The Greek Tycoon's Achilles Heel

‘I’ve told you before, don’t call me that.’

‘But your name has brought me such good luck. Your excellent advice on how to make this place convincingly Greek—’

‘None of which you’ve taken.’

‘Well, my customers believe it’s Greek and that’s what matters.’

‘Of course, appearance is everything and what else counts?’ the young man murmured.

‘You’re gloomy tonight. Is it the wedding? Do you envy them?’

‘Achilles’ turned on him with swift ferocity. ‘Don’t talk nonsense!’ he snapped. ‘All I feel is boredom and disgust.’

‘Have things gone badly for you?’

A shrug. ‘I’ve lost a million. Before the night’s out I’ll probably lose another. So what?’

‘Come and join the party.’

‘I haven’t been invited.’

‘You think they’re going to turn away the son of the wealthiest man in Greece?’

‘They’re not going to get the chance. Leave me and get back to your guests.’

He strolled away, a lean, isolated figure, followed by two pairs of eyes, one belonging to the man he’d just left, the other to the awkward-looking teenager the bride had earlier embraced. Keeping close to the wall, so as not to be noticed, she slipped away and took the elevator to the fifty-second floor, where she could observe the Strip.

Here, both the walls and the roof were thick glass, allowing visitors to look out in safety. Outside ran a ledge which she guessed was there for workmen and window cleaners, but inaccessible to customers unless they knew the code to tap into the lock.

She was staring down, transfixed, when a slight noise made her turn and see the young man from downstairs. Moving quietly into the shadows, she watched, unnoticed, as he came to stand nearby, gazing down a thousand feet at the dazzling, distant world beneath.

Up here there were only a few lamps, so that customers could look out through the glass. She had a curious view of his face, lit from below by a glow that shifted and changed colour. His features were lean and clean-cut, their slight sharpness emphasised by the angle. It was the face of a very young man, little more than a boy, yet it held a weariness—even a despair—that suggested a crushing burden.

Then he did something that terrified her, reaching out to the code box and tapping in a number, making a pane of glass slide back so that there was nothing but air between him and a thousand foot drop. Petra’s sharp gasp made him turn his head.

‘What are you doing there?’ he snapped. ‘Are you spying on me?’

‘Of course not. Come back in, please,’ she begged. ‘Don’t do it.’

He stepped back into comparative safety, but remained near the gap.

‘What the hell do you mean, “don’t do it”?’ he snapped. ‘I wasn’t going to do anything. I wanted some air.’

‘But it’s dangerous. You could fall by accident.’

‘I know what I’m doing. Go away and let me be.’

‘No,’ she said defiantly. ‘I have as much right to take the air as you. Is it nice out there?’

‘What?’

Moving so fast that she took him by surprise, she slipped past him and out onto the ledge. At once the wind attacked her so that she had to reach out and found him grasping her.

‘You stupid woman!’ he shouted. ‘I’m not the only one who can have an accident. Do you want to die?’

‘Do you?’

‘Come inside.’

He yanked her back in, stopping short in surprise when he saw her face.

‘Didn’t I see you downstairs?’

‘Yes, I was in the Zeus Room,’ she said, naming the casino. ‘I like watching people. That place is very cleverly named.’

‘You know what Zeus means, then?’ he asked, drawing her away to where they could sit down.

‘He was the King of the Greek gods,’ she said, ‘looking down on the world from his home on the top of Mount Olympus, master of all he surveyed. That must be how the gamblers feel when they start playing, but the poor idiots soon learn differently. Did you lose much?’

He shrugged. ‘A million. I stopped counting after a while. What are you doing in a casino, anyway? You can’t be more than fifteen.’

‘I’m seventeen and I’m…one of the bridal party.’

‘That’s right,’ he said, seeming not to notice the way she’d checked herself at the last moment. ‘I saw her embracing you for the camera. Are you a bridesmaid?’

She regarded him cynically. ‘Do I look like a bridesmaid?’ she demanded, indicating her attire, which was clearly expensive but not glamorous.

‘Well—’

‘I don’t really belong in front of the cameras, not with that lot.’

She spoke with a wry lack of self-pity that was attractive. Looking at her more closely, he saw that she wore no make-up, her hair was cut efficiently short, and she’d made no attempt to enhance her appearance.

‘And your name is—?’ he queried.

‘Petra. And you’re Achilles. No?’ The last word was a response to his scowl.

‘My name is Lysandros Demetriou. My mother wanted to call me Achilles, but my father thought she was being sentimental. In the end they compromised, and Achilles became my second name.

’ ‘But that man downstairs called you by it.’

‘It’s important to him that I’m Greek because this place is built on the idea of Greekness.’

To his delight she gave a cheeky giggle. ‘They’re all potty.’

They took stock of each other. He was as handsome as she’d first sensed, with clean cut features, deep set eyes and an air of pride that came with a lifetime of having his own way. But there was also a darkness and a brooding intensity that seemed strange in this background. Young men in Las Vegas hunted in packs, savouring every experience. This one hid away, treasuring his solitude as though the world was an enemy. And something had driven him to take the air in a place full of danger. ‘Demetriou Shipbuilding?’ she asked.

‘That’s the one.’