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His shock was unmistakable. His eyes widened, flashing with an emotion she couldn’t register, and then his jaw moved as though he was grinding his teeth together.
‘I am not—’
She expelled a soft breath as she cut in. ‘Yes, you were, but that’s okay. I understand you’re disappointed. And I am truly sorry that you’ve flown to London from—’
He said nothing.
She waved a hand through the air. ‘Wherever, only to find Clare not here.’ She turned, moving towards her friend’s office. ‘You mentioned that you’ve worked with Clare for a long time, so obviously you’re aware how unusual this is. I hope you’re able to overlook this rare mistake.’
‘I am not generally in the habit of forgiving mistakes, rare or not.’
A shiver ran down her spine at the steel in his words. She didn’t doubt for a second that he meant what he said. There was an air of implacability about the man that she’d felt from the minute he’d arrived.
Bea had, at first, thought his accent was Italian, but as he spoke more, her appraisal changed. She was almost certain he was from Greece—one of her favourite places in the world. She’d spent a summer there during her degree, and had fallen in love with the sun, the water, the history and, most of all, the anonymity. When she travelled abroad, no one knew Bea as Beatrice Jones, daughter of Rock Legend Ronnie Jones and Supermodel Alice Jones.
‘Then I hope you’ll make an exception just this once,’ she implored as she flicked Clare’s screen to life, typing in her friend’s password quickly. ‘Please, have a seat.’
He glowered at her without speaking.
A dislike for this rude, arrogant man was forming in her gut. She knew she couldn’t treat any client of the firm’s with disrespect but the way he was acting was truly unforgivable! So Clare had made an unusual mistake. It obviously wasn’t ideal, but nor was it the end of the world.
‘Now, let’s see if Clare’s left any notes here,’ Bea murmured, reaching for a pen and tapping it on the edge of the desk.
‘Should you be doing this?’
She frowned, looking up at him.
‘I cannot imagine Clare would want just anyone accessing her files. There’ll be sensitive information in there, including financial documents.’ Suspicion crept into his voice. ‘What exactly is your role within the company?’
She double-clicked into Clare’s calendar as she prepared to answer him but, before she could speak, all the breath whooshed out of her lungs. His name hovered on the screen before Bea, in black and white pixels.
Ares Lykaios.
AKA the firm’s most important, gazillionaire, global tycoon client. This man had a finger in just about every corporate pie imaginable. From transport and logistics to airlines to textiles and telecommunications, as well as casinos and hotels, Ares Lykaios had been given the nickname ‘Gold Fingers’ at some point because, as the press liked to say, everything he touched had a habit of turning to gold.
He was also a man both Clare and Amy had pulled Bea aside to warn her about.
‘He’s intelligent, demanding, ruthless and loaded. Deep down he’s a good enough guy, probably, but he expects top level service—and doesn’t suffer fools gladly.’
‘Should your path ever cross his, which it likely won’t because he only deals with Clare, do whatever you can to keep him happy—we can’t afford to lose his business.’
Bea gulped, her eyes straying to the man’s stained shirt with renewed panic.
‘Mr Lykaios.’ Her voice was strangled in her throat, unwanted nerves robbing her of any confidence. She shook her head, forcing herself to project professional authority. She stood, wiping her palms surreptitiously down the sides of her pencil skirt. ‘I’m Beatrice Jones, head of legal here at the London Connection. Allow me to apologise once more—’
‘No more apologies.’ His eyes, grey like the strongest steel, seemed to lance her. ‘I am not in the mood.’
‘Then why don’t you allow me to organise you a drink—perhaps something to eat?—while I familiarise myself with your file. I don’t have Clare’s or Amy’s experience, of course, but I’m sure I’ll be able to—’
‘I have absolutely no desire to be palmed off with someone who, by her own admission, doesn’t have the skill set required to manage my interests.’
Bea’s jaw dropped. ‘Mr Lykaios—’ her voice shook a little with indignation ‘—please don’t misunderstand the situation. While Clare isn’t physically here right now, she’s as involved in the business as always. As is Amy. You’re in very good hands, I assure you.’
‘Really? Because it certainly doesn’t feel that way.’ He pushed his fingers through his hair, which was thick and dark, cropped to the nape of his neck. The action conveyed obvious irritation. Bea’s eyes, though, were drawn to his torso; she couldn’t help noticing the way his expensive business shirt pulled across his obviously taut abdomen, the spilled coffee highlighting the definition of his pectoral muscles.
For as long as she’d known them, Amy and Clare had pushed Bea, telling her she needed to be more assertive. To tell her parents how she felt. To speak up about the hurt rendered in her childhood, and to stand up to the partners who’d pushed their workload onto Bea’s desk, all the while claiming the hours for themselves. Her best friends had pushed her to speak up about anything, and Bea always smiled and nodded, knowing their words were kindly meant—and definitely not something she would ever act on. Yet anger rushed through her suddenly, and for one ghastly moment she was terrified of unleashing it all on this man.
With no Clare and no Amy in the office—and Bea new enough to still be grappling with clients and staff—she’d had a demanding enough day already. Straightening her spine, she gestured once more to the seat across from her. ‘Please, take a seat. Tell me what you need.’
