Page 9

Cecily

CHAPTER NINE

“Miss Bradley?” I hear a powerful voice call, and my body shakes because I know that the moment of truth has arrived.

He doesn’t need to be announced; I’m sure I’m about to meet Dionysus Kostanidis.

“Yes, it’s me,” I answer, trying to convey calm.

Breathe, Cici , I order myself as soon as the man I have longed to meet for the last few months enters the hospital room.

I can’t, though. I’m too stunned by the Greek’s presence to even remember what I planned to do when we saw each other. I barely remember my name, actually.

I knew he was handsome from the research I did on the internet. In fact, if there is one thing that can be said about the Kostanidis brothers, it’s that they have blessed genetics.

No photo did justice to his presence, however.

I estimate that he’s more than six feet tall, with straight, broad shoulders and a solid, muscular body. He really looks like a god.

His hair is dark and reaches his shoulders, longer than I remember. A full, perfect beard shapes a face with an angular jaw.

I purposely focus on his clothes—a black suit, shirt, and tie that fits him like a second skin—just taking a quick look at his eyes and not coming to a conclusion as to whether they are green, blue, or gray. Perhaps a combination of these three colors, creating a unique nuance.

It’s not the hue that impresses me most, however, but the direct way in which he looks at me. I don’t need anyone to tell me that he’s a man who fears nothing.

There is coldness in his eyes, which makes him even more intimidating. They stand out against naturally golden skin, a contradiction. Everything about the man screams heat and fire. His expression, however, says “stay away”.

If it weren’t for my current situation—or rather, my mission —I would ask for permission to escape as soon as possible from this tycoon, because it’s clear that I am facing someone who should not be trifled with.

My God in heaven, what have I gotten myself into?

My stomach somersaults from anxiety.

I know I have limited time and I can’t just stare at him like I’m catatonic, so I try to remember all the information I have about him.

He’s the third of the four Kostanidis brothers and was widowed a few months ago—that last part makes my nausea worse.

Does he know who he was married to?

There were photos of him and Sue on the internet, and I couldn’t tell from any of them whether they were happy. Despite that, they made a beautiful couple.

What I doubt, however, is that his wife told him the whole story about Joseph’s father.

I’m working up the courage to speak when, suddenly, before I can say a word, he blurts out, “My name is Dionysus Kostanidis, Miss Bradley, and I will arrange for you to return to your city as quickly as possible. Maybe the next time you throw yourself in front of a car, you won’t be so lucky.”

What? Of all the things I imagined he would say, nothing even came close to that.

I mentally repeat his words, and little by little, the nervousness is replaced by anger.

Did he just walk in here, introduce himself, and say he would send me back home?

Who does he think he is to make decisions for me?

I can’t even blame him for the last part of what he said, because I acted like a crazy person, getting in front of that car. After talking to Mr. Anderson, I felt really guilty because I realized that I scared the driver, but none of that gives the Greek the right to think he can determine what I’m going to do with my life.

God, how stupid I was to think that a man like him, used to having the world at his feet and being king of his universe, would listen to me.

“I’m not going back to Kansas,” I say calmly, though inside I’m boiling.

I’m fully aware that I’m in the wrong in this story, but getting in front of the car was not irresponsible—it was the result of desperation.

He stares at me, as if he can’t believe I had the nerve to stand up to him.

That makes two of us. I don’t know what came over me either.

I need to be humble and try to gain his sympathy—which, given this first encounter, I’m starting to believe will be impossible.

“You haven’t heard what I have to propose yet, Miss. You will be well-paid.”

“I don’t want your money, Mr. Kostanidis. I already spoke to the police and said it was my mistake. I crossed without looking. I was distracted. You’re not to blame for what happened,” I say, releasing a little of the remorse that was filling my heart. “I came to New York to look for a job, not to beg.”

I decide to change my strategy because I only needed a few minutes to understand that I won’t be able to move him with my story. Now I’m sure that my approach was as wrong as possible, and that I shouldn’t have done what I did. If, without knowing anything, he already wants to get rid of me, then if I tell him everything, I will never have another opportunity.

Cold sweat runs down my spine as I think about what it must be like to have someone like Dionysus Kostanidis as an enemy, and that’s exactly what I am to him.

“I would like to compensate you for the damage I caused,” I continue, even though to my own ears the proposal sounds ridiculous, but I am desperately trying to hold on to any chance to stay in Manhattan.

“Compensate me ?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow ironically.

“Yes. I suppose the car was dented. I don’t have any money right now, but I can work to pay it off.”

Please let me stay.

“Who are you?”

My heart beats so fast I can feel it in my ear. “I don’t understand.”

“You do. You threw yourself in front of my car on purpose. What’s up? What do you hope to get from me? If it’s compensation, I’m already offering it.”

Fear disappears, giving way to indignation. “Maybe, in your world, everything is about money. In mine, I try to do what I think is right. I caused you a loss and I want to make it up to you. That’s it.”

The lies are only getting worse, and I know I’m entering a game whose rules I don’t know, but he’s backing me into a corner and I have to reverse that before I completely give up on the commitment I made when I came to New York.

“I talked to Mr. Colt. He told me you need a nanny for your son. I have experience, and I can even give you references.” It’s a relief, after so many untruths, to be able to say something real.

“You’re not going to be working for me. I would have to be crazy to let a girl who can’t even cross a street without trying to kill herself take care of my boy.”

Two feelings hit me simultaneously.

The first is relief, because he finally seems to believe that I have no ulterior motives—and he’s very wrong about that.

The second, and the more frightening, is that I have just become certain that what I planned is going downhill. If Mr. Kostanidis won’t even allow me to care for his son now, what would he say if I told him the whole story?