Argentina was still hours away, though. No way would she make it all the way there hiding in Nelios Petralis’s wardrobe. Especially when the scent swirling around in here made her even dizzier.
God, how did he smell so good?
By being filthy rich and having parfumiers and other rich people’s accessories at his fingertips, that’s how.
She shook her head. True but not entirely. She’d noticed, with much annoyance and alarm while caught in that one-way verbal spat—because Nelios Petralis hadn’t lifted even an eyebrow when she’d let loose the volley of anger at his treatment of them—that the other guy, his right-hand man, smelled good too. But Vayle hadn’t fixated on his scent the way she had on Petralis’s.
Fixated? A rather strong word. But no other word accurately described how she couldn’t get it out of her senses. How she wanted to keep breathing it in as if it was vital oxygen…
Enough. Concentrate!
She wrapped her arms around her knees. It was a good thing she was neither claustrophobic nor afraid of the dark. That she was used to contorting herself into tight spaces.
Distressing memories tried to crowd her brain but she shook her head free of them and glanced back at her phone. She wished for a split second she’d thought to pack her earbuds, before she snorted under her breath. This wasn’t some jolly jaunt. Bopping to her favourite music wasn’t an option when she needed to remain alert. To listen out for her chance with Nelios Petralis when he came into his bedroom.
Would he be angry or display that fathoms-deep icy indifference he’d basked in all through their meeting this afternoon? The meeting, she recalled with horror, that had devolved into tears from her surrogate mother and a shocking lack of decorum from Vayle herself—but who could blame her? Far from meeting with Nelios to come to an agreement abouta possible business agreement regarding her hotel, as she’d thought, he’d informed her coldly that he was stealing her inheritance right from under her nose!
Vayle wasn’t even sure which reaction she’d prefer. Both were terrifying. But, fortunately, not enough to dissuade her. She knew her subject matter inside and out. Knew like the back of her hand the hotel he was trying to annex. It bore her name, for heaven’s sake. Just as she knew that what she had to offer was everything he’d refused to accommodate in this cruel hostile takeover he seemed bent on pursuing, despite her hotel being ludicrously below his radar.
Four hours, forty-five minutes, then she could state her case, calmly and concisely and hope he listened and didn’t do anything drastic, like fling her out of his aeroplane from forty thousand feet into the frigid Atlantic.
Breathe, Vayle. Breathe.
Stowing away on his private jet had been a bonkers idea from the start but the potentially scary part—in which she’d imagined she would be caught before she boarded and thrown in jail—had gone surprisingly smoothly. Which didn’t say a lot for aviation security, but she would lament that observation another day. The second, scarier part was still ahead of her so she needed to stay calm for a little bit longer.
She dropped her forehead onto her knees, practising the yoga breath-control she’d striven to master through turbulent years when the slightest misstep could set tempers flaring. Banishing her to the dark.
Thankfully, those years were behind her. She just needed to do this one last thing for Agnes Adamis—her ‘surrogate mother’—the woman who’d opened her heart and arms to Vayle when she’d needed it most.
Bonkers or not, it was the very least she could do. Agnes could’ve returned to Greece after her husband Tolis’s death, asshe’d strongly hinted at doing, but she’d stayed with Vayle and helped her through her own complicated grief after she’d lost the father with whom she’d had a fraught relationship. Even Agnes’s confession immediately after the meeting that Nelios’s treatment of them was her fault—that their past history had led to this—hadn’t dissuaded Vayle from pushing back against this billionaire’s bullying tactics. Hell, it’d only spurred her on. She knew a thing or two about bullies—her father had been one, hiding behind illness to make everyone’s life an absolute misery.
Whatever Nelios Petralis was hiding behind to treat Vayle and the woman she held dear like this—the woman who, shockingly, also happened to be his mother—she would hold him to account, if it was the last thing she did.
Purpose reasserted, she eyed the timer. Many more hours yet.
It wouldn’t hurt to close her eyes, stay calm and just breathe. Breathe. Breathe…
She wasn’t sure what woke her but the sound was far too close. Adrenaline roared through her system, making her jerk and…Argh!
‘Oh…oh crap! Oh God!’ The deadly cramp gripped her hamstring like vicious teeth sinking into her flesh and had her crying out a second time.
She scrambled out of the wardrobe on her hands and one knee while desperately trying to straighten her other leg and flex her foot to ease the wildly spasming muscle. It didn’t budge. Hell, it got worse…
‘Ah, there you are. I was wondering how long you intended to nap.’
Vayle froze, her stunned gaze falling on a set of feet.Bare masculine feet.Dry mouthed, her eyes moved up, inch by inch to bare, thick hair-roughened calves…bare knees…
Oh my God.
She should’ve averted her gaze then, and stopped this comedy of errors dead in its tracks, but no. Her stupefied gaze kept climbing.Climbing…
The tiniest layer of tension punched out when, thankfully, her gaze met the edge of a pristine white towel. But that dissipated quickly as another savage spasm ripped through her leg. She dropped and rolled over at his feet, her hands scrambling to grip her muscle.
‘What is wrong with you?’ the dark, unfortunately familiar voice bit out.
She winced. ‘Cramp. Help, please!’ Vayle couldn’t believe the tears that sprang to her eyes. She never, ever cried, no matter what. So what was this? Maybe she was more sleep-deprived than she’d thought.
No; going without sleep was another talent she could claim to possess. She’d always needed to keep one eye open in case George Lancaster—the vicious half-man, all monster, who’d biologically fathered her, and the man with a temperament trickier than mercury—had decided to torment her while she was asleep and unguarded. She’d learnt to withhold her tears and her protests, her silent defiance and lack of engagement eventually outlasting his sometimes hours-long rants.
