After smirking to ensure she knows she isn’t in trouble, I join her in her half of the living room. I stand so close to her, even if Hugo wanted another peek of her mouthwatering legs, he couldn’t. I’m not as large as my fighters nor Hugo, but I swamp Isabelle’s small frame and compact height.
Her needy breaths fan my lips when I mutter, “As ravishing as you look right now, I don’t like other men eyeing what’s mine.” I nudge my head to the room she just left. “There are clothes in the closet for you. Go and get dressed, then I’ll take you home.”
She waits for me to clear away the smears of mascara circling the lower half of her eyes before she bobs her chin, spins around, then heads for my room.
“Isabelle,” I murmur, stopping her slow, disappointed steps. Once she is back facing my way, I add, “From now on, anytime you leave my room, you’re only to wear my shirts.” My cock stiffens when I rake my eyes down her alluring frame. She truly is a diamond in the rough who becomes more beguiling the further she emerges from her shell.
After a quick nod, she hotfoots it into the room, closing the door softly behind her. Once I’ve settled the rock behind my zipper, I pivot around to face Hugo.
He arches a brow, his smirk smug. “What did I tell you? You were barely touching her, but she was ready to combust. Blondie doesn’t stand a chance.”
Although I agree with him, something still feels off regarding Brandon. I am a private man, I value discretion as much as the next billionaire, but what is Brandon hiding that requires so much secrecy? Only men with murky intentions hide in the darkness of the day.
“I want information on Brandon. Where he lives, who he lives with, and who he was before he arrived at Ravenshoe.”
Hugo looks pissed while declaring, “His information is locked up tight.”
“That excuse might work for someone not on my team, but for Hunter…” I let my curt headshake finalize my sentence. I pay Hunter well because there isn’t a glitch he can’t overcome, and it’s time for me to get my money’s worth. “Schedule a meeting with him in my office for tomorrow morning.”
Hugo doesn’t look impressed, but he mutters, “Before opening or after?”
The room turns deadly quiet when I answer, “At my home. I’ll forward details to you later this evening.”
Hugo’s shocked expression doubles when Isabelle enters the room looking ravishing in fitted jeans and a light pink cashmere sweater. Her hair is pulled back in a messy, finger-brushed ponytail, and her cheeks are as rosy as they were last night.
I realize some of her flushed expression is complements to embarrassment when she mouths an apology to Hugo while gliding past him. Her sights are on one man. That man is not Hugo, but since he is a sore loser, he mutters, “It’s all good, Isabelle. I saw more the night you climbed over the privacy partition.”
His tone is playful, but try as I may, I can’t hold back the growl rumbling in my chest.
Mercifully, it has Hugo backing away with his hands held in the air. “I’m joking.” He strays his eyes from Isabelle to me. “You know me, boss, I never water another man’s turf.”
Even aware everything he’s saying is true, I glare at him while downing the remainder of my drink. He returns my glare without the slightest bit of sweat beading on his brow.
Stupid bastard.
Once he’s certain I’ve gotten the hint that he isn’t frazzled by me, he asks, “So, where are we off to?”
He’s become so accustomed to being Isabelle’s tail he assumes his shadow will continue even when she’s in my presence.
I have news for him.
“Your services won’t be required again until Monday morning.”
In true Hugo style, he vaults off the leather couch then races for the door. “Hell, you don’t have to tell me twice.”
His waggling brows would have you convinced he has a hot date. I know that isn’t true. His preferences are so unbendable I haven’t seen a woman secure his attention long enough to divert it from his favorite bottle of beer to take her home. When Ophelia died, I sought solace in women. When Hugo became a ghost, he panicked that Ava would undertake the same demoralizing ruse to get over him.
The thought alone would push any man into years of abstinence.
“You’ve got my number if you need me.”
Once the front door of my apartment shuts with Hugo on one side and Isabelle and me on the other, Isabelle strays her amused yet still full-of-lust eyes to me. “You need to give him more days off.”
I smirk at the lack of good it would do Hugo before asking, “You ready?”
When she nods, I curl my hand around hers before guiding her to the parking lot. With the hour late, I almost veer us toward my town car, but the quickest flicker of a cigarette lighter in the corner of my eye alters the direction of my steps. It could be an Uber Eats driver servicing one of my many tenants, but my intuition is warning me to remain on high alert.
I’m about to break a rule I swore I’d never break for anyone, and once again, Isabelle is solely to blame for my relapse.
