The Greek Billionaire’s Rejected Secretary (A Painful Kind of Love #14)

Chapter One

ADRIANO

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I STRIDE OUT OF THE courthouse, already loosening my tie. Another win. The Brinkman case was supposed to be impossible—corporate fraud on a scale that made the financial papers salivate for months. But impossible just means I haven't solved it yet.

"Mr. Kontides!"

Reporters swarm, digital recorders thrust toward my face like weapons. I force myself to crack my smile, remembering my secretary's warning not to come off as too ruthless...even if it's the truth.

"The Brinkman verdict speaks for itself. Justice was served." I brush past them, scanning the corridor for the one face I need to see.

There she is.

Shayla .

Standing against the wall, tablet in hand, already typing what's undoubtedly a press release highlighting our winning arguments, many of which are the product of hours’ worth of brainstorming between the two of us. Not that anyone knows. Nine years as my executive assistant, and she still refuses to take even an ounce of credit.

I'm about to head over when I see a slick-haired bail bondsman approach her, and my stride quickens. I recognize him from the holding cells downstairs. And the way I see it, he deserves to be thrown into one of them, with how he's acting now.

The bastard has braced his hands against the wall by Shayla's head, caging her in. "I'm just saying, a woman like you—"

Just hearing him leer at my secretary like that makes me see red.

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"—D ESERVES A NIGHT OUT . Let me take you somewhere nice."

Shayla doesn't look up from her screen. "Thank you, but no."

"Tomorrow, then."

"I'm afraid that's still not—"

"Shayla?"

The sound of my voice cuts her off, and the bondsman immediately backs away. He turns to me with a whitened expression. I raise a brow, and the bastard is smart enough to understand what I'm asking.

He scuttles off, tail tucked between his legs.

Good.

But I also need to make a mental note and speak to his superior. If they want to remain in my good graces, then he should know better than to bother my secretary.

I turn to Shayla, but find myself staring at empty air. She's already heading back to my limo.

Typical.

Shayla starts talking as I slide into the seat opposite her.

"I've already emailed a draft for the press release."

"Shouldn't you be congratulating me for winning the case?"

"I would love to," Shayla answers piously, "if only it didn't mean shirking my responsibility."

"What responsibility?"

"Thou shalt protect your billionaire employer from gaining an even bigger ego than he already has...at all costs."

"I must've missed reading that in the rule book. Then again, shouldn't I be the one making up the rules—"

Shayla cuts me off, saying, "I almost forgot. You have four interviews scheduled tomorrow."

"I'm certain you mean two," I drawl.

My secretary looks at me in concern. "Shall I also schedule an appointment with Dr. Timms? Memory problems are to be expected in your advanced age."

"I'm only five years older than you."

Shayla pretends not to hear this and busies herself with her tablet.

This is typical of her, too, and if she weren't so damn good as a secretary, I would've fired her a long time ago.

In the back of my mind, I have a list of about a thousand things I need to attend to. But instead I find myself studying my secretary for some inexplicable reason. Ponytail and the granny glasses. Crisp white shirt under a shapeless pantsuit. And shoes so clunky they could be a murder weapon for someone with perfect aim.

Shayla glances up. "Do you need anything, Mr. Kontides?"

"I'm curious," I murmur. "Would you have gone out with that bondsman if I hadn't shown up?"

"No."

"Why?"

She adjusts her glasses. "Because I don't date."

"Why?"

She frowns. " Why do you ask?"

"Why don't you want to answer me?"

Shayla crosses her arms over her chest. "Are you feeling alright, Mr. Kontides?"

"Don't call me that."

"That being... your name?"

"You've worked for me for nine years. Call me Adriano."

"That would be inappropriate."

"Says who?"

"Says standard professional protocol." The limo cruises to a stop in front of our office, and she's out in a flash.

Typical.

But for some reason, I feel irritated—agitated even—as I follow her through the lobby. Shayla is the only woman in my life who treats me like this. The only woman who dares answer me back. The only one who doesn't care to drop anything to accommodate my whims.

It's infuriating.

And infuriatingly refreshing.

Just like the way she now has me running, just to make it to the elevator—

"Seriously?"

—since my secretary is the type to wait patiently for her boss and keep the doors open.

Not.

I glare down at her, and Shayla's expression once again turns angelic. "Cardio is always good for one's health, Mr. Kontides. Especially at your age."

How many times do I have to remind her—

Shayla adjusts her hold on her tablet, and I'm distracted by the cheap gold band on her finger catching light.

And annoyed.

"Why are you still wearing that?" I demand.

Shayla blinks in surprise. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"I'm not talking about your clothes," I say impatiently. "Why do you insist on wearing your ring when you're already divorced?"

"Oh. That." And then she shrugs and leaves it at that.

"You should get over that scum."

Shayla peers up at me. "I'm starting to feel concerned that you're concerned. Should I call for a doctor?"

"Shut up."

"And there's the boss I know—"

"But not love?"

The word hangs between us, strangely charged.

But my secretary doesn't even blink. "Love isn't real."

I grunt. I think the same. But it doesn't feel right that my secretary does, too.