Chapter 3 #2
“The Greystone heir”, as we referred to him, was due to arrive on the ferry this afternoon.
An obnoxious, greasy-haired bastard with a pretty-boy face, he’d stayed at Yiannis’s rental last year and walked around in a haze of hashish smoke, high on his own enormous ego.
He never stopped bragging about the dozens of restaurants he had around the world and all the models he’d banged.
He was a grade-A asshole, and none of us could figure out what had brought him to Lyra since there weren’t any late-night rave parties or strip clubs on the island.
We were even more astonished to hear that he was the one who bought the land from Florakis—apparently, after some peyote-induced vision on a boat.
“Don’t worry, this time we’ll convince him that this is the last place he wants to build a hotel.”
“How?” asked Yiannis.
“Well, to start with, you’re not letting him stay in your rental.”
* * *
“We’re going to give the bastard the welcome he deserves,” I said as I pounded the wooden beam into the ceiling imagining it was Greystone’s head.
I couldn’t wait. After a trip back up the hill to finish setting up Greystone’s new “digs”—the old cottage-slash-goat shed I’d inherited from Kyria Antonia—we’d decided to blow off some steam by pounding some nails into the roof of the hotel.
Physical labor always helped me think. It was a kind of meditation and I craved it.
That coupled with doing a good deed gave me a kind of high that others searched for in drugs or alcohol.
That I might have searched for in beautiful women when I was a young medical student in Manhattan full of my own self-importance.
But, now at thirty-three, the only doctor on a remote island, those days were behind me.
What I hadn’t put behind me was the rush of adrenaline I got from sticking it to someone who really deserved it.
“This plan might not put a permanent stop to the building plans,” I explained, nail in my mouth, “but it should buy us enough time to hear back from the Aegean Sanctuary Foundation.”
The mayor may have sold us out—but luck was on our side because he was gone for the next six weeks on his yearly pilgrimage to visit family in Australia.
And in his absence, the council—myself, Yiannis, and Stamatis, the vineyard owner—were left in charge.
We’d sent a petition to the foundation charged with protecting marine ecosystems, arguing that the resort and the increased tourist traffic threatened the coral reefs of the island.
It had been over a month though, and we still hadn’t heard anything back.
I continued pounding the wooden beam and, by the time the ferry was set to arrive, I was drenched in sweat and ready for battle.
We went down to the port and waited for the bastard at the taverna , sipping our beers and playing cards until we spied the silhouette of the ferry in the distance.
When the boat docked, I slumped in my chair, arms crossed, and watched the passengers descending the metal ramp: Mostly islanders coming back from working or running errands on Rhodes.
My eyes ran over the familiar faces of the passengers as I searched the crowd for the Greystone heir. That pampered son of a bitch wouldn’t last a single night in the accommodations we’d prepared. I couldn’t wait to see his reaction.
But as the last passengers descended, there were no artfully ripped designer jeans in sight. I was about to slap Yiannis on the back to celebrate when the cabin door opened one last time. The sun glinted off the window, temporarily blinding me.
I blinked hard, thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me, as the last passenger descended the ramp.
She was a vision, that’s for sure. A statuesque stunner in a white dress that clung to every generous curve of her body. Her long blonde hair fell in waves over her shoulder, and her plush lips were pomegranate-red. I wondered what they’d taste like. Sweet and ripe or firm with a sharp bite?
I was so distracted by her perfect mouth that I forgot I was supposed to be watching for Greystone. And I wasn’t the only one distracted. Next to me, Panos whistled quietly and said, “Mama.”
She walked slowly, hips swaying, in our direction. We’d all gone silent, cards held midair, old Giorgos’s mouth literally hanging open as she halted in front of us and lowered her sunglasses.
“ Kalispera ,” she said as we gawked at her. Her accent was American. She glanced at a slip of paper in her hand. “ Psachno ton Yianni .”
Yiannis’s brown eyes widened, and he stood. “I am Yiannis.”
“Oh, good. You speak English.” She held out her hand and he stared at it. “I’m with The Greystone Group. I believe you were expecting me?”
Yiannis blanched and threw us a helpless glance. But I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“She’s from Greystone,” he repeated in Greek as if we hadn’t all understood. There was a general grumbling about what this meant for our plan. Sensing our confusion, she tensed and threw her chin up until she was practically looking down her nose at us.
When her eyes locked with mine, I refused to look away; and so did she. Only when Yiannis started speaking did she avert her gaze.
“We were expecting a man,” he explained, flustered.
I didn’t think it was possible for her to grow even stiffer, but she did.
And then her expression softened and she lowered her eyelashes.
Her ruby lips opened slightly, emphasizing their fullness.
She looked at Yiannis like he was some sort of simple-minded puppy, and said, “I’m afraid the men couldn’t make it.
They sent me instead. I hope you’re not disappointed. ”
“Oh no, not disappointed,” he hedged and looked back at us. Her expression changed again. She drew her lips into a tight line and turned her attention to her bag, digging around for her phone—the latest iPhone of course—and cursed under her breath.
“I still don’t have reception here. Is there somewhere with good Wi-Fi?” she asked.
Yiannis shrugged. “This is the best spot.”
“Great,” she mumbled. Our eyes met again, and she arched a shapely eyebrow. I slumped even farther back against the wall, the corner of my mouth turning up in a silent challenge. Her eyes ran over the tattoos on my bicep and forearm, lingered there, and then she turned away abruptly.
As she took in her surroundings, I imagined how she must have seen it: the small taverna that hadn’t changed since the ’70s, the fishing boats bobbing in the small port, and the circle of old men huddled around the other table playing backgammon and clicking their worry beads.
They kept throwing glances her way and sniggering.
Now, normally, I would have told them to watch it, but she needed to see exactly what she was up against. And from the barely disguised disgust on her face, we’d made a hell of a first impression.
Yiannis leaned over to me and whispered, “Can we talk?”
I made a sign with my head and, my eyes never leaving her, I stood and gestured for Panos to follow. Once we’d moved away, Yiannis put his hand on my shoulder and whispered, “They sent us a girl!”
“Not a girl,” I corrected. “A woman.”
And one that was making my blood boil, and not just with anger. I wanted to throw her up against the wall and kiss my way down her luscious body. I hadn’t had a reaction like this to woman in a long time, and it pissed me off that this was the woman my dick had decided to get hard for.
“Maybe we should reconsider,” added Panos. “It wouldn’t be right to go through with our plan. We thought it was going to be a man.”
I glanced back to find her staring at us through narrowed eyes. Now, I’d spent a lot of time in hospital emergency rooms, and I was pretty good at reading people. And I knew this wasn’t just any woman they’d sent us.
They’d sent us a killer.
“No, we go on as planned. They’re trying to fuck with us. They think we’ll soften our stance if they send us a beautiful woman.” I laughed. “But this is a game of chess. And they made the mistake of sending in the queen too early.”
“Ah, well, then you do it,” Panos whispered. “My mother will murder me if she finds out.”
“Fine. Let’s go back, she’s getting suspicious.”
We walked back into the taverna where the owner, Takis, had served his new guest a shot of mastiha.
She hesitated before tapping her glass against his, repeated, “ Yiamas ,” and then downed the glass.
For once, her face lost its guarded quality.
Her eyes flashed with genuine delight. “Delicious, what’s it called again? ”
“Mastiha.” He gestured to the mastic tree etched on to the bottles, the source of the resin that made the liquor.
“Ah, it comes from that tree?” Her smile disappeared as we approached.
Yiannis cleared his throat and gripped his hands nervously. “When you are ready, we will show you your house.”
“Oh, good. I’m exhausted after spending the entire day on boats. Is there Wi-Fi there?” she asked hopefully.
“Eh . . .” Yiannis shrugged.
“Okay, I’ll take that as a no.” She shoved her phone in her bag, one of those designer bags my ex-wife had hanging in her walk-in closet. “I’ll just get my things.”
She strutted away, heels clicking on the cobblestones, her hips swaying temptingly. I imagined digging my fingers into them, pulling them flush with mine.
“You’re coming with me,” said Yiannis in a fierce whisper, interrupting my brief fantasy.
I followed him to where she stood next to two enormous suitcases.
She flicked her eyes to them like she expected us to pick them up for her, which like an obedient puppy, Yiannis did.
I chose to ignore the other one, which earned me another dirty look.
Yiannis gestured toward the group of donkeys at the end of the dock and her mouth dropped open. “Am I supposed to ride one of those?”
“Sorry, no cars on the island. You can walk or ride a boat or a donkey.”
Or me , I thought.
“I’ll walk,” she said, sniffing in disgust at the poor donkey.
Then she lifted her suitcase and set out on those ridiculous heels.
I almost suggested she change her shoes but stopped myself.
So far, she hadn’t said a word to me. She no doubt thought I was an illiterate islander, and I wasn’t about to let on that I spoke English.
As we climbed the steep stone stairs toward the top of the hill, the urge to grab her damn suitcase became harder to ignore.
It wasn’t in my nature to let someone—let alone a woman—struggle while I ignored them.
But there was no going back now; the plan was in play.
The more she struggled, the sooner she’d give up and go running back home.