Love, Your Greek Billionaire Read online

  One month later

  Stavros tried to read the contract but for some reason, the words kept blurring in front of him. For ten more minutes, he kept trying but when it was clear he wouldn’t be able to read a goddamn word, he threw it away with a curse.

  It had been like this ever since Willow left.

  He looked out of the window, but instead of the passing scenery, he saw her. His lips twisted. Of course. He always saw her. There was no escaping her. And if he was honest, he wanted to keep seeing her, even if it made him feel like he was about to fucking drown because of it. A smile formed on his lips at the thought. Dr. Lekkas and his imagery was apparently more effective than he gave it credit for.

  “Mr. Manolis, we’re here.”

  The driver’s words made Stavros look up. He hadn’t even realized they had arrived. “Thank you.” His bodyguard, seated in front, swiftly stepped out of the car at his words and opened the door for Stavros.

  Nodding in acknowledgment, Stavros ascended the stairs leading to the hotel’s main entrance. An entourage of employees was there to greet him and he nodded at them without pausing. He just wanted this over with as soon as possible.

  An entire ballroom, lavishly decorated in hues of gold and black, had been reserved for the meeting. Crossing the 10,000 square foot space, Stavros took his seat at the head of the table. His attorney was already waiting for him and took his seat at Stavros’ right.

  At the foot of the table was Edith, and seated adjacent to her was her own lawyer. The same lawyer, Stavros thought dispassionately, who had gotten the judge to rule in her favor and made her attempt to murder her own son appear trivial.

  He said curtly, “Let’s keep this short.”

  Edith smiled. “Then just give me what I want.”

  Stavros didn’t smile back. “I’d rather throw my fortune away.” And it could very well come to that, Stavros thought. The conditions tying his shares and ownership of the business were tricky.

  This year, the allowance given to his parents had ceased. If Stavros chose to discontinue it, his grandfather’s testament required him to meet with his mother or father every week. One missed meeting and half of the fortune Stavros had inherited from his grandfather would be given away to charity.

  “Being childish again, I see,” Edith sneered.

  Stavros didn’t answer.

  “You’re so melodramatic, Stavros. So many years have passed and yet you still hold it against me.”

  “I don’t even remember what you’re talking about.”

  Edith laughed, the sound as coldly beautiful as every part of her. “Of course you do.” She gave him a look of sham sympathy. “Why can’t you get over it? Why can’t you just be a man and accept the fact that neither I nor your father can love you?” Her smile turned poisonous. “And then there’s your secretary – oh, no, wait, I heard she’s your former secretary now. She left you, too, didn’t you?”

  “She didn’t leave me,” Stavros snapped. “I asked her to leave---”

  “Oh, darling, please. You made her leave because you couldn’t bear waiting for her to make the first move. Because you know she’ll eventually leave you---”

  “Shut up.” He rose to his feet and turned away. “This meeting is a waste of our time. You’re not getting a fucking cent from me, and that’s final.”

  Her laughter stalked him as he walked towards the door. “Poor Stavros. Even now, you can’t find someone who can actually love you.”

  Stavros slammed the door shut behind him.

  When he was back inside his limousine, he told the driver to head to the newly built Gazis racetrack.

  “In the mood for horseracing, sir?” the chauffeur asked.

  “No. Drowning.”

  * * *

  Horseracing events were the worst. The heat was abominable, the crowd suffocating, and worst of all, the people around her were getting on Willow’s nerves. All they could talk about was who wore what, who drove what, and who came with who.

  Nothing at all, Willow thought irritably, to help her write the next autobiography project she had set her mind on.

  Shaking her head, she tried to concentrate on her notes.

  Today’s race celebrates the grand opening of The Majestic Oval, a private racetrack that cost over €18M to build and was solely funded by Kyrillos Gazis.

  A Greek billionaire---

  Shiiiiiit.

  Why did she have to describe him like that? She quickly crossed the word out, again and again until it was a dark, ink-drowned blur on her notepad. You’re such a dumbass, Willow. You could have used ‘tycoon’ or ‘magnate’. Why did you have to describe Gazis like that?

  She tried to refocus on her notes, but all she could see was that man. An image of him crystallized in her mind, bit by bit, starting with his beautiful ebony black hair---

  NO! Stop thinking of him!

  She shut a mental door on the image, hoping she had slammed it hard enough to extinguish the thought forever. Was that Door #281? Or #283? It was pathetic, the way she had lost count of the doors she had to slam shut just so she wouldn’t think about that man.

  Chewing on a lock of her hair, Willow stared down at her notebook, willing for words – any would do at this point – to come to mind. But nothing came. Her mind was a terrible blank, and the hole in her heart still hadn’t stopped growing. It was a never-ending emptiness that she couldn’t seem to fill.

  Thunderous applause suddenly exploded around her, the patrons leaping to their feet as the race in front of them came to a close. Excitement electrified the air as two horses ran neck-to-neck, one owned by Kyrillos himself while the other belonged to his wife.

  Willow remained in her seat and tightened her grip on her pen. Her skin was tingling, but she wasn’t going to be fooled by it this time. Another thing she had lost count of was the number of times she had thought he was near – only to find him nowhere in sight.

  It was exactly like that now. She couldn’t help looking around, feeling jittery but unable to explain why. Around her, everyone had gotten back to their seats, the excitement dissipating as more racehorses shared the lead. Unable to stop twitching, she shoved both pen and notepad into her back pocket and got to her feet.

  “Excuse me,” she mumbled as she made her way out of the row of seats. Starting down the stairs, she headed straight to the VIP area reserved for the media.

  Flashing her press I.D., Willow gained entrance to the private standing-only box, which was already teeming with members of the press. The majority of them were women, all of them fashionably dressed.

  Ah, Willow thought. They were here for the two-legged studs and not the four-legged ones.

  Her skin started to tingle again, and unable to help it, she looked around. Greek men surrounded of her, but none of them possessed the striking looks and the air of gentlemanly authority that he was famous for.

  Mental doors she thought were firmly and permanently locked swung open, and before she knew it, she was thinking of him.

  Stavros Manolis.

  Around her, people started to cheer, but this time she could barely hear them. Her mind had drifted, and she was lost and alone, drowning in questions that she only had the courage to ask when they couldn’t be heard.

  Do you still think of me? Do you even remember me? Do you miss me, even just a bit?

  Because I do. I know it’s bad, but I miss you so much. Every second of the day, I miss you, like a crazy stupid fool, I miss you, and I don’t know how to stop it.

  I love you. I want to stop loving you, but I don’t know how to either. I don’t even know if it’s possible.

  Willow bit her lip as she fought back tears.

  Shiiiiiiiiiiit.

  She really didn’t want to cry anymore, especially not here.

  To distract herself, she pulled out her pen and notepad and started writing – anything.

  LOVE SUCKS.

  She had to smile, but then the crowd around her roared excitedly again, making her
jump. Damn. She really had to focus on her job. She tried to get a better look, but this time it was near impossible, with a large number of the female reporters and tabloid writers sporting the most humongous fascinators on their heads. They came in all shapes and sizes, from feathers that seemed to have been plucked from an ostrich’s butt to complicated nets that seemed better suited to catch giant squids than a roving billionaire’s eye.

  Willow fought a smile. Those were great descriptions, if she said so herself. On a whim, she decided to scribble them down. In the event that her latest proposed autobiography project didn’t push through, she could always anonymously pen a satire on Greece’s modern society.

  “Excuse me,” Willow mumbled as she tried to squeeze her way to the front. She managed to make it to the second row of viewers, but she could barely see anything, the women’s headpieces still in her way.

  Goddamn fascinators. Why couldn’t these women just wear normal hats like normal people, dammit?

  Ahead of her, the race was indeed nearing its end, and people began to cheer for their bets. At the same time, the tingling on her nape worsened. She did her best to ignore it, but the sensation was already traveling down her spine, making the hairs on her skin rise.

  Shiiiiiit.

  She couldn’t stand it. She would just end up screaming. Willow turned around and started making her way out of the squeeze – the same one she had just successfully forced her way into only minutes ago.

  “Sorry, sorry.” Wincing, Willow pretended not to notice how everyone was glaring at her. Totally my bad, sorry, Willow thought, but she didn’t stop moving until she was out of the private box. She dragged much-needed air into her lungs. Her stomach growled at the same time, loud enough for nearby patrons to look at her with raised eyebrows.

  RAISED EYEBROWS!

  RAISED EYEBROWS!

  Didn’t they know she just had her heart broken by that kind of look?

  Before she knew it, she was already snarling at them. “Put those brows back down or I’ll pull them down myself, you---”

  Oh shit, what was she saying? William was going to kill her for this. Whirling around, Willow hurried away, hoping that with more distance between her and the crowd, the more inclined everyone would be to forget what she had done.

  When her stomach growled again, drawing more glances her way, Willow detoured towards the nearest concession stand. Since this was an event for Greece’s crème de la crème, she was willing to bet the hotdog sandwiches they were selling would be gourmet-styled and overpriced. It usually went against the grain for her to buy something like it, but for now, her hunger pangs had to take precedence.

  “Coming through, excuse me!”

  Willow looked up, startled by the voice, and before she knew it, a harried-looking man in a suit barreled past her. What the---

  She felt herself falling, falling, falling---

  Someone caught her from behind.

  Willow looked up, intending to thank whoever it was that had prevented her from making another unwanted splash in Greek society. But the words died in her throat at the sight of a pair of familiar dark eyes gazing down at her.

  Motherfucker.

  And as if to end the incident on the lowest possible note, Willow’s stomach growled for the third time.

  Chapter Two

  I’m not as strong, not as powerful as most people think.

  I have fears, too, and my greatest one is losing you.

  I’m not as smart as most people think either.

  I make mistakes, too, and the biggest one was throwing you away before you could ask me to leave.

  Love, Your Greek Billionaire

  The Odysseus Stand was the most prestigious of all private boxes at the racecourse, with sandstone walls, high ceilings, and a private balcony overlooking the course. But even with the race still ongoing, the thick red draperies had been drawn close, ensuring privacy for its occupants. Classical music played in the background as a single attendant laid down plates with expertise. Spinach salad with local Gruyere cheese for the motherfucker…and a jumbo-sized hotdog sandwich with extra onions and button mushrooms for Willow.

  Or at least that was what it had been.

  Less than five minutes had passed and the hotdog was completely gone. Willow stared at her empty plate in shock. Either she was that hungry, or she just had an out-of-body experience and she had no idea what happened.

  “Would you like another?” she heard the motherfucker ask oh-so-politely.

  Before she could think about it, she had already nodded.

  Shiiiiiiiit.

  Where had her pride gone? Did her hunger pangs make her stomach gobble down her self-dignity, thinking it was a burger?

  “Mario.” The motherfucker only had to say the waiter’s name and the younger man was already nodding in understanding and bowing before leaving the room.

  “It will take a minute,” Stavros told Willow, and his jaw clenched when she only nodded, not looking at him. He despised it, the way her gaze avoided his, but in a way he welcomed it, too. It made things easier, allowed Stavros to stare at her as much as he wanted. From the very start he had found her in the crowd, he had been doing that, staring at her. Stalking her. Fighting against drowning in her.

  It was a constant struggle, with every damn thing about her capable of making Stavros lose himself in her. The way she played with her hair, bit her nails, even the way she fidgeted in her chair as she so visibly fought not to look at him.

  Why the hell did she matter so much to him?

  It was a question that haunted his every waking moment since she had been gone, a question that permeated even his dreams and nightmares.

  Even now, he had no answer. He looked at her and knew he wasn’t staring at someone perfect. For other men, Willow would be too small, too fair, too curvy – he knew her every flaw, he goddamn knew he had met women a thousand times more beautiful, more accomplished than Willow was, but none of it made the slightest difference.

  None of them could make him feel like he was drowning.

  Stavros’ fist clenched on the table. Willow, Willow, Willow. He wanted to call out to her as much as he wanted to forget he ever knew her. He almost wished he hadn’t talked to Dr. Lekkas because now it was all he could think about. One damn mistake, and he would be drowning.

  Only a minute had passed, and yet Willow felt like she had already been waiting, struggling, for a lifetime. What was taking the waiter so damn long to get her hotdog sandwich? Didn’t he know she couldn’t bear to be---

  No, no, no, she shouldn’t think of it---

  But it was too late.

  The thought had already entered her mind.

  She was alone with the motherfucker.

  Motherfucking Greek billionaire, whose motherfuckingly perfect body had probably never experienced hunger pangs in his entire motherfucking life.

  He was right there, seated across her in all his motherfucking glory, and she was here, the hole in her heart growing and growing.

  What was she doing here with the motherfucker?

  The thought screamed at her.

  What was she doing here, eating a goddamn hotdog sandwich like nothing had happened between her and the motherfucker? This was the man who didn’t love her, didn’t want her in his life – this was the man who destroyed her, so much that she couldn’t even bear to think or say his name.

  A gasp escaped her.

  Stavros sucked in his breath, the sound that Willow had just made devastating. Suddenly, he realized how it was. If he was fighting against drowning, she already was, his mere presence like a fucking brick dragging her down.

  His face white, he said unevenly, “Willow---”

  The sound of her name on his lips hurt, and she gasped again, unable to help it. She shook her head in pained disbelief. “How can you---” She couldn’t go on. It hurt that much. How could he say her name so easily like that? How?

  They moved practically at the same time, Willow desperate as she ju
mped out of her chair and nearly knocking the table down while Stavros headed towards her, his jaw hard.

  She saw his hand reaching out for her, and she panicked. “No!” She didn’t care if she was being melodramatic or not. It was how she felt, and she was past all shame. She backed away, her eyes automatically looking up, and that was it.

  She saw him, and she remembered.

  The beautiful black hair that felt so silky soft under her fingers. That hard gorgeous face whose cheekbones were like touching marble, that strong, powerful body whose muscles she loved to feel against her own---

  She remembered how beautiful he was. Remembered how much she loved him, and she remembered how it hurt when he had made her leave.

  “Willow, let me---”

  “How can you say it so easily?” She was crying, reeling, dying, all at the same time. Hearing his voice made her remember so much more. The way he said her name when he was annoyed, the way he said her name when he…wasn’t annoyed. The way he groaned when he came, the way he spoke when he realized he no longer wanted her in his life.

  A knock sounded on the door, the waiter coming in with her hotdog sandwich on a plate. Without thinking, Willow snatched the hotdog from the plate and she threw it at the motherfucker.

  The waiter’s plate crashed to the floor as the hotdog hit the motherfucker smack on the face. Slowly, it fell down, oozing ketchup and mustard.

  “Aaah….umm…” Mario seemed to give up thinking of the right thing to say and left the room right away, calling for security.

  The motherfucker still hadn’t said a word.

  And somehow, that made her crazier. A part of her realized she was being hysterical but even though she knew this, there was no going back. In a frenzy of movement, she ran to the table, fingers shaking as she grabbed the glass of water. Whirling around, she threw it at his face.

  But the motherfucker only gazed at her for a moment before slowly reaching for his handkerchief.

  Willow snatched the pitcher from the service tray and poured herself another glass of water. She threw this one at the motherfucker, too, just as he was about to wipe his face dry. By the fourth glass, he had stopped trying to dry his face. By the time she had emptied the pitcher out, she was shaking, crying, and it still wasn’t enough.