“Alright,” Hunter states, rising from the chair and snagging his bag from the ground. “Let us know when he is back in town, and I’ll send Peters over there.”
He strides toward the door before stopping abruptly and spinning around to face me.
His brows are scrunched together, his eyes clouded. “You need to be careful with how you tread with this Theresa issue, Isaac. She could squash Isabelle if she wants to. I know you're pissed Isabelle wasn’t entirely forthright with you about what she did for a living, but does a small amount of deceit warrant her spending years in jail?”
Not giving me a chance to reply, Hunter briskly strolls out of my office.
Isabelle
My eyes lift to the front door of my apartment when a loud, brisk tap booms through it. My brows furrow as I scamper from the floor and gather the documents scattered around me. Once they're assembled, I hide them in the coffee table drawer. I’m a little suspicious of who is knocking at my door, as usually I have to buzz in any visitors through the lobby before they can gain access to my floor.Obviously, there is a severe lack of security in my building today.
A sincere and silent apology seeps from my lips to the security personnel when I swing open my door to discover the large frame of Hugo leaning against the doorjamb. He is once again dressed down in a pair of ripped Henley jeans and a dark blue long-sleeve shirt. Hugo wouldn’t need to bypass security to gain access to my door as he lives in the same complex as me.
“Hey, Isabelle,” he greets me with his familiar drawl and a broad grin.
“Morning, Hugo.” I open my door wide before gesturing for him to come inside.
Hugo walks a few paces into my apartment before swiveling around to face me. His brows are stitched, his lips pursed. “Where are you going?” he queries as his curious eyes dart to the half-packed moving boxes in my apartment.
Before I can answer, the shrill of the intercom rings through my apartment. Raising my index finger into the air, I request a minute while pacing to my intercom.
“Hello, Ms. Brahn, we have a Mr. Brandon James here to see you,” advises a male voice over the intercom receiver.
“Thank you, please send him up,” I reply politely.
Finalizing the call, I turn around to spot Hugo rummaging his hand through a box of knickknacks I packed earlier today. His stance is firm, his face anxious.
“So you’re really moving out?” he asks, pacing to the double doors leading to my small but adequate balcony.
“Yep.” With the end of the month approaching more quickly than I anticipated, I’ve commenced packing in preparation for my big move.
“Where are you going?” Hugo probes, his anxious expression turning to face me.
After blowing a wayward hair out of my face, I shrug. I haven’t worked that part out yet. Regina is more than willing for me to move into the old room I used to live in, and Harlow was kind enough to offer me the couch in her tiny flat, but I haven’t decided what I want to do yet.
To be honest, with everything going on, I’m feeling a little homesick. Half of me wants to scurry back to my hometown with my tail planted between my legs. While the other half intends to stay in Ravenshoe and fight for not only my name to be cleared, but also Isaac’s.
“Do you miss your hometown, Hugo?”
From the limited information I expelled from his sister's police report, Hugo and his siblings were raised in Rochdale their entire lives. Marjorie was born and buried there.
Hugo’s sparkling blue eyes glance into mine. He takes a moment to contemplate my question before he shakes his head. “Home isn’t where you were born or raised, Izzy. It is where your family lives,” he replies, his tone soft. “Family also doesn’t mean they have to be related to you by blood.”
My lips curve into a massive, heart-bursting grin. Hugo isverybuilt. His bicep is wider than the circumference of my head. With his buzz-cut hair and a vast collection of tattoos, you could mistake Hugo for being a brainless brute, but it is only once you have the pleasure of witnessing the real Hugo, do you realize his heart is the biggest muscle in his body.
Hugo is watching me with a curious spark in his eyes. He appears to want to say something, but no words spill from his lips. When he spots me eyeing him with just as much curiosity, his plump lips curl into an angst-ridden smirk. With scrunched brows, I return his smile before pacing toward the door since Brandon is knocking loudly.
Pulling open the heavy wooden door, I'm greeted with a brightly smiling Brandon, who is dressed in more casual attire than I’ve seen him in previously. He is wearing a pair of dark blue Nieman Marcus Benn stretch cotton pants and a black cashmere and wool blend trench coat.
A broad smile curves my lips high when Brandon pulls out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. One dozen long-stemmed yellow roses with whispers of baby’s breath weaved throughout are arranged in a beautiful crystal vase.
“Brandon, you shouldn’t have,” I whisper timidly.
Brandon’s smile enlarges until his trademark lopsided grin is exposed. The slight fault in Brandon’s smile makes him even more appealing. Not many people are faultless, but Brandon is cutting it close with his handsome boy-next-door looks and his even more stellar personality. The slight wonkiness of his near-perfect smile makes Brandon seem more realistic, an everyday person instead of an unattainable man. I’ve only met one unattainable man before. That man is the incredibly alluring Mr. Isaac Holt.
“I thought they would brighten your day a little.” Brandon gazes thoughtfully into my eyes.
Smiling, I accept the vase from Brandon before leaning in to place a kiss on his cheek. I have to bite the inside of my mouth to stop myself from grinning like a Cheshire cat when Brandon’s cheeks get a pink blush from my gesture. With a wave of my hand, I motion for Brandon to come inside.
