Zeus

Zeus

Zoe Stavrakos stood in the doorway of the dining hall, and the room went silent.

She was late but confident, wearing a dress that should have been illegal.

Red. A dangerous red. Designed to make men weak.

For a split second, I forgot to breathe. Then I pulled myself together. It was just a normal reaction, nothing more. Any hot-blooded man would notice Zoe in that dress—it showed her curves, the slit was sky high, and her silky brown hair flowed down her shoulders.

It was biology, not emotions.

She wasn't special, just an ex from another lifetime—a bad memory.

I watched as Zoe's eyes scanned the room, her eyes flickering over the guests.

Then our gazes met.

And something shifted inside me.

It was a flicker—a tiny flicker. Something unwanted and something I refused to name, much like when I'd run into her in the hallway earlier in just her robe.

No.

I clenched my jaw, my grip on my glass tightening.

This is nothing. Just a normal reaction when you see someone you used to—

Used to what, Zeus?

Dammit.

What the hell is wrong with me? It had been eight years. We were no longer the same people as we were in high school.

I pushed the thought away.

"Ah, Zoe," John said, breaking the silence. "We're delighted you could join us for dinner."

"I wouldn't miss this for anything," she said, turning her back to me. "I'm sorry I'm late. I overslept."

"It's alright, dear," Margaret reassured her with a tender smile. "We know you're exhausted from your flight."

John told Zoe to take a seat.

Her seat was the one right beside me. Except she couldn't sit there, because someone had already taken her place.

Ivy Lecter.

She'd slid into the seat a few minutes earlier, thinking Zoe wouldn't show up.

So instead, Zoe took the only empty chair left at the far end of the table, next to Oliver Edwards.

Yeah, Oliver fucking Edwards.

Heir of the Edwards Winery and one of England's most eligible bachelors. The internet labelled him as a real-life prince charming, a proper gentleman, blah...blah...blah. The type of guy mothers dreamed of for their daughters.

Whatever.

Ivy touched my arm and leaned in. "She's embarrassing. Imagine? We're waiting for her to start dinner. Who is she, by the way?"

I took a deep sigh and rolled my shoulders back. "A VIP guest."

Ivy brows furrowed for just a moment, not liking what she heard. But then she plastered on a smile and added, "Anyway, did I mention I just got back from a modeling job in Asia? The flight took forever, 18 hours! But I'm here early, despite the jet lag."

"Hmm, not sure," I said, staring straight ahead at Zoe as Oliver leaned toward her. "But you mentioned your coffee addiction."

"I did? Oh, I just love drinking coffee. It keeps me awake." She laughed and playfully hit my arm.

Any other night, I might have entertained Ivy's interest. But now, no matter how much I tried to focus, my eyes kept finding Zoe and the apparent matchmaking happening at the other end of the table.

Like some damn magnet.

Why did it bother me? She wasn't why I was here. I had to stay focused.

Ivy held my arm suddenly, drawing my attention away.

"Zeus, sweetie," she murmured, her red nails caressing my sleeve. "You seem tense. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." I forced a smile to hide my annoyance.

She bent closer and whispered, "I'm hoping we can talk more tonight. How about after dinner?"

My eyebrows rose. I knew what she was suggesting.

Ivy Lecter was beautiful, wealthy, influential. But she wasn't someone I'd pursue a relationship with.

I gave her a tight-lipped smile. "Not tonight."

Her eyes widened, then laughed softly. "No worries, it's fine. Another time, then. You seem so...distracted."

I didn't answer. Because she was right.

Oliver whispered something to Zoe. She laughed—soft, amused, comfortable.

My grip tightened around my butter knife.

Suddenly, this dinner seemed a lot longer than I wanted it to be.

Zoe

"Quite an entrance," a deep voice murmured beside me as I settled into my seat.

I turned, meeting the amused expression of the man sitting on my left side. Blue eyes, rich brown hair, strong jawline—attractive. He reminded me of the young Chris Pine from The Princess Diaries.

"I didn't mean to make a dramatic entrance," I said softly.

"You did," he said, grinning. Then, after a second, he cocked his head and studied me. Too closely.

I stiffened. "What?"

"You really overslept," he said, grinning. "You have... a little evidence."

My brows furrowed. "Evidence?"

He pointed at my cheek. "Right there, a faint pillow crease."

I touched my face—and felt the crease running down my cheek.

Oh, no.

My cheeks burned with shame and I tried to smooth my skin. How come I didn't notice it earlier?

The man chuckled, his voice gentle and teasing. "Relax, it's cute."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help myself from smiling.

He extended a hand. "By the way, I'm Oliver Edwards. Wine producer. Based in England."

I shook his hand, feeling the warmth of his palm. "Zoe Stavrakos. Not a wine producer. Not based in England."

Oliver chuckled. "Pity. But tell me you like wine."

"I enjoy drinking wine," I admitted, and his grin went wider.

John made a silent signal, and the servers—dressed in crisp white uniforms—moved fast, placing dishes in front of each guest.

I straightened in my chair as the first course was served—a Scottish smoked salmon, thinly sliced and artfully arranged.

Looking up from the plate, my gaze swept across the long, elegantly set table, taking in the faces of the guests.

And then they landed on Zeus.

He was wearing a black button-up shirt with sleeves rolled just enough to show his muscular forearms. His dark hair was perfectly combed, and his signature smirk—the one that had once driven me crazy—was firmly in place.

My pulse skipped. Damn him.

Our eyes locked across the table, and I could see something flickering in his eyes.

I glared at him back, and he smirked, as if he was suddenly enjoying this.

Darn. His amusement only made me irritated.

Our little staring match was thankfully interrupted when the server arrived with a chilled English sparkling wine, crisp and light with hints of green apple and citrus, served as our apéritif.

With my fork, I ate a little salmon, followed by a sip of wine. My taste buds instantly approved. "This is delicious. It really goes well with the salmon."

Oliver beamed. "It's one of our premium wines and a best-seller."

I lifted a brow. "Oh, wow. I'm impressed."

"Glad to hear it," he said, raising his glass in a silent toast.

Soft chatter, clinking silverware, and laughter filled the room. Oliver kept asking me questions, but my attention kept drifting.

To him.

And beside him...her.

Long blonde hair, so silky. Tall. Stunning. Perfect.

She was giggling, her hand lingering on Zeus' arm. And Zeus? As expected, he wasn't stopping her. He seemed to enjoy it too much.

My jaw clenched.

Oliver followed my gaze and leaned closer to me. "That's Ivy Lecter. A model. Her family's been making healthy snacks in England for 25 years. I heard her father sent her to talk to John about a distribution deal."

Looks like she was my competition in securing a distribution partnership with John.

Ivy tossed her hair over her shoulder and leaned closer to Zeus. His signature lazy smirk stayed in place as he murmured something in her ear that made her laugh again.

Oh, please.

I picked up my wine and took a long sip. I wasn't bothered.

I told myself that twice. Maybe three or four times.

Zeus was still the same guy from high school—of course, he hadn't changed. He was always a magnet to women, and he surely enjoyed the attention.

I forced myself to refocus on Oliver, who was engaging and surprisingly funny. We chatted about wine, food, and the trade show. He was a great guy to talk to—charming, confident, and totally straightforward.

Still, my eyes kept on wandering back to Zeus and Ivy.

I hated that.

I hated him.

And most of all, I hated that a tiny, irrational part of me felt like I had a competition. Not just in a partnership deal with John, but for Zeus.

Oh my goodness. What was I thinking? Zeus was my enemy.

For our main course, we had beef wellington, then dessert. Sticky toffee pudding—a warm, moist sponge cake drenched in toffee sauce and served with a scoop of ice cream. It came with a sweet English Bacchus dessert wine.

Everyone was savoring their dessert when John discreetly clinked his glass and caught everyone's attention. The chatter subsided as he smiled warmly.

"Before we move on, I'd like to introduce our lovely guest, Zoe Stavrakos," he announced, turning to me with a nod. "She's the founder and CEO of Vital Harvest. Margaret and I had the pleasure of sampling some of their finest selections, and we're very impressed."

Everyone politely applauded, but I could feel some people's eyes judging me. I forced a polite smile, but my stomach twisted with nerves.

"Her company is making waves in the US," John continued, "and I believe it has the potential to expand internationally. Perhaps we'll see some of your products on our country's shelves soon."

"Thank you for your kind words, John," I said smoothly, keeping my voice light. "Vital Harvest is still growing, but I believe we have something truly special to offer."

"I agree." He nodded and gave me an approving smile.

Then he talked about the trade expo, the mission and vision of the expo, and his partnership with some of the food producers present that evening.

"Speaking of partnerships," he went on, raising his glass. "Let me also express my gratitude to Zeus Petrakis and his family's shipping company. For three decades, my distribution company has relied on his family. I trust them for flawless goods transportation—and they've never let me down."

Zeus inclined his head in acknowledgment, smirking. The guests murmured in agreement, raising their glasses in his direction.

Wait...

Had I heard John right? He had a partnership with Petrakis Shipping Company?

Oh my God.

Realization dawned on me. If I secured a distribution deal with John, that would mean Zeus' company would ship my products.

Damn it.

The room suddenly felt smaller. I could already hear my father's voice in my head.

We don't do business with the Petrakis family, Zoe. End of discussion.

Holding my wine glass, I considered my next move. If I moved forward with securing a deal with John, conflict would arise between pursuing my career and fulfilling my family's wishes.

Across the table, Zeus watched me with one eyebrow raised. His fingers tapped lazily against his glass. I hated how confident he looked—as if he could read my mind.

As if he could sense my struggle with the idea of working with him.

He totally knew, and he was enjoying my discomfort.

But I wouldn't let Zeus ruin my business deal with John.

I'd make sure of that.

***

After dinner, everyone headed to the grand living room. It was a huge space with a high ceiling and a massive chandelier. A grand piano sat in one corner, where a pianist was playing beautiful, soft music, giving an elegant ambiance.

The servers poured more wine, and the air buzzed with conversation as guests mingled, discussing business, shaking hands, and exchanging pleasantries.

Oliver stayed by my side, introducing me to the other guests—two older couples, two brothers who looked like they were in a whisky ad, a former actress, and Amy Murphy, a chef and food blogger, who, within five minutes, I knew would be my new best friend.

Amy and I clicked instantly. She started a cookie business with her grandmother's recipes and had a really bubbly, warm personality. Just like me, she was from New York but living in England.

After some of the guests retired, Oliver and I found a spot in the corner and swapped stories about our business trips and our mutual love for food. He was easy to talk to and attentive—two things I couldn't say about the other man eyeing me from across the room.

Zeus raised his glass at me as if to acknowledge that he had caught me looking. I quickly turned back toward Oliver.

Suddenly, we were interrupted by a soft, feminine voice.

"Hello, you two. It seems like you're both enjoying each other's company."

We turned and came face to face with her.

Ivy Lecter.

She was gorgeous. Her smile was as sweet as honey, but her words? Pure venom.

"Oh, Zoe, is it?" She looked at me, sizing me up from head to toe. "So, you are into healthy products. How lovely."

There was something in the way she said lovely—as if she actually meant insignificant.

"Exactly," I said, sipping my wine.

"How admirable," she said, placing a manicured hand on her chest in mock sincerity. "You know, I just got back from a fashion show in Asia—eighteen hours on a plane nonstop. But I still arrived at dinner on time."

Oh. Her attack caught me off guard.

Oliver shifted uncomfortably beside me, but I simply smiled.

"Well," I said, eyes twinkling, "I suppose punctuality comes easier when you have nothing else to do."

Ivy's smile froze for a second, her lashes fluttering as if she was unsure whether to be offended or not.

Then she smiled, her red lips stretching too wide.

"Love your outfit," she said, but it sounded fake sweet. "Though I must say, red is...quite bold for a formal dinner, don't you think?"

I pretended to think, tilting my head. "Oh, but bold is exactly what I was going for. After all, when you have substance, you don't need to blend into the background."

Her lips parted, surprised, and I saw her eyes flash with annoyance.

She recovered quickly, though, letting out a soft, almost patronizing laugh. "You could use some help to polish your style. I have a dear friend—a personal stylist—who could assist you."

I took a little sip of wine and set the glass down.

"How thoughtful of you, Ivy," I said, smiling sweetly. "But I'd rather have a stylist who understands me. Not someone else's insecurities."

Oliver choked on his wine.

Ivy's cheeks flushed.

I turned to Oliver and said, "Shall we go mingle?"

He grinned, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Absolutely."

As we walked away, I could feel Ivy's angry stare at the back of my head.

"Wow, that was savage." Oliver grinned.

"Oh, was I?" My eyebrows rose. "She might be used to tearing other women down, but I'm not the type who will sit there and take it."

"Now I'm convinced." He leaned closer and whispered, "You're the one I've been looking for so long."

I waved a hand and grinned. "Stop. You're such a tease. But I should head to bed now. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

Oliver smirked. "Already? It's barely past Cinderella hours. At least wait till midnight."

I rolled my eyes. "Sadly, I don't have a fairy godmother who waves a magic wand and recharges my energy."

"Fine, I'll let you go—for now," he teased, eyes sparkling. He leaned closer and whispered, "See you tomorrow."

As Oliver retreated toward the exit, I made my way toward John and Margaret to say my goodnight.

With Ivy vying for the distribution deal, I needed to make one more good impression before the night was done.