“Hey, Brenna! Just wanted to let you know I arrived in one piece.” Claire Bennett scanned the luggage area for her bags. She’d been flying for the better part of a day, and Brenna had texted that a driver should be waiting to meet her after she collected her luggage.

“How is it being back in Greece?” Brenna asked. She sounded worried, but then Brenna worried about most things, including Claire’s career these days. Sometimes Claire wondered if Brenna wanted to be back to friend status instead of friend and agent—but Brenna had always loved a challenge. Claire not so much.

She covered up a yawn and wished they had chairs in baggage claim. “It’s strange. I mean, Greece is a beautiful place.” She glanced outside at the blue sky that was only partially hidden the city’s pollution. “But I’d forgotten how the time difference messes with me. It’s only ten here local time, but I feel like it should be more like ten at night with me tucked in bed somewhere.”

She found her bag on the carousel and grabbed it. “Is the film maker sending my driver?”

Brenna’s warm grin came over the phone in her voice. “No. I had the studio make the arrangements. Documentary filmmakers are apparently too busy being artists to deal with reality.”

Claire slipped on a pair of sunglasses and stepped outside. “Well, that’s good. I could do the narration in post, but it was Nick Stavos who insisted I had to see the major historical sites of Greece in order to talk about them.”

“Never mind you’ve already seen most of them. This is already opening doors for you. I’ve got your tape out to a couple of other studios. Now that you’re in Greece for two months everyone wants a meeting.

Claire pulled in a breath. Athens still smelled like Athens—meaning the air warm and humid and mostly scented car exhaust, but with a hint of something exotic. It would be better on the islands where the sea breezes and the dusty olive groves would remind her more of her last visit to the Mediterranean.

And she was not going to think about anything other than art and antiquities this time.

She spotted the driver, a guy in shirt sleeves and holding a sigh with her name printed in block letters. “Just found the driver. Thanks again. I’ll call you later.”

“No worries,” Brenna said. “Text me whenever you finally catch up with yourself and your sleep. And have some fun while you’re there. You’re twenty-four, and you need to know there’s more than work out there.”

Claire disconnected the call and headed for the door the driver held open. She left her bag on the sidewalk for him and he tossed it into the trunk. He got into the driver’s seat and took off so fast the whiplash pushed her back into the seat. The car smelled new and the driver seemed to know his way. She settled back and watched streets and buildings zip by.

Athens had changed since she’d been here as a student. She recognized the main landmarks—how could you miss the Acropolis?—but she was soon lost. The driver stopped before a modern building and she glanced up at it. “Aegis Studios?” she asked.

“Top floor,” he said. He jumped out and pulled out her luggage. “Your luggage will be waiting for you in the secure storage behind reception here.” He gave her a grin.

She shook her head but followed him inside. He gave her another grin and sauntered off with a whistle.

Glancing around she decided Aegis Studios was doing okay. Marble floors, more marble on the walls, dark wooden desks for security and reception. A guard nodded at her and led the way to a bank of elevators. He inserted a key into the elevator control, and a moment later the doors swished open.

Claire smiled at the man and stepped into the elevator. More luxury with thick carpet, mirrored walls, and all shiny brass trim that looked as if it had just been polished. “Will the director…?”

The elevator doors closed, cutting off her question. She let out a breath and rubbed her palms to smooth down her dark blue skirt.

In deference to the high humidity she’d known would be ever present, she’d changed after her flight in the airport bathroom into a light linen blouse in a pale yellow and a cotton-blend skirt. The bright yellow gave her skin a healthy glow, making it appear as if she had been spending time in the sun, when in fact she had been holed up inside her apartment for months.

Her skirt ended a few inches above her knees and the fabric was guaranteed not to wrinkle. She checked her makeup and hair in the mirrored wall of the elevator. She wore her hair long and straight these days, but Greece’s weather was already curling the ends.

She stared at herself and smiled. You’ve got the job already. Remember, just be yourself, smile, and for heaven’s sake – if they don’t speak good English ask for an interpreter! You don’t want there to be any misunderstandings.

Misunderstandings—the story of her life.

The elevator pinged, the doors opened and Claire clutched her purse strap and thought, wow.

Crystal chandeliers adorned the ceiling, casting their reflection on the marble flooring in front of the elevator. That gave way to a plush, deep blue carpet that extended the length of the hallway in either direction.

She headed to the main doors, which stood open.

The room seemed to be a large conference room. An impossibly long, highly polished wood table occupied the middle of the room with high-backed, leather chairs. Windows lined one wall, looking out over the city, and she could see the blue of the ocean in the distance. A man stood in front of the windows, hands in his pockets and his back to her. He had on a white, button-down shirt, charcoal trousers, and what looked to be Italian loafers.

She blinked, but it couldn’t be. A lot of men in Greece had that curly, black hair—and so what if his shoulders were broad and his back lean.

And then he turned.

Antonio Rosso stared at her, cool as ever, his expression calculating and calm—just as it had been the last time she’d seen him. When his father had taken her apart. Heartless bastard!

Claire took a step backwards. She lifted her hand to her throat. She couldn’t mistake that face—and those icy blue eyes. “What’s going on here?” she asked, hating how her voice had gone all husky and soft. “I’m here to meet Nick Stavos, not you.”

“No, you’re here to meet me.” He held out a hand. “Welcome to Aegis Studios—it was a new acquisition for my father, but now it seems to be mine.”