Page 1 of Undercover Billionaire

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Fuck!People.So many damn people. Happy, smiling, selfie-clicking people. Loud T-shirts and flip-flop people. Floral swimsuits and Speedos people.

Too much cleavage.Waytoo much cockage.

And not even the nearby tray full of frothy drinks with bright red cherries could make up for the fact that Aristotle Callisthenes – or Ari George for the next week, anyway – was stuck with three thousandpeoplefor the next seven days and nights.

On a boat. In the middle of the Mediterranean. Where his ability to get away was severely hampered.

Dull pain from an encroaching headache gnawed at his temples. Ari didn’tdopeople. Sure, most days of his life hehadto interact with them, but it just wasn’t his forte. Give him numbers and spreadsheets any time!

Only seven more days…Christe!

He plonked his ass on the bar seat. ‘Whisky,’ he said, barely looking at the approaching waitress as he slid his hand over the wood grain checking for stickiness. ‘Neat.’

‘That’s a pretty serious drink for not even half past eleven in the morning.’

Ari glanced up to find a pair of pale green eyes sparkling at him above a little snub nose and a wide mouth turned upwards at the corners. The top lip was dominated by a fascinating Cupid’s bow. The kind that invited licking. The kind he might have found irresistible once upon a time.

In a galaxy far, far away.

Her blonde hair was caught back in some kind of side ponytail thingy, leaving her long bangs loose around her oval face. He judged her to be in her mid to late twenties and, in the bright red of herHellenic Spiritpolo shirt, she looked the quintessential girl next door.

His gaze dropped to her nametag.Kelsey. Yep. She looked like a Kelsey. All sunny and bright and impossibly perky and it had nothing to do with her cup size, although, curiously, hehadnoticed the V of her cleavage.

The gnaw in his temples upsized to a throb.

Ari wanted to say,That’s me, Mr Serious. But he didn’t.Smile. Flirt. Be friendly. Don’t scare the fucking staff.His brother’s strict instructions rang in his ears. Theo always had been a pain in the ass.

Have some goddamn fun for a change.

Ari shrugged and forced a smile. The muscles of his cheeks, unused to the exercise, protested the movement. ‘It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?’

Kelsey laughed as she poured the whisky and Ari blinked at the sexy vibrato as it fluttered around him like confetti. It’d been a long time since any kind of laughter had penetrated the thick hide of his self-imposed isolation.

Kelsey looked like she knew how to have fun.

‘It’s 9p.m. in Sydney.’ She placed the glass on the bar. ‘So it definitely needs one of these.’

She opened a blue paper cocktail umbrella and inserted it at a jaunty angle into his drink. She leaned back, admiring her handiwork, and laughed again, louder this time. Whisky with a cocktail umbrella looked utterly ridiculous but Ari found himself smiling despite the absurdity.

A different throb this time sliced between his ribs. Quickly, he picked up the glass, tossed the umbrella aside and threw the contents down. Placing the tumbler back on the bar, he said, ‘Hit me, again.’

Whisky was the worst possible thing he could be ingesting in the face of his threatening migraine. But that was why God had invented pharmaceutical companies.

The blonde quirked an eyebrow slightly before pouring a second helping. Ari drained the glass and set it down. Kelsey lifted the bottle but he shook his head.

The ship horn sounded and people whooped and cheered and headed for the railings as the oldest ship in the Oceanós cruise line pulled out of Civitavecchia. Beyond the reaches of the harbour, April sunshine threw diamonds at the sapphire blue of the Med.

Out there, the Greek Islands beckoned. Venice beckoned.

Ari glanced at his watch. Eleven thirty on the dot. ‘You’re Australian?’

‘Good guess.’

Ari shrugged. He’d been born in Athens, raised in France, holidayed all over Europe and schooled in England. Accents were second nature. ‘You’re a long way from home.’

‘I am indeed.’

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