Not only am I waking with the sparrows to witness Isabelle’s pre-dawn jog in the flesh, butold plans I thought were debunked months ago haveresurfaced stronger than ever. Since they immensely affect the very person I’d die for, I have no choice but to have breakfast with the devil’s spawn.
Delilah Winterbottom has been an associate of mine for years. We met when she married Henry Gottle, Jr. in an elaborate, no-money-spared extravaganza that should have seen their marriage saillong past the honeymoon stage.
Regretfully, Delilah’s true self wasexposed withinhours of Henry signing their marriage certificate. He could have filed for an annulment, but with him wrongly believing his father took the easy way out of his relationship with his mother, he dug in footholds and held on for the ride.
He lasted an impressively long twenty-six months.
I wouldn’t have made it to the end of the week.
Delilah is a headstrong woman whose take-no-shit attitude gets the job done. She’s attractive in a fierce, ominous way, and she needs a man strong enough to remind her that relationships require mutual respect and understanding.
Henry could have been that man for her if she hadn’t fallen into bed with their accountant.
Just like me, Henry is unforgiving when it comes to infidelity.
Although Henry’s marriage woes shouldn’t have been my concern, just like when I assisted him in defending himself against a group of thugs who believed he was the gateway to gaining his father’s attention, I couldn’t stand by and watch Delilah drain the life from his veins either. He wasn’t facing an army that time around. However, I had my own battle in the works I stupidly believed Delilah could assist me with.
I’ve often wondered if infatuation can be mistaken for love. It makes you as unhinged as a college boy enjoying the thrill of the chase and has yourisking everything to prove passion is theonlything you should strive for.
Isabelle has me acting like that now, but before her, there was a less captivating but beguiling woman who had me portraying a fool. I didn’t look at her as I did Isabelle when she tripped in front of me, but I most certainly pursued her on the basis she had manysimilarities to my deceased girlfriend—same lips, eyes, and hair coloring. Even the shape of their noses was similar.
Their uncanny resemblance was unprecedented, and it had me acting as if I could resurrect a ghost from my past.
I’m ashamed of the man Iportrayed after dancing with Emily, but I’m putting measures into place now to correct my unusual crassness.
“Here is fine,” I say to Roger when I notice the stream of cars that forever clog the streets of Ravenshoe stretches for as far as the eye can see. “Remain close. I can only pray Delilah is still on her skinny shake diet.”
Roger’s eyes pop up to the rearview mirror. They’re glistening with humor. He, too, isn’t a fan of Delilah. “I’ll circle the block until I find an opening. Buzz me when you’re ready.”
I lift my chin in thanks before exiting the back seat of my town car. Usually, I drive myself to these types of events, but since my sportscar has gained more than admiring glances the past couple of weeks, I’ve resorted back to treating Roger as if he’s my chauffeur. He doesn’t seem to mind. There could be far worse things occupying his time as he creeps toward retirement than driving luxury vehicles all day.
An unusual sensation hits the lower half of my stomach when I commence walking down the street. Several pairs of eyes trackme. That isn’t unusual. I’ve grown accustomed to the glances I get when doing the most mundane tasks, althoughI am grateful these gawks are minus the ones I’ve felt scrutinizing me through long-range lenses the past couple of weeks.
Word to the wise, if you don’t come from money, then the naysayers believe you suddenly have some, expectevery penny to be analyzed. Even if every dollar you’ve earned is through hard work, sound business decisions, and the occasional risk-taking that burns your chest more ferociously than guzzling down the most potent bottle of whiskey, still anticipate scrutiny.
I coasted toward my first million without too many hiccups. To everyone around me, I was a college student struggling to make ends meet. I had a billionaire friend, but since he chose to go it alone than lose who he was, everyone around me, excluding Cormack, was none the wiser that I had built an impressive nest egg.
When I tripled my investment with wise stock market analysis, I was scrutinized more. First, it was the admissions clerk accepting a bank check for Cormack’s and my full tuition during our second term of sophomore year. Then the dean came knocking when a portion of my wealth funded the lending library for students unable to purchase their own textbooks. He wanted to know where I got the money. I was honest from the get-go. Did he believe me? Not at all. He, like many of my competitors the past seven years, underestimated me.
To this day, I still fund the lending libraries of the local universities. I just request they keep my name off the donation acknowledgments. It’s easier this way. Just the belief I’m a selfish, money-hungry businessman means I’m rarely approached for donations.
Some would say that’s a bad thing. I’m not so inclined to agree. Being inapproachable means the millions I donate to charity each year goes to causes close to my heart.
It also allows me to make rash, hasty decisions, but since I’m endeavoring to right that wrong now, we’ll save that foolery for another day.
“Good morning, Mr. Holt,” greets the doorman at the establishment I requested Delilah to meet me at. She was seeking an invitation to my private abode. I willneverallowthat to occur. I’m already havingissues keeping my home off the FBI’s radar. I won’t stand a chance if the soon-to-be ex-wife of a mobster kingpin’s son pops in for brunch.
After pulling off the aviator sunglasses I donned to hide the circles under my eyes from my leaden sleep schedule the past month, I dip my chin in greeting to the unnamed brute before passing through the door he’s holding open for me.
The strong aroma of coffee plumes into my nostrils when I weave through the tables nestled closely together. If this were my restaurant, I’d increase the privacy before upping the prices on the menu. Privacy-seeking folks pay top dollar for a couple of inches of space. This restaurant would double its profit margins within months, and the guests too wealthy to scoff at the high-priced menu would encourage those hoping to one day be them to dine here.
Alas, this is Cormack’s baby, not mine.
Cormack isn’t just my closest business confidant, he’s also the only person I truly classas a friend. If it weren’t for him taking a chance on me our first year in college, I would have never amassed the capital needed to start my empire, and Ravenshoe would still be a swamp.
The trials and tribulations of the past nine years have made our bond unbreakable, although my request for him to make Delilah head of public relations at his record company made things a little hazy.
“Delilah,” I add a smile to my greeting before placing a kiss onher cheek. She was raised in a well-to-do family with money older than dirt.
