“She runs by every day?” Once again, I shouldn’t be pleased the only way Isabelle is dispersing excess energy is by an early morning run, but once again, I’d rather be honest than deceitful.
Roger nods. “I didn’t think much of it. She’s a little too curious for my liking, but she seems harmless enough.” Unnerve softens the grooves in his face. “Did I miss something?” He sounds genuinely mortified he has failed me. It is very much a Roger trait.
I stuff my hands into the pocket of my trousers, an obvious sign I’m uncomfortable by the direction our conversation is taking but incapable of holding back. “No. I was just curious as to who she was.”
I was trying to elevate Roger’s panic, not add to my idiocy. “Ah. I see.” He houses his gun, scrubs a handkerchief over his sweaty brow, then nudges his head to the back entrance of the Dungeon. “Would you care for a quick movie marathon?” The almost smile that was cracking his lips minutes ago turns into a real smile when shock registers on my face. “I didn’t apprehend her for questioning, but I did log her movements into the security database.”
Knowing too well I’m too inquisitive for my own good, he pivots on his heels and stalks away. Against my better judgment, I follow him.
With the security at the Dungeon being the best money can’t buy, it only takes Roger a handful of clicks to bring up the footage he mentioned. It is as he stated. A little after five each morning, Isabelle darts into the frame of the monitored footage. She peers up at the proprietor’s name above the door for a few seconds before she continues on her way. Today was the first time she sighed.
I watch the five ten-second clips another two times before locking my eyes with Roger’s. Enacting the businessman I forever portray, I ask, “Does Hunter have access to this file?”
He nods. “He ran her face through facial recognition. It found no match.”
My brows quirk as high as my interest piques. If Hunter can’t find someone, they don’t exist. I can’t explain it more candidly than that. “Did he do a nationwide search?”
“Of course. It didn’t come up with anything bar the business-class ticket you purchased for her last Sunday.” His eyes crinkle at the corners when he struggles to hide his grin. His shrewdness is as apparent as mine, so I have no clue why I tried to pull the wool over his eyes. “Not even knowing her name produced more results than a standard search. Her file is as empty as yours when Hunter has finished clearing it out—”
I cut him off with a glare, churlish about his playful mood. I’m grateful he went above and beyond his job description, but my mood is not to be messed with today. “Does she live close to here?”
Roger’s shrug isn’t overly confident. “A couple of miles over.” I almost smile at the thought Isabelle is running miles to see me, but Roger soon takes care of my pretentiousness. “She could be mapping out her commute to work. Her placement at an accounting firm across the street starts Monday. With traffic always congested, running to work may be the only viable option.”
With my shoulders weighed down with disappointment, I take a seat behind my large desk.
Roger’s suggestion Isabelle is timing her route isn’t the cause for the heaviness inundating me, but it’s ruminating the idea that Isabelle is an accountant. It seems too mundane of a position for her to do, too lifeless and inert. She was swift to hand all her power to me when I underhandedly requested it, but her submissiveness was far from that of a stuffy accountant.
Needing time to deliberate without Roger eyeballing me, I spin my chair around to face my arched window. While recalling its similarities to the one in the master suite of my home on the outskirts of Ravenshoe, I also reminiscence on how gut-wrenching Isabelle’s sigh was before she banged out her frustration on the pavement surrounding my latest business adventure. It has me curious as to why she was a no-show earlier tonight. Only fools tease themselves with the possibility of what could have been. Isabelle is far from reckless, so why does she deny her body’s every want?
As I move to the window to seek answers to my question, I say to Roger, “Have Hugo follow Isabelle. Ensure he keeps a safe distance. I don’t want her to know we’re watching.”
“Hugo?” Roger sounds disappointed. Rightfully so. He’s usually my go-to guy when it comes to surveillance, however, he’s far too old to be incognito in the establishments I’m certain Isabelle will frequent. Hugo is a couple of years older than me, but he is young at heart. He has the right to be since several years of his youth were drained by vicious, unfounded lies.
“Yes, Hugo, and have him report his findings directly to me.”
This isn’t a standard business dealing, so it would be crass of me to treat it as anything but.
I spin to face Roger, my qualm as faltering as the disdain on Roger’s face. “And have him start today.”
His nod is the only convincing part of his reply. “I will get in contact with him now.”
He waits for me to lift my chin in thanks before he leaves my office. I return to glancing out my window even faster than that, where I plan to stand every morning at precisely a quarter past five, hopeful one day Isabelle will see in her eyes what I saw from day one.
Her beautiful chocolate eyes are the gateway to her soul. They show strength not even someone as dominant as me is eager to test but, unfortunately, they also expose her weaknesses. She doesn’t trust herself, which, in turn, means she shouldn’t be trusted.
Only those who give trust can be deemed trustworthy. Just like only those willing to take the first step are worthy of the greatness that comes from their leap of faith. I took the first step and invited Isabelle into my inner circle without the scrutiny I usually subject my confidants to. Now she needs to do the same.
If she wants me, nothing will keep her away. If she doesn’t…
I honestly don’t know how to answer that. My greatest accomplishments were battles I should haveneverwon. I can only hope things follow a similar path with Isabelle.
5
One month later…
The further my chauffeur-driven Mercedes-Benz town car glides down the asphalt, the tighter the infuriating knot in my stomach becomes. The past four weeks have flown by in a nanosecond. Usually, I’d savor the rush. The busier I am, the less time I have to worry about things out of my control.
I can’t say I’ve exerted the same level of control this time around.
