Chapter One #2
Still, Zervou Kritikos standing here on the grimy street in front of a boxing gym seemed all wrong.
He was…like a myth, this titan of industry with more money than her entire ancestral line had probably ever seen put together.
He seemed like someone who would turn to dust just by walking down a street in an area such as this.
People spit on the streets here, stumbled drunk down alleys, committed unspeakable crimes.
People did not drive fancy cars or wear clothes that probably cost more than she’d made in her entire life. People did not stand with such innate confidence that this show of wealth and power would not be challenged. Everyone in this neighborhood was a fighter, whether they boxed or not.
She supposed he looked like he could fight. Even the elegant lines of his suit could not hide the broad shoulders, the powerful stature meant to intimidate. His dark eyes were astute and assessing, with a sharp, aristocratic nose and lips arranged into some kind of knowing but vaguely amused curve.
He was outrageously handsome. She had no doubt he graced tabloids and magazine covers and had a whole slew of people aflutter over all that rich-guy appeal.
Ari knew better than to find herself aflutter over a man, wealthy or otherwise, no matter how good he looked. But there he stood, and no matter how confident she was in her ability to handle men, something about the mythical nature of his visage had her considering if she knew how to handle that.
“Ariadne Malis,” he greeted in a voice low and powerful. “You are quite the boxer.”
She said nothing to this statement. It was true. So she felt it required no response.
“I would like to extend an invitation for you to dine with me this evening.”
So predictable. No matter how he looked, he was still a man. Business propositions never really meant honest business, did they?
Ari had to force herself not to roll her eyes. She kept her smile bland. He was likely the kind of man who never heard the word no. “And I would like to pass.”
His lips curved, not into anything as bland as a smile. No, Ari did not have the words for this man’s innate power and appeal and the way he knew how to arrange his features in just the right way to have her heart fluttering unsteadily in her chest.
When her heart never fluttered.
“You have no curiosity about why I would extend such an invitation?”
She looked him up and down, made sure her own features were arranged to look disappointed—though she could hardly be. “None.”
He made a considering sound, and that dark, intense gaze of his held her pinned to a spot as powerfully as any grapple hold.
She had been ogled in many a different way—out of interest, a need to prove power or might, just straight-up desire for violence. But whatever this was, she didn’t recognize it.
She scowled against that feeling. The softening of something inside her, a rearranging of her walls and the strong protections that kept them intact.
This man was dangerous, and yet it was not a danger she had any experience fighting. It was an off-putting experience. She didn’t want to like it, but… Well, she was intrigued.
“I assure you, Ms. Malis, this meeting will be very worth your while.”
Worth your while was hard to ignore, especially coming from a man who clearly had worth to spare. Nevertheless, she should say no and walk away. There were some lines she wouldn’t cross, even for survival.
Still, she said nothing and stayed put.
“I will send a car. Here or your home. Take your pick. All you have to do is dine with me, listen to my proposition, then give me an answer.”
“And if my answer is no, you’ll take it? Because you do not strike me as a man who takes no for an answer.”
His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “An excellent judge of character, Ms. Malis. But for you? Should you really reject my proposal?” He shrugged, clearly not considering it a possibility. “I’ll take no for an answer. After a fashion.”
After a fashion. She narrowly resisted rolling her eyes again. She also didn’t say the words she needed to. Because instead of no, she said, “I can’t imagine I have anything suitable in my wardrobe to dine with you, Mr. Kritikos.”
“No need to concern yourself with wardrobe or anything else. How about this? I’ll pay you for the meeting. Consider it a…listening fee.” He named a sum, not outrageous, but certainly hard to refuse if all she had to do was have dinner with the man.
She had been scrabbling to keep a roof over her and her mother’s head for too long to fall for something too good to be true, but it also made it hard to outright refuse the possibility for something. This man was richer than God, so certainly there was a possibility here.
But…wasn’t she smarter than this?
“Surely you’re not afraid,” Zervou said with some censure in his tone. “I saw you fight in there. You should fear nothing.”
“A smart woman knows there is always something to fear. Especially from charming men in expensive suits.” And because she was good at sizing up an opponent, she knew the suit could not hide just how sleek and strong he was under the expensive garment.
She could take him—she had the training to take down bigger and stronger opponents—but that didn’t mean it’d be an easy task or one she wanted to test, particularly considering his hulking bodyguards.
Men like him didn’t fight fair.
“Ah, so you think I am charming.” He straightened the lapels of his suit jacket. “And stylish.”
It should not have been amusing, this arrogance, but it turned out that, with a man who embodied such rugged good looks along with wealth and power, it was hard not to be a little amused.
And charmed.
“Very well,” he said on a sigh, as if he was giving into some demand she’d made when she’d said nothing. “Here is the address—travel by your own means.” He held out a card. “No need to worry about your wardrobe. It will be a private affair. Arm yourself however you wish.”
He did not make a move to hand her the card. He simply held it out. Like holding a treat to a dog and waiting for it to approach.
She should be offended. She should turn and walk away. She should do a lot of things.
But the amount of money he’d mentioned kept playing in her head. Taking the card didn’t mean she had to go. It just gave her some time to consider what kind of risks she was willing to take. Risks were part of life. Part of survival, that was for certain. Taking the card was no risk.
Chin up, shoulders relaxed, she stepped forward and plucked the card out of his fingers, making certain to avoid even the brush of fingertips. “I’ll think about it,” she said, and began to walk away from the trio of men. Down the street, toward her apartment building just around the corner.
Mr. Kritikos offered no parting shot, no farewell.
But she could feel his eyes follow her the entire walk down the street.