Page 5 of The Billionaire's Demand

The meagre widow’s allowance made to her by Damian’s grudging father, Jonas, was supplemented a little by her work in a local supermarket, stacking shelves and minding the till. She would put in a shift this evening, tired as she was.

A wave of depression sank over her. Was this now all her life was going to be? Because how could it be otherwise?

Would to God I had never seen Leandros again...

Stirring up the past. Six years—six years—since she had last seen him. Surely she should have become immune to him in those six endless years? But all it had taken was that one single moment of seeing him again for her to know that Leandros Kastellanos, with every reason in the world to hold her in contempt for what she’d done to him, still had exactly the same power over her useless, pointless, pathetic senses as he ever had. As if those six long years had never existed.

It was a galling truth—a hopeless one.

I made my choice—I made my life—now I must live with the consequences.

And it was a life without Leandros—a life that could never have him in it again.

Never.

Leandros was back from Frankfurt. He’d returned via London and Brussels, but as he’d come back to Athens it had been as if the city closed over him again. Restlessness had possessed him, and he’d wanted to be off again on his business travels. But right now that wasn’t possible. Since his father’s death three years ago he’d taken over the running of the company, and it was more than a full-time job. Working lunches, like today’s, were the norm.

Today’s was in Piraeus, with a couple of directors of a shipping brokerage who were keen on Kastellanos investment funds. Leandros was in two minds about it, and wanted to discuss it with them in person.

The problem was he was finding it an effort to focus on business—ever since seeing Eliana again he’d been finding it so. Try to block them as he might, his thoughts kept gravitating back to her. They did so again now, as his chauffeured car made its way out of Athens south to Piraeus.

He’d heard about Damian Makris’s death in a road accident some eighteen months ago now—the news had been all over the press and had circulated amongst his circle of acquaintances. Though it had been shocking—how could it not be, for a young man still in his twenties to die?—Leandros had not wanted to think about it. Not wanted to think that now Eliana was no longer Damian’s wife but his widow.

Jonas Makris, Damian’s father, had made it big in construction, and was based in the north of the country, with lucrative building projects all over the Balkans. That Eliana had taken herself off to Thessaloniki with the man she’d preferred to him had been a sour source of what might have passed for comfort to Leandros. Their paths had never crossed.

Till that damn party for Andreas Manolis and his fiancée...

But at least she hasn’t shown up in Athens again—I can be glad of that.

The taunt he’d thrown at her—that she was now set on lining up a new husband, rich, of course, the only kind she went for—came back now, twisting his mouth. Well, she was welcome to go husband-hunting in Thessaloniki—or anywhere else that was not Athens.

Though maybe his taunt had been misplaced. Maybe she was perfectly happy being a wealthy widow, burning through whatever her hapless husband had left her.

He gave himself a mental shake. Hell, he was thinking about her again...

His car was arriving at the entrance to the prestigious yacht club where he was to meet his hosts for lunch. With an effort, he switched his mind into business gear, running through the issues that would need discussion and clarification if they were to reach agreement.

An hour later he had made his mind up. Though lunch had been lavish, and his hosts clearly very keen, he had not taken to them, and considered the deal they wanted carried too much risk for him. He veiled that decision from them—there was no point being blunt when it was not necessary. For now he let them think he would consider it, and they were happy enough with that as they moved on to coffee and liqueurs.

He was only half listening to what his hosts were saying—they were making general conversation about various aspects of the business and political life in Greece in which they all shared an interest—until one of them mentioned a name that suddenly drew his attention sharply.

‘A lucky day, though, for Vassily Makris. He’ll scoop the lot when old Jonas calls it quits.’

Leandros paused in the act of lifting his coffee cup.

‘Vassily Makris?’

If there was an edge in his voice, he veiled it. His engagement to Eliana had been brief, and unannounced—few had known about it, and few knew of his own connection to the widow of Damian Makris.

Her friend Chloe did, though. At that party her reaction had shown that plain enough.

His host nodded. ‘Yes—Jonas’s nephew. Damian was Jonas’s only son—his only child. There’s no grandchild either, apparently. Only a widow—Aristides Georgiades’s daughter. Jonas, understandably, was never happy that the marriage was childless. And the widow is the loser for that.’

‘Yes,’ Leandros’s other host corroborated. ‘Jonas has all but thrown her out on the street, from what I’ve heard. Of course if the Georgiades money had lasted she’d have been OK, but we all know what happened to that...’

Leandros frowned, before hearing himself ask a question he didn’t want to ask, but asked all the same.

‘Didn’t Aristides Georgiades’s property not pass to the daughter when he died? Some historic old place way out in Attica?’

---