Doukakis's Apprentice (9 page)

Having locked her safely in the car, he’d proceeded to converse in Greek with his driver, leaving her to stare out of the tinted glass and stew in her own emotions.

‘Are you angry because I ruined your evening or because I don’t slavishly follow orders? Because I didn’t
ask
you to come to my rescue. I would have been fine.’

‘Which bit would have been fine, exactly?’ He strode into the elevator like a man on a mission and thumped his palm against the button. ‘The bit where you were knocked unconscious or the part where you discharged yourself from hospital against medical advice?’

‘I’m capable of making my own decisions.’

He looked unimpressed. ‘Anyone can make a decision. The skill is making the right one at the right time.’

‘That’s what I do.’

‘What you do, Miss Prince, is disagree with me on principle.’

‘That isn’t true.’

‘Isn’t it? You were about to be mobbed by journalists for a second time in one evening. Would you have got into the car if I hadn’t forced you?’

She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly realising just how
much she’d inconvenienced him. ‘Yes, I would. If you’d given me time to think about it.’

‘We didn’t have time to debate options.’ His savage tone intensified her growing guilt.

‘I’m sorry! I loused up your evening and I feel bad about that. And I’m grateful to you for helping me out. I’m not just not—well, I’m not used to accepting help. It feels strange.’ Polly felt as small as a field mouse. Not only had he come to her rescue, he’d abandoned a hot date to come to the hospital and all she’d done was give him grief.

When had anyone ever come to her rescue before?

When had anyone given her any help?

A strange, unfamiliar feeling spread through her and she wondered whether the bang on the head had been worse than she’d thought. Suddenly she was relieved he’d forced her into the car. It felt as though a heavy metal rock group was rehearsing inside her skull and she was wondering whether discharging herself had been such a clever idea. Was it normal to feel this bad?

But she had to get to Paris, didn’t she? Winning the High Kick Hosiery account was crucial to the business. And they couldn’t afford to lose that business.

‘P?’ Polly focused her gritty, tired eyes on the glowing panel as the lift moved upwards. ‘P for prison? P for punishment?’

‘Penthouse.’

‘Of course. Penthouse. You live above the shop.’ Looking at him, she saw how tightly he held onto control and wondered what it took to make him snap. ‘I really am sorry I ruined your evening.’ Gingerly, she touched her fingers to her head. ‘I didn’t realise they’d be that eager for a story. How did you find out?’

‘My head of security rang me. He was close enough to see
it happen, but not close enough to stop it. Why didn’t you stay at the hospital?’

‘I can’t stay in hospital. I have a very unsympathetic boss. He told me to take my lazy, useless self and do a proper day’s work.’

‘So I’m to blame for your decisions?’

‘Well those were your words but no, you’re not to blame. I would have done the same thing regardless of what you said. The meeting is important.’ The movement of the elevator was starting to make her feel sick. ‘It’s tough out there. If I don’t deliver, Gérard will just pick up the phone to the next agency on his list. I don’t want that to happen.’

‘I am
not
an unsympathetic boss.’ He spoke the words through gritted teeth. ‘And anyone with any sense would take time off after an injury like that. Or are you trying to impress me?’

‘I’m not stupid enough to think I could ever impress you.’ She wondered why being trapped in a confined space with him should make it hard to breathe. ‘I’m just trying to get the job done. The meeting tomorrow is important. With everything so unstable, I can’t not turn up. We worked hard to win that business and we need to show them that we can do a good job. Do you have any painkillers in your fancy apartment?’

He breathed deeply. ‘Yes.’ Even with his top button undone and his bow tie dangling round his neck, he looked sleek and handsome. He also looked supremely irritated.

Polly wondered about the woman he’d abandoned halfway through a date. Who was she? Someone exceptionally beautiful, obviously, who wouldn’t dream of wearing hot pink tights or writing with a fluffy pink pen.

She stole a glance at his profile.

No one had ever come to her rescue before. Even the time she’d come off the trampoline at school and broken her arm she’d had to get a taxi home from the hospital because no
one had been able to contact her father. Confused by her own feelings, Polly looked away quickly. She was so used to rescuing herself that it felt strange having someone else step in. Thanking someone for help was a whole new experience. ‘You could go back and spend the rest of your evening with whoever she is. It isn’t too late. I don’t need a babysitter. I’m just going to have a bath, wash off the blood—that sort of thing. Go and finish your date.’

‘Since you seem determined to launch yourself from one disaster to another, you need supervision.’

Polly laughed and then wished she hadn’t because the movement amplified the pain in her head. Supervision? She hadn’t been supervised since she was a toddler. Right from the moment she could walk, her father had expected her to sort her own problems out.

Find a way, Pol.

‘Unless you’re planning on lying down on the bed next to me, I don’t see how you can supervise me.’ As his eyes met hers, she wished she hadn’t used those words. It was uncomfortably easy to think about sex around this man and she wasn’t used to thinking about sex. ‘I’m going to be fine. I just need painkillers and sleep, that’s all. I don’t need company for that.’

But the comfort she felt at knowing he was going to be close by shook her. Why did it matter? She’d never been a dependent sort of person. Just because the man had broad shoulders, it didn’t mean she had to lean on him.

Seriously unnerved, Polly was relieved when the elevator doors finally slid open and she could put some space between them.

Like everyone, she’d heard whispers and speculation about the duplex apartment that graced the top of the building. Everyone had. When the Doukakis Tower had been under construction there had been hushed talk of the penthouse
with its three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of London, roof garden and glass enclosed heated swimming pool. None of the rumours had prepared her for reality.

‘Oh—’ Stunned into silence, she stared at the sparkling cityscape that stretched in every direction. The architect had created a space to maximise the view and yet had managed to merge contemporary with homely by dividing that space into distinct living areas.

Polly had never seen so much glass in one place. ‘Well—no one is ever going to suffer from claustrophobia here,’ she said faintly. ‘It’s amazing. Seriously cool.’

‘I like the feeling of space. My villa in Greece is modern. I like light.’

It was the first personal thing he’d said to her and Polly stood awkwardly, realising just how useless she was at making small talk with men. ‘You have a villa in Greece? Lucky you.’
God, what a lame response.
No wonder he thought she was a complete idiot. He was obviously regretting playing nursemaid instead of continuing his date with someone who was no doubt a master at sophisticated conversation.

Chewing her lip, she decided to pretend he was a client. She never felt tongue-tied or awkward talking to clients, did she?

Damon gestured to the end of the room where the space narrowed. ‘You can use the guest suite at the end of this floor. I’ll show you where.’

Polly took one look at the thick white rugs covering the polished wooden floor and automatically tugged off her boots. Padding after him, she felt like a stray dog that had wandered into someone’s home. ‘It really is incredible.’ Gazing longingly at the deep, luxurious sofas, she followed him through the apartment. Despite the glass and the space it was surprisingly cosy and she felt a stab of envy. This man didn’t lie awake at night worrying about how to keep his company afloat and
protect people’s jobs. He was so phenomenally successful his only worry about money would be how to count it all.

She caught a glimpse of a futuristic-looking kitchen and he intercepted her look.

‘Are you hungry? I can ask my chef to make you something.’

‘Not unless he does pasta with painkiller sauce. Honestly, I couldn’t eat. But thanks for the thought.’ For the first time Polly noticed the spiral staircase rising from the centre of the room. Cleverly lit by tiny spotlights, it looked like something from a fairy tale. She’d never considered herself remotely romantic, but suddenly she was wondering if he’d ever carried a woman up that transparent staircase the way he’d carried her to the car …

‘Polly?’ His rough tone cut through her daydream. Scarlet-faced, she followed him through to a large guest suite and caught her breath. Flames flickered in a sleek, contemporary fireplace and the bed was positioned to take advantage of the spectacular view. It was as if someone had twisted a million fairy lights around every building in London.

Any guest staying here would never want to leave, she thought wistfully.

‘The bathroom is through that door. You have blood in your hair—’ He lifted a hand and then lowered it again as if he was unsure whether to touch her or not.

The relentless pull of sexual awareness was like an invisible rope dragging them together.

With a faint frown he took a step backwards and they both started to talk at the same time.

‘I don’t expect—’

‘Do you want help?’

No one had ever asked her if she wanted help before and it threw her—but nowhere near as much as the sudden urge to say yes. It was only the thought of stripping off in front of
him that kept her from accepting his offer. ‘I’ll be fine now. I appreciate you bothering.’ Part of her wished he hadn’t. By helping her he’d tipped the balance of emotion. To feel angry with him was ungrateful, but to feel grateful was uncomfortable. It felt strange, she realised, to know that someone was looking out for her, even if only because of a sense of duty. It turned out that his advice not to leave the building had been sound and when he’d heard she’d got herself in trouble he’d come straight to help her.

Maybe he was ruthless, but he was also decent.

And horribly, terrifyingly attractive.

Damon reached forward and pressed a button by the bed. The cuff of his shirt shifted, the movement revealing a strong wrist dusted with dark hairs. A television screen appeared in the wall but Polly didn’t notice. She was transfixed by the contrast between white silk and bronzed male skin.

She swallowed hard. This was worse than she’d thought.

She was in a seriously bad way if she found a man’s wrist sexy.

‘I’m expecting news of your accident to hit the headlines within the hour. If your father is watching, then he’s going to get in touch. If he tries to contact you I want you to dial two on the phone by the bed. It goes through to the master suite.’

Her mind was so busy creating an image of what he would look like naked that it took Polly a moment to process what he was saying. News of her accident? ‘There weren’t any TV cameras there. They were just photographers and a couple of reporters. It’s not going to be on the news.’

‘Yes, it is.’

His words sank slowly through her bruised skull. ‘But—you
told
them?’ Images of him naked vanished in an instant. It was as if someone had pulled the power cord on her brain. Sickness rose inside her and her cheeks flamed as she acknowledged
her own gullibility. ‘Oh, my God—you used my accident as a publicity stunt.’

‘I was not responsible for your accident.
You
made the decision to leave the building and take on a pack of gossip-hungry journalists.’ His cool response was the final straw.

Reeling from the discovery that his help had been driven by a desire to flush her father out of hiding, Polly grabbed the door to the bathroom to steady herself. ‘And to think that just for a moment there I thought you were a nice guy who didn’t want me found dead on my own in the house.’ Her light tone painted a thin veneer over the hurt. ‘You should have talked to me before you went to all that trouble. I could have told you that it won’t make any difference to my father. I could be in Intensive Care and he still wouldn’t come.’

His dark brows were already locked in a deep frown as he digested her emotional confession. ‘You’re saying that your father would see the news that you’re in hospital and still not get in touch?’

His appalled response drove her mood lower still. If there was one thing worse than having a parent who didn’t care, it was the world knowing about it.

Why on earth had she told him that much?

It was the headache, she thought miserably. ‘Look, just leave me alone. I’ve had enough of you to last me a lifetime. I hope your conscience doesn’t keep you awake.’

He stared at her for a long moment and it was obvious he wanted to say more. Instead, his mouth tightened. ‘Don’t lock the door. If you collapse, I want to know.’

‘Why? So that you can call the paparazzi and have them take close-ups?’ Feeling worse than she’d ever felt in her life, Polly stalked into the bathroom, slammed the door and defiantly turned the key in the lock.

Damn.

Discovering that tears stung the cut next to her eye, she
ground her teeth and held back the emotion, knowing that a crying fit would simply add to her throbbing headache.

‘Miserable man—vile, inhuman machine—’ Venting in front of the mirror, she wet the corner of a towel and gingerly touched her head. ‘Oww.’ Gritting her teeth, she tried to analyse why she felt so let down. She was used to looking out for herself, wasn’t she? She’d always done it. She didn’t
need
Damon Doukakis flying to her rescue.

So why did she feel so let down? Why did it matter that his reasons for dumping his date to come and find her had been self-serving?

Polly stared at her white face in the mirror.

Because, just for a moment, she’d been taken in by those distracting flashes of chemistry. Just for a moment she’d forgotten this was all about his sister and made the mistake of thinking he cared about her a little bit.