From Dirt to Diamonds. Julia JamesЧитать онлайн книгу.
eau de nil silk gown bought in a sale fell sheer down her slender body, its pale colouring suiting her own paleness. Strappy, high-heeled sandals lifted her hips and gave an assertive boost to her stride.
But beneath the surface her emotions were conflicted. Predominant was nervousness—but running alongside that was another emotion. One that she didn’t want to feel.
She knew who he was now—she’d had it spelt out to her by the suits after he’d walked out of the room that afternoon. Angelos Petrakos. He wasn’t the guy who owned the yacht company—he was the guy who owned the company that owned the yacht company.
Yeah, well, she thought bitingly to herself as she strode into the hotel lobby, she wasn’t going to tiptoe around him, however much she wanted the job. If he wanted to hire her—fine. But no way was she kow-towing to him! No way!
She still didn’t know why he’d put her on the short list. She was a completely different type from the sleek, posh others. Well, she didn’t care about that, either. Either she’d be picked or she wouldn’t. That was it, really. Nothing to do with her—just what Mr Big wanted.
She felt an odd sensation jitter through her. It was different from the impulse she’d had to slug the guy for looking at her like meat. Yet it still had something to do with him looking at her. She frowned as she walked along. It wasn’t a feeling she’d had before. It felt alien. Unnerving. She found, too, that she was replaying the encounter at the hotel door in her head—and then the bit where she’d been summoned to the table. The odd jittery sensation went through her again.
She didn’t like it. It made her feel—vulnerable.
And vulnerable was something she never, never wanted to feel.
Quickening her pace, she headed up the broad sweep of stairs up to the function suite. Inside, she saw that the other nine girls were already there—and so was Mr Big, talking to the most important suit. Deliberately not looking at him, Kat took her place beside the group, standing quietly to one side.
Angelos looked up. Immediately his eyes went to girl he’d added to the short list. His gaze stilled.
She was looking stunning. With part of his mind he tried to analyse why—and failed. Every girl here looked outstandingly beautiful, yet there was something about the edgy blonde that made her stand out even from them—that made him want to look at her …
Was that quality, whatever it was, enough to make him break the brief he’d given his creative team? That the models for this campaign should have the glossy, upmarket look that went with the new line of luxury yachts Petrakos Marine was launching? He turned to his creative director, taking a seat at the table and tilting his chair back slightly.
‘Have the girls walk,’ he instructed.
Deliberately he studied the other girls as they paraded up and down as if they were on a runway. Then, equally deliberately, he let his eyes go to the edgy blonde.
She doesn’t like it, surmised Angelos. She doesn’t like parading up and down on command. Doesn’t like taking orders. Showing herself off. He could see her resentment in every stiffened line of her body as she stalked up and down.
‘That’s enough.’
The girls stopped, came back to the table. The creative director leant forward to say something to Angelos, but he held out a hand to silence him. His gaze remained on the girls clustering around. He worked his gaze along them, his face expressionless.
Then he simply said, ‘You, you, you,’ nodding at each he’d chosen in turn.
One was blonde, with long hair down to her waist—clearly her particular asset—the second was an aristocratic brunette, and the third was Eurasian and any man’s private fantasy. They would all be ideal for the campaign.
Having made the required decision, he left everything else to his staff. But as he got to his feet his eyes went to the girl at the end of the row. She looked even more apart than before. The other rejected girls were peeling off into a group, some shrugging, some looking unconcerned, while the favoured three were taken off by two of his staff to get more details of the forthcoming shoot.
For a long moment the girl in the eau de nil silk just stood there, very still. Her face was quite expressionless. Then she turned away, walking back to the door.
There wasn’t any sign of resentment now. Only deliberate indifference.
Except that it wasn’t indifference. He could see exactly what it was—defiance. Not by the slightest slump of her shoulders letting any trace of having been rejected show. He watched her a moment, ignoring whatever it was his creative director was saying to him.
Then he went after her.
He caught her up just in the upper foyer, as she was heading for the stairs down and out of the hotel. He took her arm.
She stopped dead and jerked around. Her eyes flashed.
‘Don’t handle the merchandise, sunshine!’ she said, and made to tug away. It had no effect on his grip.
Angelos looked down at her upturned face. There was antagonism bristling in her eyes, but more than that. Something behind the antagonism.
‘There may be room for one more model. I’m prepared to consider it,’ he said.
Something flashed in her eyes, then disappeared.
He let go of her arm. ‘I’ll discuss it with you in my suite.’
Her eyes flashed again, but not with the emotion that had just been in them.
‘Get stuffed,’ she said, and wheeled round. He caught her again.
‘You mistake me,’ he said, and his voice was icy. ‘This concerns merely whether you are, or are not, suitable for this campaign. Nothing else.’ He walked towards the bank of lifts, not bothering to see if she was following. She would be, he knew.
She stepped into the lift beside him, standing as far away from him as possible, staring straight ahead, her shoulders rigid. Wary as a cat, but with a hunger, he knew perfectly well, for what he had in his power to offer her. As the elevator lifted away he caught the faintest tang of perfume—something citrusy. Sharp. It suited her, he realised.
Beside him, Kat stood, every nerve end bristling. It had been a rollercoaster all afternoon—from realising she wasn’t going to be short-listed to the exultation that she had been, and then, just now, the bitter knowledge that she still hadn’t made it, despite her best shot and her evening gown.
Only to have hope flare all over again—
She felt pincers snip away inside her stomach. And now it was not just because of the job she wanted so much. It was because of the man she was standing beside. Something about him was setting her nerves jangling.
It’s because he’s an arrogant s.o.b—that’s why! Mr High-and-Mighty, Filthy-Rich-Big! Looking at me like I’m nothing more than meat.
And it was in his power to give her a job she really, really wanted.
No other reason. Absolutely no other reason.
As she walked after him into the suite she stopped dead, gazing round, mouth dropping open. So this was how the rich lived! The place was like some kind of apartment, with rooms opening off a lounge that had a balcony on one side and a dining table in a huge alcove. Two huge sofas faced each other across an acre of coffee table.
‘Sit down and wait.’
The voice was indifferent, assuming obedience. She did as she was told, still looking around her, and then her eyes went to him without her volition, watching as he extracted some papers from a briefcase, setting them down upon the dining table and standing to look through them. He started to make phone calls in a foreign language. It didn’t sound like anything she’d heard before, so maybe it was Greek—the guy was Greek, the model who’d told her about him downstairs had said. Greek—and loaded.
And