When the victory-seeking vixen in her eyes fans her wings, I stand to my feet. Time is money, and this arrangement is well-past cooked. Furthermore, I’m eager to see if Isabelle is watching me as closely as I’ve been viewing her the past month.
My plans are forced back onto the drawing pad when Delilah joins me in placing on her jacket. “Don’t leave on my behalf. Stay and enjoy a beverage or two.” The early hour isn’t a deterrent when you’re as wealthy and immoral as Delilah.
A hope I’mgetting through to her pumps through me when she replies, “As much as I love Ravenshoe, it isnotthe entertainment capital of America.” She shoos away the hundred-dollar bill I’m attempting to place onto her bill before switching it with a much less generous denomination. “It took the server almost a minute to refill my coffee. He doesn’t deserve a tip.”
When she spins away to storm toward the exit like a prima-donna, I hand my tip directly to the waiter, nonverbally relaying that I understand his hesitation when it comes to Delilah. I’ve never slept with her, but that won’t stop me from saying not even a tussle beneath the sheets would lessen the severity of her resting bitch face.
While joining Delilah on the footpath in front of the restaurant, I request Roger to bring my car back around. When he tells me he’s only moments away, a feeling I’m being watched envelops me.
Cautious it could be the agents I left high and dry at my apartment building this morning, I scan the street. When I fail to find the blue van that’s been tailing me the past several months, I shift my eyes in the direction where I thought I saw Isabelle.
I make it to the potted hedges hiding the alleyway from the high-end patrons when the starch material of Delilah’s pantsuit brushes my hand. “My uber is forty minutes away. Can I get a lift to the studio with you?”
While waiting for me to answer, she stuffs a cigarette between her quirked lips before hunting for a lighter. Always at the ready to schmooze wealthy entrepreneurs into investing in Ravenshoe, I remove a gold flint lighter from my pocket so I can light the white stick aging her at double the rate of her older sister.
Just as I pop down the lighter’s cap, a second more distinguishable click sounds through my ears. It didn’t come from Delilah or me. It came from the direction Isabelle was last seen.
I’m confident my profile was just snapped, but since I’m unsure if it’s for personal or business reasons, I’m undecided on how I should reply. I can’t get frustrated at Isabelle for snooping when I’ve done precisely that the past month, but I do feel it is necessary to advise her I’m aware of her watch.
With that in mind, I assist Delilah into the back seat of my town car before cranking my neck in the direction the click came from. I stare at the potted hedges for what feels like hours but is more a mere minute. I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Isabelle either left, or she’s so embarrassed she was busted spying on me, she’s seeking shelter.
If the niggle in my stomach is anything to go by, I’d say the latter is more plausible.
Confronted by my unusual time-wasting, Delilah pops her head back out of the car. “Are you coming?”
I jerk up my chin before sliding into my seat. I make it halfway when the tingling of the hairs on my arms stops me. My eyes snap back to the potted hedges so fast, the image of Isabelle peering back at me is blurry for the first two seconds. She’s casually dressed. Not as down-to-earth as she is when she stops by my office each morning, but she doesn’t exert the image of a stuffy accountant either. She looks good, if not a little shaken.
Her wide eyes and the terrified expression on her face expose she was spying on me. Now I need to work out why. I could ask her, but that isn’t the way I operate. If I have to force the truth from you, anything you share with me will be worthless because it isn’t lies that bother me, it’s the fact you don’t believe I’m smart enough to know the difference between a truth and a lie that infuriates me.
6
The crinkle etched between my dark brows the past nineteen hours deepens when I inch closer to the heavily-tinted window in my office. I was convinced Isabelle wouldn’t jog past my office this morning. You don’t often find a woman with the gall to watch her life circle the drain than continue as if nothing happened.
I shouldn’t even be here. I should be home, in bed, ruthlessly endeavoring to replace the sleep I lost last night. I tossed and turned all night, striving to work out why Isabelle continues to deny the chemistry between us. It’s irrepressible, so I can’t fathom why she’s acting as if it’s inconsequential. It was even felt after she was caught spying on me, and it grows for every second she peers at the proprietor’s name carved above the back entrance door of my nightclub.
I can see the struggle etched on her face. She is as tired as me, just as worn down by the cat-and-mouse game we’ve been playing the past month, yet she refuses to give in to the temptation that has her burning the candle at both ends. They take hold of her features as harshly as they do mine when she curls her hand around the doorknob to authenticate the lock’s durability. It isn’t locked. It hasn’t been since the day I spotted her outside my office window, and it won’t be until she realizes the only person erecting massive barriers between us is her.
“Open it,” I silently whisper to the woman I refuse to chase but would give anything to know more than a stranger.
The instant Isabelle peered up at me through thick, black lashes, I knew she’d be one of my biggest challenges. Not a single thing the past six years has shifted my focus from my aspirations. I slept, breathed, and ate for my empire, but business has hardly been a focal point of mine for the past four weeks.
Don’t misconstrue. I employ the best, so my empire has run like clockwork the past month. Its remarkable profit and loss statements just don’t fill me with the elation they once did. Investors are happy. My staff is happy. Even my brother, the proverbial playboy, has finally found happiness. Yet here I am watching everyone enjoy their life from afar.
I sink away from the window with a sigh when Isabelle does the same. She has a lot to answer for, and I have a head full of interrogating questions to ask her, but we’ll never reach that level of trust if she can’t take the next step.
My second sigh is heavier than my first when Isabelle goes off-script. Her wordless pullback is usually chased by a brisk jog down the alleyway. The faintest brush of her hand across her cheek has never occurred before.
“What was that?” I spin to face Hunter, who has just arrived at my office. His rumpled clothing, sunken eyes, and messy man bun advise he’s displeased by my request for an early morning meeting. Our security updates are usually reserved for daylight hours, but my inability to sleep last night saw me switching things up. “What did she brush off her cheek?”
“I don’t know,” Hunter answers on a groan while hooking his hemp bag onto my desk to remove his much-loved laptop. “I’ve only just arrived, but it was probably a stray hair or something.”
He logs into the server of the security system he installed when Regan advised my empire had caught the skeptical eye of a local FBI syndicate. I won’t lie, my chest swelled with smugness, pleased by how fierce my reputation had become. I had nothing to hide, so I had no reason to fret.
My overinflated ego nosedived when Regan pointed out the Bureau’s scrutiny wouldn’t be solely reserved for me. Not only would our professional relationship be under the microscope, so would the ones I have with other valued members of my team.
Hunter’s time behind bars is well-known.
Hugo’s infamies are not.
