Kostas returned to the desk. “I’m surprised you handed the contract to her. Six months ago, she was an architectural student. Shouldn’t we engage an established Greek firm?”
“I awarded her the contract for Chrysanthos’s sake,” I admitted, seeing no reason to hide my strategy from my brothers. “It was leverage to bring him into the family business.”
“Remarkable that he agreed,” Dimitrios observed.
I smiled as I thought of my son’s unexpected capitulation. “I expected refusal when I presented my terms, but his interest in her apparently outweighed his resistance.”
“And you have no concerns about this relationship? She’s American and not even half-Greek like Kayla,” inquired Dimitrios.
I heard the unspoken question beneath his words. Kayla was of mixed heritage, with a Greek father and an African-American mother.
“If you’re referring to her race, I’ve observed only her effect on Chrysanthos. For whatever reason, my son wants to impress Miss Massey, and I have a feeling she’s good for him.”
I owed her a debt I could never repay. Without her quick actions, I would have buried the last piece of my heart alongside my wife and daughter.
No amount of money could repay that debt, but I could give her a career-defining project. Even better if it served to bring Chrysanthos into the family business as well.
“We shouldn’t force Santo’s hand,” Kostas argued. “The decision to become part of Olympus Motors should be his own.”
His presumption in lecturing me about my own son touched a nerve. Kostas meant well, but he had no children of his own, no understanding of the impossible balance between guiding and controlling, between protecting and allowing failure.
“I’ll handle my son,” I replied, allowing my tone to cool. “Focus on producing your own. I’ll welcome your parenting advice after you’ve held your child in your arms and then watched as they dismantle every dream you had for their future.”
Dimitrios grinned. “How can he make a baby when he’s not even sleeping with his wife?”
Kostas began gathering his documents. “Mind your own affairs,” he snapped.
“Now you’ve made him defensive,” I chided Dimitrios before turning to Kostas. “As the eldest and only father among us, I should have explained the birds and the bees sooner. Marriage requires intimacy, brothers. You need to have sexual intercourse with a woman to create a baby.”
Dimitrios’ laughter erupted, and I found myself enjoying the levity despite the serious matters we’d been discussing.
Kostas straightened to his full height, looking down at us with cold dignity. “I’ll consider marital advice when you stop living like a monk. When was the last time you had any pussy, Aris?” He turned to Dimitrios. “And you can lecture me when you stop paying for pussy.”
Kostas’s words would have bothered me before Dede, but four nights a week minimum, I’d appear at her rental. Sometimes with supper from whatever restaurant had caught my attention that day. Other times I’d arrive empty-handed, hungry only for her.
Our routine became its own kind of foreplay. I would knock, her footsteps would sound, and the door would open to reveal her in heels and nothing else.
The takeout would go cold near the door while I backed her against the nearest wall, my mouth on hers, and her legs wrapping around my waist.
We traveled on weekends. Santorini’s sunsets. Mykonos’s beaches. Crete’s ruins.
I’d book suites with views of the Aegean, plan itineraries around archaeological sites and hidden beaches. We rarely made it to any of them.
Turned out the eighth wonder of the world was watching Dede arch beneath me, the taste of her skin, and her voice breaking on my name. No ancient temple could compete with that.
Back in my office, I stood at the window overlooking Athens. The city sprawled beneath me, ancient and modern existing side by side.
I checked my watch. Three hours until I could see her again.
The sound of metal against metal echoed through the cavernous garage as I tightened the last bolt on the carburetor. This 1962 Olympus Titan engine was a marvel of engineering, and bringing it back to life had become my latest obsession.
Once a month, I escaped to the Olympus Motors garage in the industrial district of Athens. Here, I wasn’t the CEO. I was simply a man with grease under his fingernails, reconnecting with the mechanical passion that had driven me since boyhood.
The sound of heels clicking against concrete pulled my attention from the engine. Phoibe appeared between the rows of vintage vehicles, looking out of place in her navy dress and perfect makeup. She carried a leather portfolio in one hand and a paper bag in the other.
Phoibe Stavrou had worked for my father during his final years as CEO before I inherited her along with the position. She was efficient, organized, and entirely too persistent.
We fucked casually when I was president of operations. That changed when she mentioned marriage and children despite my clear disinterest in both, forcing me to end things.
