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BARCELONA

“What do you have for me?” I ask, desperate for him to give me an excuse to get up and leave.

“You’re not being reasonable, Christos.”

“I’ve never been accused of that. You have five more minutes.”

“I thought our negotiation was on track.”

“I did, too, until I found out you’d sugarcoated your profit this year. Do you have any idea what will happen if this gets to shareholders’ ears?”

He paces, and once again, I regret having to deal with someone like him. If my analysts hadn’t estimated that the profit would be fairly decent if we bought his company, I would have told him to go to hell.

Frank Morrison is everything I despise in a man: he has a weak, pliable personality and does what’s expected of him. If you want to be an asshole, act like one. Embrace the persona and don’t pretend to be afraid of anything or anyone. But if you change your character according to the situation, then you are nothing to me.

“What do you want me to do?”

“If—with emphasis on ‘if’—we are going to negotiate, the company will have to do an audit on the last ten years. It only took my analysts an hour to find inconsistencies in the numbers you sent me.”

Actually, I’ve already completed the auditing process and received the results via email. However, I want to play a little game with him and make him sweat. Moreover, I’m curious to find out if there are any hidden secrets or confidential information that my employees couldn’t uncover, although I highly doubt it. Frank is far from being a financial expert; he’s just a petty thief who attempted to deceive his own company and failed miserably.

He nods, but I can see he’s paled. “What else?”

“If there’s any indication of fraud, the deal is off.”

“There isn’t this was the first time. . .”

“Lucky for you, the fiscal year hasn’t ended yet. According to my lawyers, there’s still time to fix it.” I cross my legs and face him. He looks like he’s about to pass out. “Did you really think you’d deceive me? Did you believe I would invest in a nearly billion-dollar business without making sure of where I was standing?”

“No. . . I mean, you don’t understand. I was. . . I am desperate.”

“No, you’re the one not understanding, Frank. Lie to me again, and you won’t get another chance. I’ll let the banks liquidate all your assets. Even that expensive watch you’re wearing will have to be handed over as payment.”

“It won’t happen, Christos. You have my word.”

I get up without replying because his words no longer mean anything to me. Once a liar, always a liar.

I despise white-collar criminals. They play with the lives of thousands of families.

“What’s next?” he asks, sounding apprehensive.

“I want to see one of the ships. You told me there’s one here in Barcelona. Let’s go. Take me there.”

“I won’t be able to evacuate a ship with more than two thousand passengers.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that, but I want to speak to some of the employees—not the temps but the full-time ones.”

“Why?”

“I would never go into a business like this without studying it first. There are things that only these people will be able to tell me that no expert can attest to, just those who are there every day with the crew and passengers.”

“May I ask for an example?”

“No.”

As I cross the ship surrounded by my security guards, people turn their heads to me. There’s nothing I hate more than that, but I went through an attempted robbery about a month ago, and since then, my bodyguard has been a little paranoid.

It’s the price you pay for being rich. But not something that makes me regret the path I’ve taken to get here.

My father’s story since we immigrated to the United States has marked me forever. My grandmother, his mother, died in Greece because she didn’t have money to pay for healthcare. It made him leave his birth country and seek a better life.

I was still a kid, but I remember how late Dad would come home, how he never had a day off but was full of ideas and plans.

He learned to be a tailor and, in a short time, was in demand. The business grew to the point that he needed to hire employees and open branches.

To make a long story short, we were already rich by the time I turned eighteen. My dad’s motto is “grow and multiply,” and that has nothing to do with grandchildren—although I’m sure he wants them— but rather our bank account.

Today, I own the top ten haute couture and accessories brands around the world, with male and female segments, and I’m faithful to my father’s motto. I’ve expanded my business and invested in several fields.

That’s exactly why I’m attending this dinner party today.

My mother is thrilled with the idea that I’m going to buy a fleet of tourist ships. Anyone who saw her might even think I don’t already own a gigantic yacht. The thing is, inside Danae Lykaios, there is still a humble girl from a small island in Greece.

No matter the amount of jewelry and fur coats she owns, she is a woman without an ounce of arrogance who loves talking to people—anyone. So being on a cruise—or several because, if I know her well, she’ll board as many as she can if this deal becomes final—sounds like her idea of paradise.

“We’ll have dinner with the captain in a room on the top floor, but you can visit the ship afterward if you want,” Frank says.

I nod. “Isn’t the gala tonight?” Based on what I know, the captain needs to attend this event.

He looks at me, surprised. “It is, but he won’t dine with the guests. He rarely does. On our ships, only first class is admitted to the gala. Besides, the captain gets harassed a lot, especially by women. To avoid problems, he eats alone or . . . in special company.”

“I won’t take too long.”

In fact, I don’t even plan on having dinner. I have an actress waiting for me in a presidential suite at the Oviedo Tower. She’s a casual date when I’m in Barcelona, and this will be the second time we see each other.

Despite owning an apartment in the city, I don’t take girlfriends there. It could give the wrong impression. Like every Greek, family is important to me, and of course, I plan on getting married one day and having children, but I’ve never met anyone who made me think of them as anything more than a couple of nights of good sex.

“All right. As you wish.”

Half an hour of conversation and I’m ready to go.

In fact, at thirty-five, I don’t need more than a few minutes of conversation with someone to read them, and Captain Bentley Williams is nothing but a vain asshole. What I really want to do is walk around and talk to some of the staff members randomly .

I’m about to get up when I notice a delicious pair of legs in a miniskirt at the entrance of the room.

Yes, a pair of legs because she carries a tray twice her size. Unable to see her face, I follow her with my eyes.

She’s tall, but she has delicate feet inside terrible pumps. Her hips are slim but mesmerizing, swaying sensually when she walks.

For a moment, I forget who’s around me, too eager to see more of her.