‘All it takes is a few enquiring words in the wrong ears and the seeds of doubt are sown,’ he said, picking up the whisky bottle. ‘My clients invest their money with me because they trust me. They trust my ethics. It is a reputation I have cultivated with great care—it is the reason I refused James’s business; I didn’t trust him or his ethics. Once that trust is cast into doubt the repercussions can be disastrous, something I know from my parents’ bitter experience. I am not prepared to take any risks with my business’s health or with my reputation.’
He poured himself another drink, shaking his head with such faux regret that Carrie’s internal danger signals fired back into red alert.
Raising his glass, he said, ‘There is only one thing that will kill your colleagues’ suspicions and the suspicions of anyone else who knows you’ve been investigating me. You will have to marry me.’
She stared at him, her brain freezing, her vocal cords stunned into silence.
He had to be playing more games…
‘It is the only thing that will work,’ he said with a decisive nod. ‘You are a respected journalist. You have a reputation for fearlessness. You fight the underdog’s corner. You fight for justice. If you marry me any lingering doubt about Samaras Fund Management will be killed stone dead.’
The idea of marrying her had first occurred to Andreas on the flight over, a plan he had sincerely hoped he would never have to enact. Embezzlement, though, was too serious an accusation to let slide. He had to nullify the rumours before they gained traction.
‘It’s the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard,’ she whispered, her voice barely discernible in the breeze.
He took a drink and welcomed the spicy burn. ‘Either you marry me or I send a copy of your confession to the proprietor of your newspaper, to my lawyer and to the police. I don’t know how many laws you’ve broken but you’ve certainly broken all the ethics you’re supposed to aspire to. Marry me or you’re finished. Your career will be over, you might even go to prison.’
‘What confession?’ Her voice had strengthened. ‘I haven’t signed anything.’
With slow deliberation, he pulled his phone out of his top pocket where he’d put it since she discovered the hidden cameras.
‘No,’ she breathed.
‘Yes.’ He smiled grimly. ‘I recorded every word.’ To prove his point, he pressed play. Interference crackled loudly through the stillness of the night, then:
‘You know, don’t you?’
‘That you’re the undercover journalist Carrie Rivers?’
‘You hateful bastard!’ She stormed so quickly over to him she appeared to fly, until she was before him, her entire body trembling and her shaking hand held out to him. ‘Give me that phone.’
‘I think not.’ He stopped the recording and tucked it back in his pocket. ‘If you’re thinking of stealing it from me, it’s backed up automatically. But you’re welcome to try.’ He stood still and raised his hands in the air as if in supplication.
The look on her beautiful face could freeze lava. ‘I can’t believe you would be so underhand and deceitful.’
He lowered his hands and shrugged, unmoved. ‘You’re the journalist. Deceit is second nature to you as you have already proved. You were attempting to destroy me. I reserve the right to protect myself with whatever means I deem necessary. Under the circumstances, I would say I’m being generous. I am giving you the chance to save your career, your freedom and your privacy. And let us not forget your newspaper’s fine reputation. Oh, and your sister.’
‘Violet?’ Her eyes widened alarmingly. ‘You leave her out of this.’
‘How can I when this is all about her? She is on the transcript. Everything we discussed is recorded. I don’t imagine that everyone who hears it will be discreet—how long do you think before the tabloids get hold of it? Loose lips, matia mou…
‘All you have to do is marry me for…let us say six months. Yes, that is a decent amount of time. Give me six months of marriage and then I will destroy the recording and all back-ups.’
‘You can’t expect me to give up six months of my life for you!’
He gazed at her pityingly. ‘You should have thought of that before you began your vendetta against me. I am a good man. I am loyal to my family and my friends. I do not cheat in life or in love. But I am not a man to cross and you, matia mou, have crossed me and now you must accept the consequences.’
Her shoulders rose and then sagged as if in defeat, and she took the steps back to her seat and slumped onto it.