still maintained a controlling interest.’ She knew enough about business, about life, to understand how important that was.
Metaxas sighed and shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not.’
‘What?’ She blinked at him, shocked even now that her husband could have been so foolish. So stupid. ‘So now that I have inherited Petra Innovation...how much of it do I actually have?’
‘You have roughly forty per cent.’
‘All right.’ She took a deep breath, forced her thoughts to calm. ‘That still must be a majority. The other sixty per cent of shares will be owned by many different people, surely—’
‘No,’ Metaxas contradicted her, his voice gentle. ‘The other sixty per cent is now owned by one person. Your husband didn’t realise it—the investments were made quietly, slyly even, under different corporate names, over the last few months. But the man at the source was the same.’
Iolanthe stared at him, her hands clutched together so tightly her nails were making half-moon marks in her palms. ‘And who is this man?’
‘Another tech wizard. Alekos Demetriou.’
She drew her breath in sharply, her nails digging in even deeper, but other than that gave away no reaction. In truth she was so stunned she didn’t know how to react. Alekos Demetriou. She had schooled herself not to think of him these last long ten years. Tried to pretend he was not Niko’s father, that his name meant nothing to her. All of it lies. All it had taken was for Metaxas to say his name to have her hurtling back to that wonderful, terrible night, when she’d known both pleasure and pain so acutely.
And now Alekos Demetriou owned her father’s company? Her company? Except of course it wasn’t hers at all.
‘What does this mean exactly?’
‘I don’t know,’ the older man admitted. ‘Demetriou only just revealed that he has a controlling interest. I requested a meeting with him to discuss the future of the company.’
Iolanthe’s stomach soured. ‘So the future of Petra Innovation is up to Alekos Demetriou?’
‘In a word, yes.’
Abruptly she rose from her seat and paced the room, stopping in front of the window that overlooked Athens’ business district. She barely saw the wide boulevard, the neat buildings, busy people going to and fro. In her mind’s eye she saw Alekos as she’d last seen him, in his own drawing room, his face cold and closed and forbidding, as he’d demanded she leave.
And so she had.
‘Kyria Callos, I realise this news comes as a shock.’
‘You have no idea,’ Iolanthe admitted with a harsh laugh. What would Alekos do with the company? With her son’s—his son’s—inheritance? ‘Do you think it likely that he will simply allow things to continue as they are?’ Even as she spoke the question she knew it was a ridiculous hope. A naïve one, and she’d put naïvety behind her long ago. She’d had to. She knew how bent on revenge Alekos had been back then. A decade didn’t seem to have changed things. He still wanted to get back at her father, her family, or maybe even her. Why else would he have bought controlling shares?
‘I really don’t know what Demetriou will do,’ Metexas answered. ‘I don’t know why he has essentially initiated a takeover of Petra Innovation. But the fact that he was secretive about it concerns me, of course.’
Iolanthe nodded numbly, her unseeing gaze still on the city street.
Metaxas cleared his throat. ‘Do you have any history with Demetriou?’ he asked.
‘Me?’ Iolanthe turned around, her expression once more composed, closed. ‘What are you asking? I married Lukas when I was twenty.’
‘Of course, of course, forgive me. I only meant, perhaps, between the families...’ Metaxas trailed off as Iolanthe regarded him coolly, giving nothing away. She hoped.
‘Demetriou was in a race with my father a long time ago,’ she said. ‘Something about a software system. My father beat him to the invention—I think Demetriou was angry about it.’ So angry that he’d seduced his daughter, all for a petty, pointless revenge.
‘So you think he has bought the company as some sort of payback?’
‘It seems like him.’
‘You know him, then.’
‘I know his deeds,’ Iolanthe corrected crisply. ‘And what my father told me. He is not an admirable man in any shape or form.’ That she knew all too well.
Metaxas sighed heavily. ‘This doesn’t bode well for Petra Innovation. But I expect Demetriou will inform us of his plans when I meet him tomorrow.’
Iolanthe tensed, shock like an icy flame rippling through her body. ‘He agreed to a meeting?’
‘Yes—’
‘With you,’ Iolanthe said, repeating his words. Metaxas, like her husband and father before him, intended to cut her out of any business decisions. Before Lukas’s death she’d made herself be content to stay at home, out of the way. But not any longer. Not when her son’s inheritance was at stake. ‘I want to be present at that meeting.’
Metaxas looked startled. ‘If that is your wish,’ he said after a pause. ‘But as you know it had always been your husband’s desire for you not to be bothered by business concerns—’
‘And look where that got us,’ Iolanthe finished. The thought of coming face-to-face with Alekos Demetriou again filled her with both terror and dread, but she would still do it. She wanted to know exactly what Alekos intended for her father’s company—and for her son.
* * *
‘Kyrie Metaxas and Kyria Callos will see you now.’
Alekos’s mouth twisted in wry bitterness as he strode into the CEO’s office at Petra Innovation. He might have been kept waiting like a supplicant, but he was one no longer, neither lackey nor slave. Petra Innovation, to all intents and purposes, belonged to him. And he found he was looking forward to informing Iolanthe Callos of that fact.
The receptionist opened the doors and he stalked through them, stopping abruptly at the sight of Iolanthe standing by the window, the sunlight gilding her dark hair. Looking upon her after so many years felt like a punch to the solar plexus, and he found, to his surprise and irritation, that he was suddenly breathless. Memories assaulted him, a kaleidoscope of images and sensations that he’d long ago determined to forget. A white silk mask, the petal-pink curve of a smooth cheek. The touch of her lips, the breathy sigh of her pleasure.
Resolutely he moved his gaze from the woman by the window to the other occupant of the room: her solicitor, Antonis Metaxas. Alekos gave one brief nod.
‘Kyrie Metaxas.’
‘Kyrie Demetriou.’
The silence stretched between the three of them, taut and brittle. Alekos glanced at Iolanthe again, determined not to react to her as he had before. At that first burning glance he’d thought she looked the same, but now he saw that she was older, just as he was. He glimpsed faint lines by her eyes, and, although she looked pale, he saw a composure to her that had not been there before. She was thirty years old and recently a widow. He noticed she wore a pale grey suit, a suitable colour for mourning. The jacket was belted around her slender waist and the pencil skirt emphasised her lithe figure. Her hair was caught up in a neat chignon and it made him remember how those inky locks had felt tumbling through his hands as he’d drawn her towards him for a deep kiss...
‘Kyria Callos. May I offer my condolences on the recent loss of your husband?’ He would observe the niceties.
Iolanthe inclined her head in regal acceptance of his words. She didn’t speak. Her face looked as if it had been made of marble, as blank as a statue, no expression visible in those mist-silver eyes.
‘I