Page 5 of Penniless Cinderella for the Greek
‘I’ll sell it or rent it out.’ Dimitris sighed. ‘I know it’s hard to believe now, but one day you will meet the right person who will make you happy.’
Eleni sniffed. ‘You haven’t.’
‘Ah, but I don’t want to fall in love.’
‘I’m not sure we can control these things. Love just happens and it creeps up when you are least expecting it.’
‘Not to me it doesn’t,’ Dimitris said firmly. He had decided when he was fourteen and racked with grief and guilt that he must spend the rest of his life alone. He did not deserve the things that most people took for granted, such as falling in love and having a family of his own.
‘Will you come to Rhodes with me?’ Eleni pleaded. ‘I can’t face tellingYιαγι?that my wedding is cancelled.’
Their grandmother Hestia was a formidable matriarch even at nearly ninety. Dimitris shook his head regretfully. ‘I must stay in London to take part in the photoshoot for Philpot’s. As soon as I am free I’ll join you at the villa.’
After Eleni had gone upstairs, Dimitris checked his messages on his phone. He had agreed to become the brand ambassador for Philpot’s, the UK’s biggest supermarket chain, in return for their support of his charity Food for All, which was involved in a number of projects to encourage young people to learn to cook instead of relying on fast food.
There was an email from Philpot’s PR executive regarding the photography session the next day, when Dimitris would cook the dishes he had created for the supermarket’s Healthy Meals campaign. The recipes and accompanying photographs of the food would be published in the autumn edition of Philpot’s magazine. He had left all the arrangements to their PR team while he’d been concerned about his sister, and this was the first time he’d looked at the details of the shoot.
Philpot’s had commissioned an up-and-coming food photographer. Dimitris cursed as the name jumped out at him. Savannah O’Neal.Seriously?What were the chances that there were two women with the same fairly unusual name? Fate had a warped sense of humour, he thought grimly.
Savannah woke to blinding sunshine streaming through the half-open curtains. She squinted at the clock on the bedside cabinet and groaned when she realised that she must have switched off the alarm and fallen back to sleep. It was eight a.m., and she had a full-on day at work in front of her. She’d packed her camera gear last night, but there was an element of secrecy around the shoot, and she hadn’t been told yet where it would take place. Hopefully the location wasn’t miles away.
As she scrambled out of bed her phone rang. Guessing it was her agent with details of the photoshoot, she flung her hand out to pick up her phone and knocked over a glass of water.‘Dammit.’
‘Bad news, I’m afraid,’ Beverly Wright, owner of Wright’s Photographic Agency and known to everyone as Bev, greeted Savannah.
‘I’ve had my quota of bad news for this century.’ What else could go wrong? Savannah ran her mind over the events of the past year, when her father had been arrested and convicted of corruption. Before he could begin his lengthy prison sentence he had died from a heart attack. Savannah was still trying to come to terms with his death, and the shocking revelations in court that her apparently respectable and successful businessman father had committed fraud on a breathtaking scale.
Dating Matt Collier had allowed her to temporarily forget the stress of dealing with her father’s financial affairs and her worries about her mum. But Matt had shown himself to be as unreliable as every other man Savannah had known.
As for Dimitris, she had been stunned when he’d appeared in the hotel suite, and horrified by her body’s instant response to him. Forget Sleeping Beauty who had been woken by the handsome prince’s kiss. All it had taken was one searing look from Dimitris to rekindle her libido. Memories of the shockingly erotic dream she’d had about him last night evoked a flood of warmth between her thighs.
‘What news?’ she croaked into her phone.
‘Philpot’s have cancelled.’
‘But the shoot was meant to be today. Are they going to reschedule?’ Savannah sank down onto the bed. ‘Let me know the new date and I’ll make sure I’m available.’
Her work diary was not brimming with assignments. When she’d started out as a freelance photographer she’d realised it would take time to build her reputation, and she’d been lucky enough to have the back-up of her savings from her brief modelling career. But since her father’s arrest, and after Richard O’Neal’s assets had been frozen, most of her money had gone on household bills; her mother did not have money to pay for the upkeep of Pond House.
‘The photoshoot is to go ahead today, but Philpot’s have asked for a different photographer,’ Bev told her. ‘I’m sorry, Savannah. Tara Brown, head of brand communication, called me late last night and said that the request for you to be replaced came from the very top. As you know, the shoot is for the campaign Philpot’s are planning for the autumn, when they will reveal that their new brand ambassador is the hot Greek chef Dimitris Kyriakou.’
Savannah made a muffled sound somewhere between a sob and hysterical laughter, but Bev did not seem to hear her.
‘Actually I shouldn’t have let that slip. Philpot’s want to keep his identity under wraps until the launch, but I know I can trust you to keep it to yourself. Kyriakou prefers to work in his own kitchen studio and the photoshoot will be at River Retreat in Richmond, where his recent cooking series was filmed. I have no idea why he asked for a change of photographer. Perhaps he wasn’t keen on your portfolio, although Philpot’s loved your work. I tried calling you last night to let you know, but you didn’t answer your phone.’
‘I must have been in the bath.’ After Savannah had left Matt at the hotel and driven home, she’d switched off her phone before taking a long soak, hoping it would help her relax after what was up there as one of the worst evenings of her life. Today wasn’t proving to be much better.
‘Luckily Philpot’s are willing to use another photographer from my agency.’ Bev was a businesswoman first and foremost. ‘Jason Bloomfield will take your place. I’ve sent your portfolio to the editor of a lifestyle magazine who is planning an article about artisan bread.’ Her tone softened. ‘I know you must be disappointed about the Philpot’s assignment, but these things happen.’
After the call from Bev, Savannah resisted the childish urge to hurl her phone across the room. The photoshoot for Philpot’s would have raised her profile as a food photographer. Losing the assignment was a disaster both professionally and for her bank balance that was currently in the red.
She wasn’t just disappointed; she was furious with Dimitris for being so petty and demanding that she was replaced by a different photographer. She had done nothing wrong. Matt Collier had deceived her as much as Eleni. Even so, she felt guilty that she had unwittingly been partly responsible for ruining her old schoolfriend’s wedding plans. Her heart ached as she imagined how distraught Eleni must be feeling.
At eighteen Savannah had been devastated when Dimitris had bluntly told her that he was not in love with her. He had broken her heart, and now he had the power to potentially damage her career—unless she could convince him that she was not his sister’s fiancé’s mistress. Last night, when he had found her with Matt in the hotel room, Dimitris had been understandably angry and protective of his sister. But perhaps by now his temper had cooled and he would allow her to explain.
She did not have much time, Savannah realised. The photoshoot was scheduled to start at ten o’clock, but the team of assistants, food stylists and technicians would arrive earlier. If she left immediately and the London traffic wasn’t too bad she could be in Richmond in just over half an hour. She prayed that her car would start. It was old and had been playing up recently, but the precarious state of her finances meant she couldn’t afford to buy a newer model or take the car to a garage for it to be serviced.
Without wasting any more time, Savannah pulled on her usual work uniform of black trousers and tee shirt, scooped her hair into a ponytail and waved a mascara wand over her eyelashes before she ran downstairs. She met Cathy, her mother’s live-in carer, outside the drawing room that had been turned into Evelyn’s bedroom since her mobility had become affected by multiple sclerosis.
