One
"T HESE PAPERS NEED TO be with Mr. Simonides A.S.A.P."
"I'll get someone from the mailroom—-"
Pippi's boss glanced up with a frown. "No, you won't." Mr. Collins' voice held an unusual note of reproach. "These papers are for our CEO, Ms. Jones. Do you truly think it's a good idea to entrust such important paperwork to one of our messengers?"
No, she did not , Pippi thought. But what was not a good idea either was having her come into proximity with any rich man, which she considered herself allergic to. And it did not help at all , she pondered gloomily to herself, that Acheron Simonides was a lot richer than probably ninety-nine percent of the global population.
But an order was an order, and after apologizing for her (deliberate) lapse of judgment, she took the thick folder from her boss' desk and excused herself from the room.
Pippi kept her head down as she made her way to the elevators, a gesture that was frequently misconstrued by her colleagues at work. Half of them thought it was a sign of aloofness. The other half believed it was only because Pippi was a workaholic.
All of them were wrong, though.
Dismay flared inside her when a discreet glance showed that the elevator was close to full when she stepped in and joined the others. No one looking at Pippi, however, would have guessed at her unease. The faintly distracted expression on her face, combined with the speed in which her fingers moved as she typed on her smartphone, lent an impression of not-to-be-disturbed efficiency.
If only they knew , Pippi thought wryly. Appearing busy and avoiding eye contact discouraged other people from making small talk with her, and it was one of the many little tricks she had learned over the years to mask her shyness.
When Pippi reached the lobby, reception had already been given instructions by Mr. Collins, and a security officer was tasked to walk her to the penthouse-exclusive elevator. As far as the rumor mills were concerned, only the company's highest-ranking executives had the chance of visiting the CEO in his personal domain. The privilege was wasted on her, though, and when the elevator finally made it to the 38th floor, she stepped out with ill-disguised reluctance, thick folder clutched to her chest like a shield.
The brightly-lit entrance hall, albeit impressively designed with a mixture of gleaming white marble and antique bricks, was vast and empty.
So this was the place , she thought. A few months ago, a scandal had rocked the office, with executives chancing upon a female manager giving Mr. Simonides a blowjob in this very place. The woman had recently been given a promotion, but Pippi couldn't help wondering if the pay raise was worth the notoriety that came with it. While she wasn't exactly a social pariah - the woman was too beautiful and worldly to let herself be treated as such - she wasn't exactly welcomed in the company's most conservative circles either.
Others would probably think the woman had it coming , Pippi ruminated, but where she was concerned, it was always the rich men that were to blame. Her father, a Chicago-based millionaire, was a prime example of that, and so had been all the failed past loves of her great-aunts.
Thinking about the Jones curse had Pippi gnashing her teeth as always, and she found herself stomping down the rest of the hallway. In her vexed mood, the beautiful artworks that lined the marbled walls lost its power to entrance her, and she might as well as be deaf to the musical magnificence of Franz Schubert's Quartettsatz in C Minor, which played softly in the background.
Upon reaching the double French doors at the end of the hallway, Pippi made sure to school her expression into one of impersonal efficiency. She could already feel a sea of shyness welling up inside of her, threatening to wash away her ability to be rational and coherent, but she managed to hold on to her control.
Just play it cool like you always do , Pippi reminded herself. Don't give him the smallest opportunity to strike a conversation, and you'll be on your way out before you know it.
Gazing at the doors' panes of frosted glass, she debated whether to knock or use the discreet-looking metal buzzer next to the door entry monitor. Or maybe she should call Reception—-
of the doors suddenly opened, and she hastily put her professional smile on, thinking it would either be Mr. Simonides' housekeeper or butler.
But instead, she got...Acheron Simonides himself.
"Mr. Simonides!" His name flew out of her mouth in an unplanned and embarrassingly shrill fashion, with Pippi being caught off guard by the CEO's unexpected appearance.
It was her first time to see him up close, and Pippi struggled not to stare at him in dumbstruck silence. Wow . And because no better word came to mind, she found herself thinking again. Wow. Just... wow.
It was rare for Pippi to be so easily bowled over by a man's looks, but even she knew Acheron Simonides wasn't anyone's average kind of handsome. Silky black hair, chiseled features that seemed to have been carved from the same mold as Greek gods, and a ruggedly muscular body that no man who pencil-pushed almost 18 hours a day had any right to possess.
His looks were the type that smoldered, literally, considering how invisible flames now seemed to be tonguing every inch of her skin.
Wow, she thought again, but this time with a helpless, sickening feeling in her stomach. She had the craziest urge to run, more so when she saw his impatient gaze raking over her as he snapped, "Are you just going to stand there like an idiot?"
"I...I..." His voice was deep and strong, so darn mesmerizing it made his insult sound like a compliment. It was a foolish sentiment, but it was also the truth, and Pippi's unease turned into full-blown anxiety. That she was horribly ill equipped to handle a man like him in close quarters had never been more obvious, and she could already feel her heart giving out as shyness tied her tongue in knots.
Don't puke.
The thought - half-warning, half-plea - flashed out of nowhere, and she clung to it for life. She always worked better with a goal, anyway, and with the thought giving her something to focus on, Pippi succeeded bit by bit in regaining her composure.
Clearing her throat, she said in a fairly steady voice, "I'm sorry for the unseemly reaction, Mr. Simonides." Smile. Don't puke. “I was told you wouldn't be home." She saw his lip curl in response, as if finding her words a complete waste of his time, and her temper - so rarely seen it might as well have been nonexistent - started to rise.
"Who the hell are you, anyway?"
Anger had her shyness receding, and she forgot all about being intimidated. All she wanted to do at that moment was throw the folder at his face. Teeth gnashing, she gave him her name and position in his company, adding somewhat icily afterwards, "Mr. Collins believes this should be given to you as soon as possible, sir." She handed him the folder with both hands, but nothing happened.
Okay.
Maybe...
He wanted her to deliver it straight to his study or something?
Her gaze reluctantly went back up - and that was when she finally noticed it. This time, the sickly pallor underneath his bronze tan was impossible to miss, and was it just her - or did he seem to be swaying on his feet?
"M-Mr. Simonides?"
His face, already white, turned even whiter at the sound of her voice. "I'm fine."
Oh, if only she could believe that. She really wished she could, but since she was a great believer of doing what Jesus would do in such circumstances—-
"You don't, umm, look like it, sir."
"I said I'm fine!"
The fury in his voice stunned Pippi, making her take a wary step back. What on earth was his problem? Their gazes clashed, Pippi's blue eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and indignation at his rudeness while his dark gaze was...
Feverish?
Nurturing reflexes - honed for decades in a household filled with love and laughter - kicked in, and she unthinkingly reached up, having to tiptoe a little just to touch his forehead. He yanked away with a curse, but it was too late.
"You're burning up," Pippi gasped.
Even more, it didn't look like his fever was of the ordinary type, with Acheron Simonides suddenly bending down and throwing up what seemed like his last meal (salmon, seemed like it) ... at her feet.
She nearly gagged, her face contorting with distaste and revulsion at the sight and smell of his vomit. Don't puke! Pippi had to repeat the warning to herself, but this time for a different reason.
She saw him start to stagger, and Pippi knew she had to pull herself together. Where Acheron Simonides was concerned, letting him fall face flat on his own puke was definitely grounds for termination.
"G-Gotcha!" She caught him just in time, her knees nearly buckling under his weight. The scent of his cologne was nice, but it was easily overpowered by the stench of puke. It caused Pippi to alternately gag and grit her teeth as she half-dragged, half-carried the CEO to the nearest couch. She tried to be gentle as she laid him down, but when she lost her footing on the edge of the rug, all Pippi could do was let out a little shriek -
And then she was lying on top of him, her breasts squashed against the hard wall of Acheron Simonides' chest, and the sensitive flesh between her legs pressing right on top of his crotch.
Omigodomigodomigod!
Embarrassment ate her alive as she scrambled off him as fast as she could. No more than three seconds had passed surely, but every moment of it seemed indelibly printed on her mind. She just could not forget how incredibly hard -
A low groan escaped the CEO, and she quickly shook off the shamefully lustful fantasies that were doing its best to corrupt her mind.
"Mr. Simonides?" She peered down at him, torn between worry over his health and awe at just how amazingly long his lashes were. Another groan, and worry turned into anxiety. "I think you're seriously ill, sir. I'm going to call—-"
"No."
What did he mean 'no'? Or maybe he was already delirious with fever? "Sir—-"
"If...you call 911...you're... fired ."
Hoarse as his voice was, it did not make his words any less coherent - or commanding, and Pippi could only gape, unable to believe what she was hearing. Was this man truly threatening to terminate her employment because she wanted to keep him alive?
"Just...call... Wickham."
His eyes had closed before he even finished speaking, and by the end of it, he was already unconscious. The lines that marred his forehead gradually faded, the rigid tension easing from his handsome face. It made him look so much younger and approachable, almost like a black-haired angel -
WHOA, Pippilotta Jones!
She gave herself a little slap, thankful to have put the brakes on such thoughts before they could get even more dreadfully fanciful.
Acheron Simonides is a rich man, and therefore off limits!
Pippi took a deep breath.
Now, focus!
Recalling the CEO's last words, she gingerly bent down to take his iPhone from his pocket and felt like a thief as she used his finger to unlock the device. Wickham turned out to be the #1 on his speed dial, and it took only one ring before someone on the other end of the line answered.
" Mr. Wickham?"
"Who are you, and why do you have Mr. Simonides' phone?"
The voice was a menacing mix of low and heavy, and Pippi wondered if maybe she had ended up calling John Wick instead. Clearing her throat, she said, "I'm at his apartment. He's sick, but he told me to call you instead of - hello? Hello?"
Fifteen minutes later, and Wickham turned out to be a big, bad, bald man in his forties with the same aura as military veterans and ex-convicts. In other words , she thought absently, someone who wouldn't think twice about killing if the situation called for it.
Fortunately, the man turned out to be a lot nicer under his gruff and grizzly exterior, and upon making certain Pippi hadn't anything to do with his employer's condition, he had immediately turned into the soul of kindness.
He was a bit of the chatty type, too, or so Pippi mistakenly assumed, when Wickham revealed to her how "the boss" had picked up a virus after his secret trip to a remote location in Africa. Apparently, he was building a school there, one he didn't want every Tom, Dick, and Harry to know about.
If that were so, Pippi couldn't help wondering, then why let her know?
The answer to this was simple, although much time was to pass before she would learn of it. Wickham, as Pippi had correctly guessed, was very used to killing. A war veteran with a mercenary past, he had met Acheron Simonides while the latter was still in his teens and on the rise in Athens' little-known underworld of crime and violence. Wickham had always been good at reading people; it was what had saved his life countless times in Iraq, and later on it was what had convinced him to work for Simonides.
It was also the same reason , Wickham thought, he trusted Ms. Pippilotta Jones at first sight . He had a good feeling about her, and an even better feeling when he thought of the woman and his boss together.
It was close to nine by the time Pippi made it home, and the slight trembling of her fingers made Pippi realize belatedly that it had been hours since her last meal. In her panic over the CEO's condition, she had actually forgotten to have her dinner.
This revelation, shared with the rest of the family over the kitchen table, had everyone gasping with exaggerated surprise.
"But you always go to pieces when you do something out of schedule," Vik, born one year after Pippi, protested with feigned confusion. "To do something so unheard of...is it possible you might have fallen for your—-"
Pippi's eyebrows shot up in warning. "Bite your tongue, missy!"
The rather old-fashioned expression had everyone laughing. It was one of the family's long-standing jokes, with Pippi and her younger sisters having grown up listening to her great-aunts speak like extras rehearsing for a Downton Abbey episode. The conversation then took different turns after this, with the matter of the eldest Jones daughter once rescuing a billionaire in distress all but forgotten.
Or at least it was so in the Jones' home.