Bound To The Greek. Кейт Хьюит

‘For the time being. It’s convenient.’

      ‘And he was fired along with most of the employees, I suppose?’

      ‘Most is an exaggeration,’ Jace replied, his eyes narrowing, flashing steel.

      Eleanor wondered why she was asking. It was almost as if she was trying to pick a fight—and perhaps she was, for the anger and resentment still simmered beneath her surface, threatening to bubble forth. She wanted to hurt him, and yet she knew she wouldn’t succeed with these silly little jabs. She’d only hurt herself, by revealing her own vulnerability. The fact that she was making them at all spoke of how hurt she had been and still was. She drew in a steadying breath and managed a small smile. ‘You’d like to talk about the plans?’

      Jace didn’t smile back. ‘I’m not sure they’re worth discussing.’

      Eleanor bit the inside of her cheek. ‘Fine,’ she said when she could be sure her voice was level, ‘let’s discard them if you find them so unsuitable. But you could at least make an effort to be civil.’

      To her surprise, Jace acknowledged the point with one terse nod. ‘Very well. Let’s have lunch.’

      He led her to a table hidden in the alcove, a tiny little table set intimately for two. Eleanor swallowed hard. She didn’t know if she could do this. Every second she spent with Jace strained the composure she’d been working at maintaining for the last ten years, the air of professionalism that had become her armour. Just one sardonic look from those steely eyes—she remembered when they’d softened in pleasure, in love—made her calm façade crack. It crumbled, and she was defenceless once more, the cracks in her armour letting in the memories and pain.

      She hated that she was so weak.

      Jace drew her chair for her, the epitome of politeness, and with a murmured thanks Eleanor sat down. Her hands trembled as she placed her napkin in her lap. Jace sat in the chair opposite, his fingers steepled under his chin, his dark eyebrows drawn together. He looked so much the same, Eleanor thought with a lurch of remembered feeling, and yet so different. His hair was cut closer now, sprinkled with grey, and his skin looked more weathered. That glint of laughter in his eyes was gone, vanished completely. Yet he still possessed the same compelling aura, like a magnetic field around him. He still drew her to him, even though she hated the thought. Even now she could feel her body’s traitorous reaction to his—the shaft of pleasure deep in her belly, the tingle of awareness as he reached for his own napkin, his fingers scant inches from hers. Eleanor made herself look away and a staff member came in to serve them.

      ‘Would you care for a glass of wine?’ Jace asked.

      ‘I don’t normally—’

      ‘Half, then.’ He held up the bottle, one eyebrow arched in silent challenge, poised to pour. Jerkily Eleanor nodded. This felt like a battle of wills, a contest over who could be the most professional. And she’d win. She had to. If he was so unaffected, well, then, she could be too, or at least seem as if she were. Pretend.

      She could pretend to Jace and perhaps even to herself that the room didn’t seethe with memories, that her heart wasn’t splintering along its sewn-up seams. She could. It was the only way of getting out of here alive.

      ‘Thank you.’ She stared down at her salad, the leaves arranged artfully on a porcelain plate with an elegant little drizzle of vinaigrette. She had no appetite at all. Finally she stabbed a lettuce leaf with her fork and looked up. ‘So why don’t you tell me what kind of party you’d prefer?’ She strove to keep her voice reasonable. ‘If I have a few more details, we can brainstorm some ideas—’

      ‘I thought that was your job. I already gave you a list of requirements—’

      ‘You gave me less than twenty-four hours to mock up a plan,’ Eleanor returned, her voice edged with anger, ‘and a week to put it all together. Those are impossible conditions.’

      Jace smiled thinly, his voice smooth and yet still conveying contempt. ‘Your boss assured me your company was up to the task.’

      Eleanor looked away and silently counted to ten. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. ‘I assure you, I am up to the task. But since the original plans were so unsatisfactory, perhaps I need a little more information about what you’re looking for.’ She hated this, hated feeling as if she had to kowtow to Jace, hated knowing he was baiting her simply because he could. At this moment it was hard to believe that they’d ever felt anything for each other but bitterness and dislike.

      Jace exhaled impatiently. ‘I want something unique and elegant, that shows the employees of this company that they will be cared for.’

      ‘Except for the ones who were fired, you mean,’ Eleanor retorted, then wished she could have held her tongue. Why was she so hung up on that? Who cared how Jace did business? She certainly couldn’t afford to.

      He arched one eyebrow, coldly disdainful. ‘Are you questioning my business practices?’

      ‘No, I just object to the idea of a party that makes it look like you care about these people when you really don’t.’ Jace stilled, his face blanking, and too late Eleanor realised how she had betrayed herself. Who she’d really been talking about.

       Me.

      She let out a slow, shuddery breath and reached for her wine. ‘Just give me some details, Jace.’

      Jace’s mouth tightened, his eyes narrowing. ‘I believe I mentioned yesterday that many of the employees here have families. The party needs to be family-friendly. Children will be invited.’

      Eleanor’s hand tightened around the stem of her wine glass. She didn’t expect it to hurt so much to hear Jace talk of children. She realised, with a sudden laser-like dart of pain, that he could be married. Maybe he had children of his own. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted her children.

      The children she’d never have.

      She had to stop thinking like this. She’d got over Jace and his betrayal—unbearable as it had been—years ago. She had. She’d even accepted her own loss, the heartache that she’d always carry with her. She’d moved on with her life, had made plenty of friends, developed an exciting and successful career—

      ‘Family-friendly,’ she repeated, trying to keep her mind on track. She’d forgotten that rather crucial detail in her flurry of plans. Conveniently. She preferred not to think about families—children—at all. They no longer figured in her life. At all. They couldn’t.

      ‘Yes,’ Jace confirmed, and his voice held an edge now. ‘As I told you yesterday. Weren’t you taking notes?’

      Finally goaded past her emotional endurance, Eleanor set her wine glass down with an undignified clatter. ‘Perhaps I just had trouble believing a man like you could be interested in anything family-friendly,’ she snapped. ‘The image doesn’t really fit.’

      ‘Image?’ Jace repeated silkily. ‘What are you talking about, Eleanor?’

      ‘You, Jace.’ The remembered pain and hurt was boiling up, seeping through the barely healed-over scars. She stood up from the table, surprised by this sudden, intense rush of feeling. Suddenly she didn’t want to keep her composure any more. She wanted it to slip, wanted Jace to see the turbulent river of emotions underneath. Even to know how much he’d hurt her. Perhaps she’d regret the impulse later, but now it was too overwhelming a need to ignore. ‘You’re not “family-friendly“.’ She held up her hands to make inverted commas, her fingers curling into claws. ‘You certainly weren’t when I knew you.’

      Jace stood up too, his hip bumping the table, sloshing wine onto the pristine white tablecloth. With a jolt Eleanor realised he was just as angry—and emotional—as she was. Maybe even more so.

      ‘I wasn’t family-friendly?’ he repeated in a low voice that was nearly a growl. ‘And just how and when did you draw that ridiculous conclusion?’

      Eleanor nearly