her at this clinical and cold rejection. What had she expected? Red carpet and trumpets?
No, not that, but at least a little civility.
“This won’t take long,” she murmured, swallowing past the lump in her throat and straightening her spine.
Only another eighteen years or so, she added silently.
“Good.” The receptionist stood, coming around from behind the desk and leading Bella towards a set of frosted glass doors towards the back of the foyer. A plaque on the front read “VITALO KATRAKIS” in all capitals, as though he needed any help announcing his importance.
The receptionist knocked once and then pushed the door inwards, stepping backwards to allow Bella entry.
She had no time to calm her nerves; no time to prepare.
Vitalo was standing on the other side of the enormous office space, watching the door as though he expected a pride of lions to burst through.
