“Clara.”
She startles, smiles, returns my greeting, then drops her eyes back to an application form for an internship at a local law firm. “It’s all so confusing,” she murmurs. “How can an intern have experience? Isn’t that what an internship is about?”
I smirk at her ruffled expression before accepting the stool a man seated next to her is offering me. My reputation is so fierce, an Arabian prince would offer me his spot if it were the only one left in the room, but I have a feeling that isn’t the reason for his offer. He appears more feared of Clara than he is me. I’m not surprised. Her eyes aren’t icy blue for no reason. They’re cooled from how many ice daggers they shoot out when she’s approached by what she believes is an unsuitable suitor. Clara has impeccably high standards. That’s why I was shocked to find out her first and only love was a boy from the wrong side of the tracks.
I thank Jimmy, the head bartender, for my drink before twisting my torso to face Clara. “The main objective of an internship application is to sell your ability to learn.” I flip over the pages of the document until we reach the dossier explaining the application process for online appliers. “Applying online will show you are fluent with computers…” My words trail off when Clara peers at me with big, panicked eyes. “You do know how to use a computer, don’t you?”
Her teeth rake over her bottom lip as she shakes her head. “But now I understand why all the agencies I visited today peered at me funny when I asked for a printed application.”
I don’t balk at her confession she attended more than one job agency today. I keep my shock hidden while muttering, “If you can’t operate a computer, how will you run a billion-dollar entity?”
Her eyelashes flutter as a vein in her neck thrums. “Whatever do you mean? I don’t want the top job. I just want to earn a living.”
Her pupils widen to the size of saucers when I disclose, “Cormack advised me of your bid for his position at Attwood Electric.” When she fails to announce an objection, I add, “He believes it stems around your disapproval of his relationship.”
Now she scoffs. “That is absurd. Why would I care who my brother dates?”
“I’ve asked myself the same time and time again.” I down my whiskey to soften the agitation in my voice before saying, “Then I recalled your comments during brunch last month where you explicitly stated your thoughts on powerful men unnecessarily downgrading.”
“I am merely looking out for Cormack, Isaac.” She places her hand over mine like our conversation is more intimate than it is. “Why do you think I requested to become a board member?” She doesn’t give me the chance to respond. It’s for the best. I doubt she would like what I have to express. “If Cormack’s focus is on Attwood, his personal life doesn’t stand a chance. I want him to be happy.”
Although I agree with her, the strain of running a company is already tedious, much less several, but I also believe she should spend more time building bridges with her siblings instead of burning them. “Contesting his position won’t make him happy, Clara.”
She laughs a tight, reserved chuckle. “I’m not contesting his position. Oh, lord, where are you getting these horrendous assumptions, Isaac?” Her mouth snaps shut when I dig my cell phone out of my pocket to show her the email all board members were forwarded today. It states without hesitation what Clara’s plans are. “Oh dear.” Her hand shoots up to cover her mouth like she’s about to sob. “There’s been a terrible mistake.” After slipping off her barstool, she signals the bartender to bring her the bill.
Her eyes return to my face when I request Jimmy to place her tab onto my account. For one, she’s supposed to be financially struggling, and two, I’m more than happy to pay for a handful of cocktails if it keeps her mindful that I’m always watching. Not only is Cormack my closest confidant, so I will watch out for him as I do my family, but I am a significant shareholder with Attwood Electric. Clara squirms at the thought of balancing her checkbooks, so I’d rather her not be the head of a company that earns me millions each quarter.
I dip my chin, accepting Clara’s gratitude when she whispers, “Thank you.” Her mouth freezes partway to my cheek when Luis arrives with my order. “Oh, Isaac, you are such a sweetheart, but I really can’t stay. I have an injustice to fix.” She plants her lips closer to my mouth than my cheek, snatches up the takeaway order like I had Luis cook it for her, then saunters to the door. Just before she exits, she slings her eyes back to me. “Perhaps you could pop around for a nightcap once I have this matter sorted.” She nudges her head to the stack of employment applications. “Bring them with you when you come. After this debacle, I may need them more than ever.”
In typical Clara fashion, she doesn’t wait for me to approve her request. She simply pushes past a man eyeing her like she is on the menu before sliding into her BMW convertible the valet must have kept at the front at her request.
With Luis and his staff run off their feet, it takes an additional forty minutes to replace my order. Add that to a twenty-minute traffic delay, and my frustration is at a pinnacle. Although annoyed about the delay, I kept myself occupied by forwarding the links for the applications Clara left behind to her email address. Now, not only can I avoid an unwanted nightcap, but I’m also boosting Clara’s claim she’ll end up penniless if she continues aggravating Cormack. He will only take so much before he snaps. Clara’s antics the past couple of weeks have him precariously dangling on the edge of a very steep cliff.
The recollection drops my smile to a smirk when I greet the doorman of Isabelle’s apartment building. He dips his chin before guiding my walk to the elevator bank to ensure my ride to Isabelle’s floor is unaccompanied. Clayton is a good man who made friends with the wrong people in his youth. He’s clean now, but it will be a few more months before I switch him from a doorman to a more prestigious position.
My heart drums against my ribcage when I push the button for Isabelle’s floor. With Cormack keeping Harlow occupied, and Roger doing a quick drive past Isabelle’s old residence to ensure its sole occupant was home, I’m confident Isabelle is alone.
Excluding the alleyway weeks ago when we were close to kissing, this will be the first time we’ll be alone since our exchange in the washroom while thirty thousand feet in the air. Nerves aren’t something I usually contend with, but I’m a little off my game when it comes to Isabelle. She is unlike any woman I’ve ever met, and the fascination is more potent to my veins than whiskey.
When my cell phone vibrates in my pocket two levels from Isabelle’s floor, I remove it to silence it. My thumb hovers above the end call button instead of stabbing it when I spot who is calling me. Hunter’s contact is generally sporadic. He hates making a fuss even when he should. So, with that in mind, I connect his call instead of disconnecting it.
“Yes.” If the briskness of my clipped tone doesn’t tell him I’m frustrated about the interruption, I’m hopeful my arrival at Isabelle’s floor will. Excluding my penthouse, all my residential properties are wired with monitored surveillance. Hunter can see my wrath as well as he can hear it.
I stop pacing toward Isabelle’s door when Hunter says, “We have a situation.”
“Nicholas?” My first thoughts always stray to my brother. He’s rarely from my mind, and the perversion became more intense when he attracted a deranged stalker. Overzealous fans are a part of the entertainment industry, but Nick’s stalker is above and beyond anything up-and-coming stars have dealt with previously. She went beyond what is acceptable of a fan when she broke into our father’s ranch to prepare Nick breakfast. She snuck around while they were sleeping, removed family photographs and ornaments before replacing them with trinkets from her private collection. The entire situation is bizarre and unhinged, and it forced me to beef up security for Nicholas and our father ever since.
I breathe out a sigh of relief when Hunter says, “No. We’ve not had any reports of a disturbance.”
“Then what is it?” I ask while recommencing my stalk. It’s already late for a pop-in visitor, so I’d like to avoid further delay.
I hear Hunter swallow before he discloses, “The auction you were planning to attend this month has been delayed.”
It takes me a while to understand why he is talking in code. I curse my stupidity when I recall leaving my untraceable cell in the car with Roger so he could charge it during my visit with Isabelle. I don’t talk shop on devices that can be infiltrated by novice hackers. Although Callie’s sale isn’t legal, the last thing we want to do is alert law enforcement officers to her auction. The last time that happened, the child Vladimir was auctioning was left on the doorstep of an FBI Field Office in Las Vegas, deceased, and the clients were directed toward other assets.
I freeze two doors down from Isabelle’s apartment before spinning away from it so my voice projects in the opposite direction. “What has caused the delay?”
I’m no longer hungry when Hunter replies, “The asset you were hoping to procure was damaged during transport. The seller requires time to make amendments.”
