I wryly grin, loving the honor in his tone when he talks about Ravenshoe. No matter what the crazies tell you, this town belongs to Isaac.
“Okay. I’ll advise Mitch to hold on any mergers until I get word from you.”
I shadow Isaac out of the makeshift door his builders blasted through a double bricked wall earlier today. A smile crosses my face when I spot Hugo, Isaac’s righthand man/body guard, leaning on the front panel of Isaac’s Mercedes. Hugo is a handsome man in his early thirties. His dark hair contrasts with his white face, making his gleaming white teeth even more noticeable. He is a similar build and height to Alex, so I’m certain he’s equally appealing out of his clothes as he is in them, although I could never testify to the fact.
What I said to Alex in the wee hours of this morning is true: Isaac has a stern nonfraternization policy he demands his staff follow. But even if he didn’t, I don’t ever see Hugo and me dancing beneath the sheets. He’s a little annoying—kind of like the big brother I’ve never had. He’s handsome and fun to hang around, but I’m more interested in strangling him than seeing him naked.
A prime example of why we’ll never do the naughty rumba presents when Hugo curls his thick arm around my shoulders to noogie my head. “Didn’t think I’d ever see the day. Little Ms. Prim and Proper getting down and dirty in the club scene.”
His comment makes me smile—on the inside.I can’t let him think he got under my skin by smiling for real. He falsely believes my sky-high shoes, pretty dresses, and perfectly made-up face make me a goodie two shoes.
He’s so far off the mark, he’s one of the “girlfriends” I referenced when I said I should have recorded my romp with Alex in the meadow. City slickers often underestimate us country girls. When we get down and dirty, we don’t just get our heels a little smudgy. We get downright filthy.
Hugo’s laughter is cut in half when my elbow becomes friendly with his ribs. Using his distraction to my advantage, I dip under his arm, spin on my heels, then dash for the bustling street in front of me.
I barely make it six paces when the heat of a gaze slows my steps. Isaac’s overprotectiveness is so obvious, I don’t need to hear him speak to feel his concern.
“I’m fine. I’ve got mace in my purse,” I assure him, not bothering to spin around and face him and his stern glare.
“And. . .?”
Hugo’s high tone forces me to spin. He’s giving me the same rueful glare as Isaac, and suddenly it’s like going from one younger brother to two overbearing older ones.
When Hugo’s dark brow becomes lost in his hairline, I murmur, “I’ve also got your gift.” I pat my clutch shoved under my arm.
Hugo doesn’t give fancy bottles of perfume or generous checks like Isaac every Christmas. He hands out mace, knucklebusters, and pretty little guns that slip right into a regular-sized purse.
“No one will mess with me tonight. . .not unless they want a knuckle sandwich.” I say my quote with the same drawl Hugo’s voice regularly dons. It is a weird cross between a New Yorker accent and a Bostonian. “Now go on, get, before I make you shadow me on that 4 AM run you’ve been promising me since last year.”
Hugo grimaces. I barely see it with how quickly he dives into the driver’s seat of Isaac’s town car.
Unfortunately, Isaac isn’t as eager to leave. “Are you sure you don’t need a ride? I’m going straight past your penthouse.”
“Certain. I’m not going home.” I waggle my brows.
He spots my lie a mile out but pretends he doesn’t. Hating that I’ve placed him on a list he doesn’t belong on, I hit him with straight-up honesty. “I missed my run this morning. It’s playing havoc with my emotions. I need to burn off some energy, so I figured a late night walk might do me some good.”
Hearing the truth in my reply, Isaac dips his chin. “Okay, but stay on the main roads. I’ll have Hunter trace your steps.”
Stealing my chance to announce I don’t want his head of security following my every move, Isaac slips into the back of his car. I glare at him through the heavily tinted window for several moments, only breaking contact when it dawns on me he has no intentions of leaving this alley until I’m out in the open, wild and free for his hacker/security guard to trace my every step.
With a huff, I continue for the street. Only once I merge onto the sidewalk do I lose Isaac and Hugo’s scrutiny.Thank god.I handled enough machoism this past weekend to last me a lifetime. I don’t need any more. And I’m not solely referring to Alex.
Needing a quick breather, I duck into the little alcove of the nightclub Isaac and I are building. I’m not tired; I’ve barely walked five steps. My body is just kicking up a stink about the number of times Alex has entered my mind today.
I wish my heart was my only body part being uncooperative. My brain is being just as perverse. I swear I can smell Alex’s schmexy scent right now. It’s virile and hot, making me so desperate, I’m five seconds from calling him a pathetic loser.
Ugh! Step it up, Regan. Desperation is your ugliest attribute.
Agreeing with the voice in my head, I move out of the alcove. I complete two whole steps before a deep groan scares the living daylights out of me. There is a homeless man sleeping under a soiled blanket near a dumpster on my right. He’s moaning and groaning as if his body can’t decide whether to vacate the contents of his stomach or bowels first.
Although I feel sorry for anyone required to sleep in an alleyway, Alex’s stance on not giving money to the homeless alters my steps. Instead of walking toward the man in need, I pace away from him. I’m not going far, just to the convenience store on the corner. A bottle of water and some Advil may help ease his pain.
Before I leave the alley, the homeless man grunts something under his breath. I freeze, certain I heard him wrong. If he uttered the name I believe he did, he isn’t just a random homeless guy. He’s someone extremely important to me. Someone who hasn’t left my mind all day.
With my heart in my throat, I jackknife back. My worst fears come true when I spot a snippet of blue snaking out of the blanket tossed over the man’s head. He isn’t a beggar living on the streets because he has no money. He’s Alex.
“Oh my god, what happened?”
