Claiming His Hidden Heir. Natalie Anderson
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a reprieve in the next two weeks, and then hopefully by the time he came back from Xanero, normal services could be resumed.
For the first time, she hadn’t put out her clothes the night before but Cecelia forgave herself that lapse.
She dressed in the navy suit that she should have worn yesterday and after checking her appearance left the flat. It was too early even for Mrs Dawson to be up and about as she left and took the Tube, not to the office but to Luka’s apartment, to which she had keys.
The trouble with being a PA, especially to someone as successful as Luka, was that for the term of your contract you had access to their life in a way few did.
And, Cecelia had learned, if you happened to be crazy about the boss, it was a form of slow torture.
The doorman knew her and greeted her with a smile. She headed up in the elevator and then rang the bell and waited a moment before letting herself in.
Once, thinking he was still overseas, she had let herself in unannounced, without ringing the bell, and had found Luka in bed.
Neither alone nor sleeping.
Yes, working for Luka really was torture.
Cecelia walked in through the entrance hallway, but instead of heading to his bedroom she went through to the lounge and looked out over the view of Hyde Park, wondering how he would behave with her this morning in the office.
Would he carry on like it hadn’t even happened, or would he expect her to be available to him as she served out her notice?
She gave a little shake of her head to clear such thoughts and wheeled the case she had brought with her towards the main bedroom.
Damn!
He was in bed, though thankfully this time alone.
And asleep.
It wasn’t unusual to have to tiptoe around him, only this morning it was made more difficult, knowing she could have awoken next to him.
As quietly as she could, Cecelia opened up a wardrobe and, as the light inside came on, Cecelia heard him stir.
‘Hey,’ Luka said, his voice thick and sleepy.
‘I’m just sorting out your luggage for your trip.’
And then he must have recalled what they had done the previous night because he asked, ‘Why did you leave so abruptly?’
‘Because I wanted to get home,’ Cecelia said, and then she turned and gave him a small smile and did her best to keep it light. ‘And I also wanted some sleep.’
‘Yes, well, you wouldn’t have got that had you stayed.’ He put his hands behind his head and watched her pulling out a couple of casual shirts and adding them to the case.
‘Will you be swimming when you’re there?’ she asked.
‘What do you think, Cece?’ he said.
It really had been a stupid question, given where he was headed, but it had been more to change the subject than to find out the answer.
‘I think you should call me by my proper name,’ she added, ignoring his question. Of course he would be swimming.
‘It’s not a holiday camp.’ He grinned from the bed. ‘The villas all have their own private pools,’ Luka said as she headed into his en suite bathroom, then he let out a fond laugh of recall. ‘Though there used to be just one main one. I used to work it.’
‘Work it?’ Cecelia laughed and called out from the en suite where she was collecting his cologne and things. ‘Were you a cabana boy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Really?’ She came to the door smiling, her hands full of toiletries. ‘I was actually joking.’
‘It’s true, though. I used to head down there after school or during the holidays. It wasn’t as luxurious then as it is now. There was a different owner then—Geo.’
‘What was he like?’
‘Lazy and a gambler,’ Luka said, and he looked at her standing in the doorway and thought of all she had told him last night.
And all she had not.
There was a lot he hadn’t told her either. He thought of her little jab yesterday about not everything being about money. She thought he’d had it all handed to him on a plate.
Everyone did.
He would have two weeks solid of it now; his father swanning around as if he had rebuilt the stunning complex from scratch, and—one thing that really annoyed Luka—complaining about the food when he feasted at the restaurant. Theo would sit there loudly stating that he made it better himself, when in truth Theo Kargas could not make his own coffee, let alone run a high-end kitchen.
Luka rather guessed that the uptight Cecelia might not be a forgiving audience for the story of his beginnings, and not the first person he would choose to share it with.
Luka wasn’t used to sharing anything.
In business and in private he chose to take rather than to give.
Yet she had told him so much last night and the guilt of his past gnawed at his gut like a cancer—not that he would ever admit it.
‘I would pick up the towels and get drinks and things. Then, when I finished school I got a job in Reception.’
Cecelia zipped up his toiletry bag and put it in his case and was just about to ask him about footwear when he said something that made her frown.
‘Of course, I still worked the pool but it was in my own time and it wasn’t towels that I was picking up.’
She looked up and met his eyes. ‘Meaning?’
‘Because I worked in Reception, I knew who the richest women were because they had private access to the beach and the ocean view.’
‘I’m not with you...’
‘I think you are, Cece.’
She added a belt to his case and did not look at him but he could see two pink spots on her cheek.
In fact, she was embarrassed, wondering if it was because of the fact that sex was constantly on her mind around Luka that she was misinterpreting things.
‘I made a lot of money, and I saved all of it. I made enough that when Geo lost a small fortune and was desperate for cash, I put in an offer for the restaurant and it was accepted.’
‘You bought the restaurant?’
‘Yes,’ Luka said. ‘I bought it and gave my father a share, so he might finally work in his own restaurant, as he had always said he wanted to do. Growing up, we had no money and he said there were no jobs but there were jobs. Pot-washing jobs but, still, it was work. He got really angry...’ Luka didn’t add that he’d got the worst beating of his life that night. ‘My mother said he was a chef and that washing pots was beneath him. So, when I had the money, I bought him a share in a restaurant, one with the Kargas name on the door.’
‘But how on earth did a pool boy get the money to buy a restaurant?’
‘It wasn’t the establishment it is now,’ Luka pointed out.
‘But even so! Are you saying you were a gigolo?’
‘If you choose to call it that then, yes, I was,’ Luka said, expecting her to snap his case closed and walk away.
Yet she didn’t.
‘But how?’ Cecelia asked. ‘I mean, how does it work?’
Luka shrugged. ‘A smile, a nod. Often they would buy me a drink.’
‘I thought it would be the other way around.’
‘No.’
‘And