Bride by Day Read online

  He didn’t believe her.

  She felt another rush of adrenaline, the kind that prompted her to say things which generally got her into trouble. “At the university.”

  “Very well. Then we’ll drive there and get it.”

  “I’m afraid that note has already adhered to the wallpaper paste. If I try to pry it loose, my collage will be ruined.” To her mortification, the last few words had come out on a wobble. If she had anything to say about it, that art project was her passport to a brilliant future, one she intended to lord in her father’s face one day. Sam wasn’t about to jeopardize everything she’d worked so hard to achieve. Not for Mr. Kostopoulos, not for anybody!

  “Even if I could extricate it, chances are you won’t be able to read what was written on it.”

  She watched the ominous. rise and fall of his chest. “Then you’d better start praying that the gods are smiling kindly on you today. I need that number, and there’s no point in trying to dissuade me with those sodden eyes.”

  “Sodden—” she practically shrieked the word.

  “Hmm...like drenched blue pansies. I’ll warn you now—a woman’s tears have no affect on me whatsoever.”

  She gritted her teeth. “And a man’s billions hold no sway with me. You think you’re some invincible god who can make mortals tremble with one bellow, and a simple lift of those black eyebrows. Well, I have news for you, Mr. Kofolopogos, or whatever your name is—”

  By now her slenderly rounded body had gone rigid. “This mortal isn’t intimidated. Whoever called and left that number will call again. And if your secretary is so sensational, then she should have taken the number down on one of those pads that makes a copy. The point is, no phone number could possibly be as important as my final grade!”

  At her declaration, his features froze. “Since you know absolutely nothing about my life except what you glean from the gossips in this building, I’ll let that comment pass.”

  Unfortunately the truth of his remark deepened the fiery red of her cheeks. But it was the bleakness of his rebuke which sent an icy shiver through her body, taking some of the fight out of her, warning her not to antagonize him any further.

  “Look Mr. Kostopoulos—I’m sorry I lost my temper. I’m sorry this whole thing has happened. But you have to know it wasn’t intentional. The trouble is, I’m not sure if my professor is still there. It’s the weekend. Everything could be locked up until Monday.”

  “Then I’ll find someone to let us in, or call your professor myself.”

  “But—”

  “Shall we go?”

  He ignored her distress and strode toward the doors leading to his private elevator. It was smaller than the ones built for public access. Next to his six foot three frame, she felt minuscule. He pushed a button and the door closed.

  Like Persephone being spirited to the underworld by the merciless god, Hades, Mr. Kostopoulos plummeted them the sixty-plus floors to the car park below ground. Throughout the swift descent, her arm brushed against his, making her unbearably aware of his hard, powerful body, the faint, clean smell of the soap he used combined with his own male scent.

  As far as she was concerned, he was the antithesis of her artistic, mostly bearded male friends who were generally undernourished, impoverished, and most importantly, benign.

  This man projected an aura of physical and mental strength which came from facing life head-on, and enjoying every dangerous second of it.

  She imagined he daunted the most self-confident male. That quality alone made him an exceptional man, one she secretly admired.

  Without question his impact on the opposite sex was equally profound. Sam would be a liar if she didn’t admit he had a disturbing, earthy appeal.

  Instinctively she felt that the forbidding Mr. Kostopoulos was a unique mortal who created his own destiny. She’d never met anyone remotely like him. Though loathe to admit it, he excited her in a frightening kind of way. That phone number had to be of life-and-death importance for him to go to these extremes. Something told her it had nothing to do with business.

  Out of a sense of self-preservation, she purposely held herself rigid so they wouldn’t touch. In the close confines of the elevator, she didn’t want him picking up on any more of her private thoughts. The head of a worldwide conglomerate didn’t get to be that way without possessing the unnerving capacity to gauge the weakness of an individual and use that knowledge to the utmost advantage.

  Upon exiting the private elevator, a mustached man from the garage had parked a black Mercedes sedan in the alley in front of the doors. He stepped forward and helped Sam into the passenger seat of the car while Mr. Kostopoulos walked around and got behind the wheel.

  The two men conversed in what was undoubtedly Greek. It all sounded foreign and mysterious. Sam had taken Spanish in high school and French in college, but anything outside the Romance languages was anathema to her.

  When the other man laughed, Sam cringed. She feared that her abductor was regaling his employee about the wild story she’d concocted.

  Clearly Mr. Kostopoulos wouldn’t believe her until he had the note back in hand. Thank heaven she’d been honest with him and could prove it. Still, she didn’t like being talked about behind her back.

  Once they’d cleared the drive and merged with the horrific city traffic, a deep voice murmured, “Relax, thespinis. George was confiding his little son’s latest antics. Your guilty secrets are still safe.”

  Good grief. He knew everything she was thinking. Was her face that transparent?

  “For the time being,” he continued in the same vein, “all I require is that you be my navigator. Keep in mind that I have an appointment at four-thirty.”

  She fiddled with the hem of her denim shirt. “I’ll keep it in mind, but I can’t do anything about heavy traffic, or the possibility that the art department may be closed. You’ll need to go left at the next corner.”

  He lounged back in the seat, negotiating lane changes with the expertise of a New York City cabdriver. “If you’re leading me on a wild-goose chase, be assured that you will find yourself out of work before evening.”

  Sam bristled. “Since I’ m down to the last hundred dollars in my checking account, it hardly stands to reason that I would do anything to jeopardize my job at Manhattan Cleaners.

  “Of course, that’s something you would never understand,” she complained to herself, but he heard her. Mocking laughter unexpectedly rumbled out of him, making her body tingle.

  “You think I don’t remember what it was like for a destitute, barefooted boy on Serifos who was forced to scrounge for jobs no one else would do, only to be given a few pitiful drachma a day?”

  There was such a wealth of emotion underlying his revelation, it took her a moment to realize he’d just given her a glimpse of the man behind his wealthy, sophisticated veneer. Unless of course he was trying to arouse her compassion. He was doing a wonderful job of it, but she wasn’t about to let him get to her any more.

  “I recall reading the very same thing about Aristotle Onassis,” she taunted.

  “Our beginnings are not so dissimilar,” was all he deigned to say.

  Like most foolish people, Sam had made assumptions that Mr. Kostopoulos had been born to wealth, and had learned how to play with his inheritance, aggrandizing his unearned fortune in astronomical ways.

  The fact that a dirt-poor young Greek boy had risen to Olympian heights on sheer grit and determination made him a much more devastating adversary, one she couldn’t help but admire despite his autocratic manner.

  Sam found herself wanting to know more about him, but was in no position to be asking him questions. What little she’d heard about him had been gleaned from gossip in newspapers and magazines, and the people who worked in the building.

  After meeting him in person, he was even more enigmatic than the journalists made him out to be. He was also more attractive, and he drove too fast for her peace of mind.

  She had the st
rongest suspicion that his business headquarters in Athens—where the traffic was purported to be the worst—had everything to do with the fact that they’d arrived at the university in half the time it would have taken her, if she’d had a car.

  He turned into a section reserved for faculty parking and pulled to a stop in the first available space.

  “They tow away cars without permits,” she warned him.

  “George can always come for us in the limo. Right now the only thing of importance is that note. Let’s go.”

  Sam almost had to run to keep up with him. The second they entered the building, she breathed a sigh of relief to discover that Dr. Giddings’s secretary hadn’t gone home yet.

  “Lois?”

  The older woman lifted her head. “Hi, Sam. What are you doing back here?”

  Lois was trying hard, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from straying to the imposing dark figure dominating the cubbyhole which served as the art department’s office. Who could blame her?

  Under other less precarious circumstances, Sam would have introduced them. Finding out he was the Kostopoulos of Kostopoulos Shipping would have made Lois’s year. But because Sam hated the limelight, and sensed instinctively that her abductor hated it, too, she decided against divulging his identity.

  “I need to get my collage back.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding! There must be over a hundred of them propped around the gallery. I’ve already locked it and am ready to go home. This has been a killer day.”

  “You can say that again. Lois,” Sam whispered, “this is an emergency. I don’t have time to explain the details right now, but I can’t leave here without it.”

  “Dr. Giddings won’t accept late work, Sam.”

  “It wasn’t late. You logged it in yourself! It’s just that I’m in terrible trouble and have to fix something on it. I’ll bring it back first thing Monday morning. He’ll never know. If you’ll do this favor for me, I’ll give you that tablecloth I made last semester.”

  Lois’s eyes rounded. “You told me you’d never part with it.”

  Sam darted Mr. Kostopoulos a covert glance. “I—I I changed my mind.”

  Lois followed Sam’s gaze. Lowering her voice she said, “Holy moly. You’ve been holding out on me. He’s incredible. I mean downright, knock-me-dead fantastic. Where on this overcrowded planet did you find him?”

  “At my night job. Lois, please help me.”

  “You really want your collage back that badly?”

  “Yes. It’s a matter of life and death.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie. In fact, Sam had the distinct feeling her life wouldn’t be worth the sum total of the scraps of paper stuck to her canvas if she couldn’t produce the desired note.

  The bemused secretary sighed aloud and pulled a key out of the drawer. “All right. Go on in and get it.”

  “Thank you!” Sam leaned over the counter and gave her a hug. “He’s going to help me look for it, so it shouldn’t take too long.”

  With key in hand, Sam hurried down the hall, beckoning Mr. Kostopoulos to follow.

  “What exactly are we looking for?” His deep voice reverberated in the darkness. She felt for the light switch on the wall, her heart thudding painfully. His nearness was starting to affect her that way, and the fear that she wouldn’t be able to pry the note loose without tearing it and the phone number to shreds.

  “I-if I’ve done a halfway decent job, you shouldn’t have any trouble spotting it.”

  “Is this a riddle of some kind?”

  “Not exactly. It’s just that I’m hoping it will leap out at you.”

  On that note, she found the switch which illuminated the gallery. Collages of every design and color, from white to psychedelic, filled the room, leaving little space to maneuver. Each one had to be three feet by four feet, therefore the unity of shape didn’t make their task any easier.

  While she took in the enormity of the project facing them, a pair of unfathomable black eyes impaled her.

  “I can already see a dozen projects which are fairly blinding me at the moment,” he growled with heavy sarcasm.

  An imp of mischief not unmingled with fear made her want to prolong the moment of truth until the last second, but she supposed her last second was up.

  “I’ll give you a hint. Mine will probably be the only one which will speak to you personally. That is—” Her voice caught, “if—as I mentioned earlier—I’ve accomplished my objective.”

  His expression darkened. “We’re running out of time, Ms. Telford.”

  “All right. I decided to create a collage of your office building.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “WHAT do you mean, my office building?”

  “Yours is the most beautiful one in the city, allgleaming cream with a royal blue motif. Since I work there every night, I decided to use it as the subject of my project. But I’ve filled it with people so it won’t look so lonely.”

  One brow descended. “Lonely?”

  “Yes.” By now she was busy looking for her design. “All buildings have an essence. Yours reminds me of a fabulous Greek temple, magnificent, but a little remote. I put people in all the windows to make it a happier place.”

  Once again her tongue had run away with her.

  But now that she’d met him, she understood why she’d felt those emotions. Like his building, he was aloof, yet magnificent. He was wonderful, in a scary, exciting kind of way.

  When she discovered him staring at her with a strange look in his eyes, she hurriedly bent to her task, trying to pretend she was alone, but it was impossible to forget he was in the room with her.

  Every so often she found herself casting him a furtive glance. He appeared to be studying each work of art with more than cursory interest. It shouldn’t have surprised her. A true art lover like himself could never remain indifferent, no matter the form. Many of the collages were bizarre, but she’d glimpsed a few which were true chefs d’oeuvres. Apparently he thought so, too.

  Maybe she was a little nobody of no significance. But how she hoped he’d at least find her artwork outstanding. Then she chastised herself for speculating about foolish dreams when she knew his only interest was in getting the phone number off that yellow piece of paper.

  What if it couldn’t be done? What if she couldn’t perform the required miracle?

  Another five minutes passed as they continued to sift through the various canvases. Sam was beginning to wonder if her project was even in there when she heard Mr. Kostopoulos make a sound underneath his breath.

  Her head jerked around in time to see him pluck one of the projects from a stack and hold it in front of him.

  A smothered imprecation escaped his lips. “You made this with discarded pieces of paper?” His incredulity gave her no clue as to whether he liked her effort or not.

  In a small voice she answered, “Yes.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Then, “Where’s my note?”

  Sam supposed the gruffness in his tone was to be expected. After all, she had taken it from his private office, even if she’d found it on the floor.

  “It’s in the top right window.”

  By this time she’d come to stand next to him, and pointed it out with a trembling finger. She could feel his gaze studying her with a thoroughness that left her shaken.

  “That’s my office.”

  “I—I had no idea,” she defended. “But I’ll admit it’s an odd coincidence.”

  “Is it?” he challenged.

  Thank heaven Lois chose that moment to poke her head inside the gallery. “Have you found your project yet? I’m closing up now.”

  “Y-yes,” Sam stammered. “We’re coming. Thanks, Lois. I owe you.”

  “Just remember to get it back here before eight Monday morning. I’ve seen Dr. Giddings hold up someone’s graduation for much less.”

  “You’re graduating?” Mr. Kostopoulos demanded when they had left the building and were once more ensconced in his car
with the collage safely deposited in the trunk.

  Sam averted her eyes from his striking features. “A week from yesterday. But you heard Lois. If my professor finds out what I’ve done, I’ll have to take the class over again to graduate. In any event, the damage will cost me a drop in grade.”

  “Let’s not worry about that right now. If the worst happens, I’ll explain the circumstances to your professor.”

  She shook her head. “Once he’s made up his mind, I doubt even you could sway Dr. Giddings.”

  “We’ll see,” was all he condescended to say until they’d retraced their steps and had come in sight of his office building. That’s when she started to panic. He was expecting results she couldn’t promise to produce.

  “Mr. Kostopoulos—I need special tools and am going to have to go to my apartment. If you’ll drop me off there, you can keep your appointment. I’ll phone you when I’ve finished.”

  “What is your address?”

  Pleased he was so amenable to the suggestion, she gave him directions, then sat back in relief because they’d be parting company shortly.

  She would never be able to work with him standing over her shoulder. Not only was she nervous about the outcome, she was too aware of him on a physical level to pretend indifference to his presence.

  “Turn left at the next light. My apartment is on the south, in the middle of the block. The traffic is so bad you’d better just let me out on the corner.”

  As he slowed for the light, she reached for the door handle, but the catch didn’t give. Her head whipped around. “Will you please undo the lock?”

  Her request fell on deaf ears because he had pulled a cellular phone from the inside of his suit jacket and was telling his secretary to reschedule his appointment for the following week.

  Suddenly Sam’s heart began to race because she had this horrible premonition that he intended to come up to her apartment and watch her perform the required surgery.

  There were several reasons why she couldn’t allow him over her threshold. For one thing, her one-bedroom apartment was in complete chaos. For another, there simply wasn’t enough room inside for both of them. The kitchen and living area were combined. The only place he’d be able to sit down was the couch, and it would take her five minutes just to clear a space for him.