The Silver Bride

Just as she was about to step back out again she heard male footsteps coming down the corridor, and practically had a heart attack on the spot. Without even thinking about what she was doing, she shot behind the door to conceal herself, her heart pounding like a piston.

The steps got closer and closer, and then stopped right on the other side of the open door. At that moment Stella just stopped breathing altogether. In the rushing silence, she could now hear every word of the dialogue carrying through from the office next door.

'...so as long as I continue to appear to be interested in acquiring Davidson Components, Marco Technic will remain a sitting duck,' a dark-accented male drawl was muttering with satisfaction.

'I'll make my move the minute the market opens on Wednesday.' Stella heard whoever else was on the other side of the door catch their breath audibly. She felt like a total idiot.

What the heck had she been thinking of? The maintenance trolley parked outside supplied visible proof of her presence somewhere nearby. However, the man in the doorway advanced no deeper into the room.

To her surprise and relief, she heard him start back down the corridor much more quietly than he had walked up to it. Stella slowly s.u.c.k.e.d in much-needed air.

She was creeping out from concealment on literal tiptoe when the door of the interconnecting office suddenly shot wide to frame an intimidating male, who seemed at that moment to be as tall as a skyscr.a.p.er. She froze, green eyes huge in her flushed and discomfited face.

Eyes as black as pitch raked over her in a challenging appraisal as aggressive as a loaded gun. 'What the hell are you doing in here?' he shot at her in upset disbelief.

'I was just leaving—' 'You were hiding behind the door listening!' he contradicted in pure outrage. 'No, I wasn't listening.'

Stella was genuinely shocked by the level of his annoyance, and then, as she recognized him, her tension rocketed right off the scale.

No, they hadn't met before, but there was a dirty great enormous portrait of the guy in the ground-floor foyer. That portrait was the target of much teasing and admiring female comment.

Why? Diornysios Harlequin was drop-dead gorgeous. Diornysios Harlequin, popularly known as Dior, the ruthless, asset-stripping Greek billionaire who ran Harlequin International.

Oh, dear heaven, she registered sickly, she'd picked the wrong set of double doors to intrude behind. Now both her job and Grace's had to be on the line! A grey-haired older man appeared from behind Dior Harlequin.

Frowning at her in dismay, he dug out a mobile phone. 'She's not the regular cleaner, Dior. I'll get onto security straight away.' 'There's no need for that,' Stella protested through teeth that were starting to chatter. 'I'm just covering for the usual cleaner tonight...that's all.

I'm sorry.

I didn't mean to interrupt you...I was just about to step back outside—' 'But you had no business being there in the first place,' the older man condemned. Dior Harlequin studied her broodingly, eyes so dark they glittered like reflective mirrors and unnerved her. '