The Greek's Nine-Month Redemption. Maisey Yates
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“Too little too late, agape,” he said.
She froze, her hand still poised over her undoubtedly wrecked ponytail. “Excellent,” she said, her voice so brittle she thought it might break.
“I am leaving in the morning.”
“All right,” she said, the words hollow, echoing in her head.
“I will not see you. I will not make any decisions about staffing changes until the next time we meet.”
“I’m relieved to hear that.”
“I’ll be back in town on the twentieth. Make sure you keep your calendar clear.”
With that, she could see she was dismissed. With no more fanfare than if they had simply finished a meeting.
And he was still naked. It was absurd. But she wasn’t going to highlight the absurdity. Not when she simply wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible so she could have a complete and total meltdown.
“Then I’ll see you on the twentieth.”
She collected her purse, drawing the strap over her shoulder and clinging tightly to it. To keep herself from... Slapping him? Kissing him again? She wasn’t certain.
“Excellent. Should I call you a cab?”
“No,” she said, checking her watch. “It’s... It’s only three o’clock. I have to go back to work.”
She had to go back to work like this. With the impression of his hands still on her skin, her cheeks burning from the brush of his whiskers against them.
“So it is.”
“Goodbye,” she said.
He tilted his head. “Goodbye, Elle.”
ANTICIPATING THE TWENTIETH had become something of a reverse Christmas countdown. In that she hoped it would never come. It might have been nice to have an Apollo Advent calendar though. So that every time she thought about him arriving she could eat a piece of chocolate to try to deal with her stress.
When she arrived at the office that morning it was with an industrial-strength coffee, a bottle of ibuprofen and a very fake smile plastered to her lips.
Because Apollo was due to arrive—who knew when—to start handing down edicts from his high horse. And she was going to have to face him for the first time since they had... Since that day in his hotel room.
The very thought of that made humiliating color wash through her face. That day had been an aberration. Something that would never be repeated. She had, after all, gone the first twenty-six years of her life without sex. She should be able to happily get through another few weeks. Then, maybe when everything settled down, when Apollo stopped coming in and poking at her employees, reshuffling her business and in general upending her life, she would contend with the fact that she needed to find a relationship.
That was the problem. She had simply waited too long. She had allowed Apollo and her desire for him to become so large in her mind that nothing else could compare.
Well, now she’d had sex. With Apollo, as it happened. So, question answered, tension diffused.
She was a modern woman. She wasn’t going to allow him to make her feel ashamed about her actions. Even though, considering he was a relic of a man, he would attempt to make her feel ashamed. If for no other reason than he would be actively attempting to assert his dominance over her.
Well, no thank you. She was...indomitable.
She gritted her teeth, opening the door to her office and nearly dropping the coffee in her hand when she saw who was already sitting at her desk. “That’s my seat,” she said, the words coming out crisp and harsh.
“It’s lovely to see you too, agape.”
“Now, Apollo,” she said, deciding that she was going to be the one to address the elephant in the room before he got a chance. It was there, she might as well be the one to name it. “Don’t try to sweet-talk me just because we had sex.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his lips tipping up into a smile.
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t. That would require you to know how to sweet-talk.”
“You rocked my world. I saw God. You have ruined me for all other women.”
She gritted her teeth against the strange, ridiculous warmth that flooded her when he spoke. He was being a jerk, and she knew it. So his words shouldn’t make her...anything. She took a fortifying breath.
“What you said,” she said, waving her hand. “Substitute ‘men’ for ‘women’, ‘slightly disorganized’ for ‘rocked’, and ‘God’ for... I don’t know, maybe ‘a really good cheesecake’? Not exactly divine, but adequate.”
“You are in typical form today.”
“I try for consistency, Apollo. It’s part of my charm.”
“I have rarely seen evidence of your charm. Your charms perhaps, but I’m not really speaking of your personality.”
“Right, well, for some reason things have been especially difficult between us lately, haven’t they? Though, I imagine not as difficult as things have been between you and my father. Have you spoken to him since you rammed that knife into his back?”
“Oh, yes. Of course we have.”
“You’re sick. How could you do that to your own—”
“He is not my own anything. I am not your blood, agape. And a good thing to or what happened between us would be off-limits. Both in the past and in the future.”
She gritted her teeth, trying not to blush. She was definitely playing at being slightly more blasé and experienced than she was. But he hadn’t called her on it yet. So she was going to carry on. “I would rather run my new Jimmy Choos through the shredder, thanks.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days? I admit, that doesn’t sound very sexy.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“Right. Tell me, Elle, how is my mother?” he asked.
Elle arched a brow. “How long has it been since you’ve spoken to Mariam?”
He shrugged. “Months? She doesn’t approve of my betrayal any more than you or your father do.”
“And yet you don’t feel any guilt over it?”
“I have my reasons,” he said, his tone so cold and hard it could cut glass.
“I’m sure you do, but none of them are compelling enough for me or my family. I don’t care what your reasons are. And your mother is well,” she said. “I just talked to her last night.”
It had been difficult to talk to her stepmother when memories of what had passed between her and Apollo had lingered so persistently. She had felt...guilty and completely transparent. Thankfully, Mariam had her own topics to discuss and hadn’t seemed to notice Elle’s general silence.
“Well,” she said, clearing her throat, “as charming as this little detour has been, let’s get down to business.”
He reached up, touching the knot on his tie. “Oh, you meant actual business.”
“You’re a pig.”
“I’m wounded. Now, I’ve been going over projections for the quarter. You have to either increase profits soon or you need to start cutting expenses. I can guarantee one, but I can’t guarantee the other.” He stood, placing his hands on the desk. Her desk.
She tried to cling to her anger. Anger that would hopefully be