road and comes to a roundabout. I need to get a grip. Back to the task at hand. What would a new employee with little knowledge of his business ask?
‘Can you brief me on the arrangements for this weekend please? And provide some background information about you and the organisation?’ I know the casino chain inside out and can list the types of companies sitting alongside it under the umbrella organisation, but if I show that knowledge off he might get suspicious.
He turns to face me. ‘Didn’t you do any research? Or ask the agency to brief you?’
I take a deep breath, refusing to react to the implied criticism. ‘There wasn’t enough time. The agency gave me the broad outline, but once I accepted the assignment, it was a rush to pack and get across the city. Plus my phone died, so I couldn’t look it up online.’ Liar. I switched to a pay-as-you-go mobile months ago and only have enough credit to make emergency calls to Jess whilst abroad. Raising my eyebrows, I inject gratitude into my tone. ‘So if you wouldn’t mind?’
‘Fair enough.’ He stretches his arms out then drops them, the movement making me aware of how big and broad he is. ‘This weekend is for the AGM,’ annual general meeting I translate silently, ‘of Demetrio International. The organisation has Greek roots but we trade worldwide.’ The car rocks slightly as an articulated lorry roars past.
‘You don’t sound very Greek.’ It pops out.
‘What do you want? Dios and agape mou in darkly accented muttered tones?’
My stomach squelches. That actually sounds quite nice. But it appears to be a sore point. ‘No, of course not. Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘No,’ he sighs, ‘I’m sorry for snapping. Anyway, I came to the UK as a child from Corfu, went to boarding school and then on to study at Oxford.’ Which explains his unaccented English. ‘I can speak some Greek. German and French too.’
‘Right.’
‘My grandfather built the original companies, primarily based on shipping, oil and transport.’ As he speaks a crooked smile curves his mouth, making my knickers twang. ‘When he met my grandmother, who’s British, she was a high-ranking army officer. After they married she left the army and had my father and younger sister within a few years but wanted to do something as well as raise children. Together they set up and managed a number of vineyards across Europe, olive farms and some restaurants and bars throughout the Greek islands. That was the start of it.’
‘She was an officer,’ I echo, impressed. The corporate induction information mentions the organisation’s humble beginnings, but I didn’t know his grandmother was in the army. She must have been a tough lady.
‘Yes, but it’s not well known. Pretend you didn’t hear that.’
‘No problem.’ I mime zipping my lips. So he likes his privacy. It must be pretty difficult to achieve. After all, he’s a wealthy, young and dynamic CEO and therefore someone naturally of interest to the press. The David Beckham of the business world. I could be intimidated, but he’s still a person who eats, sleeps and breathes, even if it’s hard to ignore the cut of the sharply tailored suit, hand-crafted leather shoes and healthy sheen of his skin. And that he could probably buy the flat I’m mortgaged to the hilt on a hundred times over.
‘Thank you. So, my father came into the business in his twenties and ran the company alongside my grandfather for over thirty years, expanding the enterprise, until seven years ago when I became CEO. My grandfather retired very late, my father earlier than planned, and they convinced the Board someone in the family should run the company.’ His expression turns grim.
Shifting in my seat to look at him better. ‘Can I ask a question?’
His shoulders tense. ‘It depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On what the question is.’
Wow. Talk about uptight. ‘I wanted to ask how old you are,’ I say easily, ‘but if it’s a national secret, one of those if I tell you I’ll have to kill you pieces of information, please feel free not to answer.’
Opening his mouth, he pauses, then shocks me by throwing his head back and laughing. It’s a low, rumbling sound and does funny things to my insides. As he chuckles, the tension seems to leak from him.
‘No, it’s not a national secret,’ he murmurs, giving me a wide, genuine, ridiculously sexy smile, ‘and I can tell you, but I won’t have to kill you. So if you’re looking for a merciful death to escape this assignment I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.’
‘What a shame,’ I drawl, playing along. Then freeze. God, are we flirting? I mustn’t, I can’t, even if it’s accidental. I’ve been here before and look how it turned out.
Disaster.
Major bloody disaster.
No, it’s fine. I shake my head internally. He’s just being nice and I’m doing the same. ‘So, how old are you?’ I’d put him at thirty-five when he’s scowling and twenty-seven when he’s smiling. Funny how a change of emotion can make such a difference to someone’s face.
‘Thirty-one. Why?’
‘You said you’d been in charge for seven years, I wondered how old you were when you took over, given the level of responsibility. Twenty-four. Pretty young.’ Ouch. Most people that age are still finding themselves, dabbling around the edges of life, and there he was, running a massive organisation.
Lips compressing, any humour flees. ‘I’m the oldest son and they trusted me,’ he states, face going curiously blank.
I’m intrigued about the story there but it’s none of my business. ‘It wasn’t a criticism, just an observation.’
‘Yes, well, back to the facts. The business has grown more recently to include chains of hotels, casinos, media companies and a small banking arm. The organisation currently employs over ten thousand people.’
Interesting how he refers to it as ‘the organisation’ and doesn’t take personal credit for it, like he’s talking about something someone else has done. But he should be proud. He may not have clawed his way to the top through hard grind, but he’s made the business more successful since taking over and he must work punishing hours for such rapid expansion. The spoilt rich playboy I was worried he might be would surely have run a company into the ground over the years, or at best let it stagnate?
‘Thanks for the summary.’ I cross my legs. ‘So what do you need this weekend?’
‘You’re here to support me, set up presentations, attend meetings, take minutes and so on. Any problems with that?’
‘No, none whatsoever.’ I may be rusty but I’ll manage.
‘Great. Do you need to know anything more right now? It’s just that I need to finish off some emails.’ He waves the tablet at me.
‘No, that’s fine. Go ahead.’
‘Thank you.’
As he turns back to his task, I twist my hands together. This plan has to work. If I don’t get a proper job soon, a move back home is in the offing, along with asking Jess to buy me out of my half of the mortgage, which I know she’ll struggle to do. To my shame I’ve not been able to pay my share for the last two months. She can’t afford to keep propping us up, we both know it – we just haven’t had the conversation yet. I guess we keep hoping something will change, that something good will happen. Maybe this assignment is it?
Blowing out a long breath, I chew my bottom lip. Imagine having to move back in with my parents after so many years of independence. They’ll think they were right all along, that I should never have left the village. I can just picture having to face everyone. They’ll be so smug my adventure to the big city didn’t work out because they all love living in a quaint little corner of the world with traditional values. I shudder at the thought of being on the