Ruthless Greek Boss, Secretary Mistress. Эбби Грин

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СКАЧАТЬ dress might fall off. But then Aristotle was standing there, looking down at her with a mocking smile and extending a hand.

      With the utmost reluctance she put her hand in his and felt the world tilt crazily as he pulled her up. With her other hand she scrabbled to hold her dress together. Her face felt as red as a traffic light. Aristotle now had a light grip on her arm, and Lucy noticed that he held her bag in his other hand.

      That, and the way he was looking at her now, made her feel extremely threatened. It was the way he’d been looking at her that morning in the office.

      She felt jittery and stiff all at once, and tried to get her arm back.

      ‘It must have caught on something. I’ll be fine from here. You must be impatient to get home.’

      But Aristotle ignored her and easily steered them towards the path, not letting go for a second. Lucy’s blood was starting to fizzle and hum in her veins. She tried again while keeping a desperate clasp on her ruined dress. ‘Really, Mr Levakis, my door is just here.’

      She even dug her heels in, but he called back to the driver, ‘That’s all, Julian. You can go. I’ll get a cab from here.’

      ‘You’re sure, sir?’ The driver’s surprise was evident in his voice.

      ‘Yes. Goodnight, Julian.’

      And with that, before Lucy could formulate a word or acknowledge the escalation of pure mind-numbing panic in her breast, she was being led to her door and Aristotle was looking down at her with his trademark impatience.

      ‘Your keys?’

      Lucy spluttered. The driver was pulling away from the kerb, making her even more panicked. ‘Mr Levakis, really, you don’t have to do this. Please. Thank you for the lift, but you shouldn’t have let Julian go. You’ll never get a cab from here…’

      He looked down at her, those green eyes utterly mesmerising. ‘I thought I told you to call me Aristotle. Now, your keys? Please.’

      Much like earlier, when he’d told her to take down her hair, Lucy found herself obeying. She knew on some dim, rational level that it was just shock. She awkwardly dug her keys out of her handbag, while trying not to let the dress gape open, and watched wordlessly when Aristotle took them and opened the door, leading them into the foyer and to the lift. He looked at her again with a quirked brow and Lucy said faintly, ‘Sixth floor.’

      As the lift lurched skyward Lucy felt somehow as though she must be dreaming. She’d wake any moment and it would be Monday morning and everything would be back to normal. But then the lift bell pinged loudly and Aristotle, her boss, was looking at her again expectantly. She had no choice but to step out and walk to her door a few feet away.

      Her brain was refusing to function coherently. She simply could not start to pose the question, even to herself, as to what he was doing here. She turned at her door with a very strong need to make sure she went through it alone and this man stayed outside.

      She held out her hand for her keys, which he still held. She couldn’t look him in the eye. The bright fluorescence of the lighting was too unforgiving and harsh. Although she knew that it wouldn’t dent his appeal.

      ‘Thank you for seeing me safely in.’

      ‘You’re not in yet.’

      With more panic than genuine irritation Lucy sent him a fulminating glance and grabbed her keys. She opened the door with a hand that was none too steady. She could have wept with relief when the door swung open. She turned back and pasted on a smile.

      ‘There—see? All safe. Now, if you just take a right when you go out, the main road is about a hundred yards up the street. You should be able to get a cab from there.’

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