Life Of Lies. Sharon Sala

that terse email demanding her presence. Of course he had her contract on his desk. He now owned the company and could do anything he pleased. He was about to tell her that her contract wouldn’t be renewed—that it only operated on a year-to-year basis. And then what would she do—a burnt-out tennis player with no real qualifications? She thought about Hannah and her college fees. About the little house she’d bought after she’d paid off all her father’s debts. The house that had become their only security. About all the difficulties and heartbreak along the way, and the slow breaking down of barriers to arrive at the workable and loving relationship she had with her half-sister today.

      A shiver whispered its way down her spine and she prayed Loukas wouldn’t notice—even though he’d been trained to notice every little thing about other people. Especially their weaknesses.

      ‘How can I understand what you’re saying when you’ve been nothing but enigmatic?’ she said. ‘When you’ve sat there for the entire time with that judgemental look on your face?’

      ‘Then perhaps I should be a little clearer.’ He drummed his fingertips on the contract. ‘If you want your contract extended, you might want to rethink your attitude. Being a little nicer to the boss might be a good place to start.’

      ‘Be nice to you?’ she questioned. ‘That’s rich. You’re the one who has been hostile from the moment I walked into this office—and you still haven’t told me anything.’ There was a pause. ‘What are you planning to do?’

      Loukas swivelled his chair round, removing the distraction of her fine-boned face from his line of vision and replacing it with the gleam of the London skyline. It was a view which carried an eye-watering price tag. The view which reinforced just how far he had come. The space-age circle of the Eye framing the pewter ribbon of the river. Jostling for position among all the centuries-old monuments were all the new kids on the block—the skyscrapers aimed at the stars. A bit like him, really. He stared at the Walkie-Talkie building with its fabled sky garden. Whoever would have thought that the boy who’d once had to ferret for food at the back of restaurants would have ended up sitting here, with such unbelievable wealth at his fingertips?

      It had been his burning ambition to crawl out of the poverty and despair which had defined his childhood. To make right a life steeped in bitterness and betrayal. And he had done as he had set out to, ticking off every ambition along the way. He’d done his best for his mother, even though... Painfully, he closed his eyes and refocused his thoughts. He’d made the fortune he’d always lusted after when he’d worked as a bodyguard for oligarchs and billionaires and seen their lavish displays of wealth. He’d always wondered what it would be like to carelessly lose a million dollars at a casino table and not even notice the loss. And he’d discovered that he used to get more pleasure from the food he’d been forced to steal from the restaurant bins when his belly was empty. Because that was the thing about money. The pleasure it was supposed to give you was a myth, peddled by those who were in possession of it. It brought nothing but problems and expectations. It made people behave in ways which sickened him.

      Even when he’d been poor he’d never had a problem finding women, but he’d often wondered whether it would make a difference if you were rich. His mouth hardened. And it did. Oh, it did. He felt the acrid taste of old-fashioned disapproval in his mouth as he recalled the variety of extras women had offered him since he’d become a billionaire in his own right. Did he like to watch? Did he want threesomes? Foursomes? Was he interested in dressing up and role play? It had been made clear to him that anything he wanted was his for the taking and all he had to do was ask. And he had tried it all. He would have tried anything to fill the dark emptiness inside him, but nothing ever did. He’d cavorted with women with plastic bodies and gorgeous, vacuous faces. Models and princesses were his for the taking. So many things had been dangled in front of him in order to entice him, but he had been like a child let loose in a candy store who, after a few days of indulging himself, had felt completely jaded.

      And that was when he had decided that you couldn’t move on until your life was straightened out. Until you’d tied up all the loose ends which had threatened to trip you up over the years. His mother was dead. His brother was found. Briefly, he closed his eyes as he thought about the rest of that story and felt a painful beat of his heart. Which left only Jessica Cartwright. His mouth hardened. And she was a loose end he was going to take particular pleasure tying up.

      He turned his chair back around. She was still sitting there, trying to hide her natural anxiety, and he allowed himself a moment of pure, sadistic pleasure. Because he wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t appreciated the exquisite irony of seeing how much the tables had turned. How the snooty tennis prodigy who’d kept him hidden away like a guilty secret—while he serviced her physical needs—was now waiting for an answer on which her whole future would be decided.

      How far would she go to keep her job? he wondered idly. If he ordered her to crawl under the desk and unzip him and take him in her mouth—would she oblige? He felt the hard throb at his groin as he imagined his seed spilling inside her mouth, before changing his mind. No. He didn’t want Jess behaving like a hooker. What he wanted—what he really wanted—was for her to be compliant and willing and giving. He wanted her beneath him, preferably naked. He wanted to see her eyes darken and hear her gasp of disbelieving pleasure as he entered her. He wanted to feed her hunger for him, until she was dependent on him. Until she couldn’t draw a breath without thinking of him.

      And then he would walk away, just as she’d done.

      The tables would be turned.

      They would be equals.

      He looked into her aquamarine eyes.

      ‘You’re going to have to change,’ he said.

       CHAPTER TWO

      JESSICA’S HEART WAS pounding loudly as she looked across the desk at Loukas, who in that moment seemed to symbolise everything which was darkness...and power. As if he held her future in the palm of his hand and was just about to crush it.

      He had begun removing the jacket of his beautiful suit. Sliding it from his shoulders and looping it over the back of his chair and that was making her feel even more disorientated. He looked so...intimidating. Yet the instant he started rolling up his sleeves to display his hair-roughened arms, it seemed much more like the Loukas of old. Sexy and sleek and completely compelling. Her thoughts were skittering all over the place and suddenly she was having to try very hard to keep the anxiety from her voice. ‘What do you mean—I have to change? Change what, exactly?’

      His smile didn’t meet his eyes. In fact, it barely touched his lips. He was enjoying this, she realised. He was enjoying it a lot.

      ‘Everything,’ he said. ‘But mostly, your image.’

      Jessica looked at him in confusion. ‘My image?’

      Again, he did that thing of joining the tips of his fingers together and she was reminded of a head teacher who’d sent for an unruly pupil and was just about to give them a stern telling-off.

      ‘I can’t believe that nobody has looked at your particular advertising campaign before,’ he continued. ‘Or why it has been allowed to continue.’ His black eyes glittered. ‘A variation of the same old thing—year in and year out. The agency the company have been using have become complacent, which is why the first thing I did when I took over was to sack them.’

      ‘You’ve sacked them?’ Jessica echoed, her heart sinking—because she liked the agency they used and the photographer they employed. She only saw them once a year when they shot the Lulu catalogue but she’d got to know them and they felt comfortable.

      ‘Profits have been sliding for the past two years,’ he continued remorselessly. ‘Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing—because it meant I was able to hammer out an excellent price for my buyout. But it does mean that things are going to be very different from now on.’

      She heard the dark note