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By the time she stood in front of the mirror, drying her recently washed hands on a towel, she’d convinced herself Warrick’s words had been a figment of her imagination.
Isabelle moved on to other thoughts, wondering if she should climb back in bed with him or head out herself. As she debated the pros and cons, Warrick’s phone rang stridently from the nightstand in the other room. Who would call him this early? Colton?
From the open bathroom door, she listened and put her clothing on as silently as she could, not wanting to intrude if it was a confidential prosecutor call. He stirred in bed, linens ruffling around him before she heard him whisk his phone from the nightstand with a scrape. She pictured him trying to get his eyes open enough to see who it was before deciding whether to answer it or not.
“What?” he answered gruffly. “Yes, I’m still in bed. It’s not even six in the morning here. Mountain time, remember?” Warrick sounded unhappy, but he had chosen to answer. Was it family?
He exhaled a long audible sigh. “Whatever. I’m still not moving to New York.”
New York? Hmm.
“No. Never.” He used his firm prosecutor voice, adding, “And no shrill level of persistence on your part will change my mind. What do you want?”
Isabelle could only hear his side of the conversation, but his voice seemed amplified, bouncing against the tiles in the bathroom where she now waited for his call to finish.
How awkward would it be to walk out there now? Very. She couldn’t help but listen in. Did he even know she was still in here? Maybe not. Should she reveal herself? Maybe.
She moved toward the door, putting a benign smile in place so he wouldn’t think she’d already heard so much once she exited the bathroom.
“What are you talking about? No. I don’t have a new girlfriend.”
Isabelle stopped in her tracks.
“Well, what can I say? Your spies are either mistaken or simply incompetent. I have any number of women in my bed on a regular basis. The operative part is that there is no one of importance in my life currently. Trust me on this.” He sounded so angry and insistent that Isabelle even believed him. Did the voice at the other end of the line believe him?
His very irritated tone betrayed any sentimental words or feelings he might have expressed from the amazing post sexual night before. She’d definitely dreamed it.
“No. I also don’t need you to find a wife for me.” Pause.
“Yes. It’s been made clear to me that I need one.” Another pause.
“No. I can find one on my own, thank you very much.” Yet another pause.
“Yes. I’m quite sure I haven’t found a contender.”
What? He hadn’t even found a contender? Isabelle took a long step backward. She took another one, moving well away from the open bathroom entry. Her bare feet kept her steps silent as she retreated.
Once she’d put some distance between them, Isabelle’s wounded heart sank all the way to the floor with this revelation. Then a more sinister thought came to mind. What if he had told her she was one of a kind and that he was no fool?
If he’d said that, then he’d lied. He didn’t think she was one of a kind. He wasn’t worried about letting her go or being a fool for doing so. She should also consider that he might be lying to the party at the other end of the phone call, but why would he?
He’d told the caller that he was looking for a wife, knew he needed one, and hadn’t found a contender. If she’d dreamed his praise, it still didn’t matter. Regardless of his needs or wants, she was obviously not what he wanted even if he was considering marriage.
That hurt a lot. Other feelings unleashed within her brain.
Regret. Betrayal. Despondence. Time to go.
Warrick’s irate tone “Yes, of course. You’ll be the first one to know if I find anyone worthy.”
Warrick had also lied about looking for a wife. But apparently he’d already decided that she was not a contender or worthy. Which hurt the most of all.
Tears spilled down her cheeks before she realized she was crying. She backed away from the open doorway, tiptoeing her way quickly on silent feet, turning and locking herself in the small toilet room. She turned the intake fan on so she could pretend she hadn’t heard every odious word he’d just spoken. Breathe in. Breathe out. Calm down. Surprise should not be a part of my vocabulary. I knew this wasn’t going to last.
She flipped the switch, and the fan stopped. She listened for his voice, hearing him talking but not any specific words until he uttered a muffled, “Bye.” She needed to get it together right now.
Isabelle tore off a long strip of toilet paper and wiped her eyes, pressing the tissue against her lids, willing herself to not burst onto uncontrollable sobbing. Eventually, she’d have to leave the sanctuary of this tiny room. As an added challenge, she also needed to pretend she hadn’t heard the most heartrending news possible.
