“She will be.” I pull up the bedding to cover her body before twisting to face the African American man I’d guess to be mid-twenties. He reminds me a lot of Ruel, the head of the housekeeping staff atMummo Koti, but several years younger. “Has Clara arrived yet?” I ask him while removing my wallet from my trousers.
“Yes, sir. She arrived early this morning. Would you like me to pass on word of your arrival?”
I shake my head. Although desperate to unearth if Clara’s inability to keep her word is behind her absence of late, that isn’t a discussion that needs to take place neither now nor in front of Isabelle, so it can wait.
The young man dips his chin in gratitude when I hand him a selection of bills from my wallet before he exits the room as quietly as he entered it.
After toeing off my shoes and unbuttoning the top two buttons of my dress shirt, I update Hugo and Hunter on my arrival before researching the side effects of mixing Xanax with wine. I’ve owned nightclubs since my college days. I’m well aware of the many lethal combinations on the market, but this is different. Isabelle’s concoction of medication and alcohol was accidental. It wasn’t done to be sinister.
With one article directing me toward another, then another, then another, before I know it, I’m competent on homemade date rape drugs and plotting ways to ensure patrons at my establishments aren’t put at risk. My clients don’t bat an eyelid at the exorbitantly high prices of the drinks in my club because they feel safe drinking there. I want to keep it that way.
I pause reading an article on a powdered product that dissolves within a nanosecond of being placed into a liquid when a tap sounds at my bedroom door. I always use the same room when I am atMummo Koti, and because I visit here as often as Cormack, it remains empty when I am not here.
Believing my visitor is one of the many butlers returning with Isabelle’s luggage, I dig a bundle of bills out of my wallet before pacing across the room. My jaw tightens when my greeter knocks for the second time. I’m not frustrated about their lack of patience. I’m annoyed not even the firmness of their knock causes Isabelle to stir. Excluding when she rolled over with a moan hours ago, she hasn’t moved.
My grateful words for them finding Isabelle’s luggage freezes halfway out my mouth when the person on the other side of the door isn’t who I’m anticipating. Clara would never be seen conversing with the help, much less assist them, so you can picture my shock when I notice the serving tray she’s balancing on her gem-encrusted hands.
After smiling broadly about my shocked expression, she croons, “We missed you at dinner.”
“We?” I ask before stepping into her path, blocking her entrance to my room. For one, I never invite anyone into my room, and two, I don’t want to give her more ammunition to use against Isabelle. From what Cormack disclosed earlier this week, she already has plenty.
“We,” Clara repeats. “Sierra, Jenna, and Stephanie.”
In other words, Barbie wannabe number one, two, and three. They’re attached to Clara’s hip when her brothers and I are in the vicinity. When we leave, they drop Clara like last season’s fashion. They don’t respect or appreciate her, but since Clara has not yet learned that money can’t buy happiness, she hasn’t called them out on their leeching personalities.
“When Ruel advised you had arrived, I was shocked I didn’t see you in the dining hall.” Yes,Mummo Koti’sdining table is so large, it sits in a ballroom-size room. “We always dine together when you’re home.” Don’t take that the wrong way. Clara has a way of mincing her words to make things seem more ominous than they are. Her ‘we’ this time around includes Cormack, Colby, Cate, and a dozen more McGregor entities. “Since you didn’t come down, I thought I’d bring dinner to you.” She lifts the antique plate dome from the tray to show me what’s hiding beneath. It’s the same meal I ordered for Isabelle and me to share four weeks ago. “Your favorite, am I right?”
“Yes. Thank you.” It isn’t an easy maneuver to accept the tray she’s offering me and place it on the drawers at my side without opening the door wide enough for her to see Isabelle, but I manage—somewhat. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Isaac…” She jabs the toe of her stiletto boots into the doorjamb, stopping its close. “I thought perhaps I could join you. I have wine...” She snatches a bottle of wine and two glasses out of the hands of someone hiding in the shadows before ushering them away with a sterntut-tut.“And glasses. All we need now is candles.”
I remind myself that nothing happening is Clara’s fault before issuing my reply. It is the only way I can be sure daggers won’t shoot from my eyes when I disclose, “I’m not in the mood for company tonight, but thank you for the offer.”
My reply is stern yet polite, but unfortunately, Clara doesn’t hear it that way. “If you’re not in the mood for guests, why did you ask Chris to bring Isabelle’s bags to your room?”
The tightness of my jaw is heard in my reply. “Because Isabelle is my guest. I invited her toMummo Koti, so it’s only fair I share my space with her.”
“There are over two hundred rooms inMummo Koti, Isaac! You could have put her in any room. You didn’t need to share with her.”
“But Iwantto share with her, Clara. That’s what you don’t seem to understand.” I soften the anger in my voice when tears burn in her eyes. My objective is not to make her cry. I merely want her to understand no one is in control of my destiny but me. “When someone wants to spend time with you, they’ll make the time no matter how busy they are. If they don’t, don’t waste your time on them. You’re not given a determined number of breaths, Clara.” I bounce my eyes between hers when I mutter, “I thought you would have known that better than anyone.”
“I do,” she whispers, her breaths panted. “That’s why I’m trying to stop you from making a mistake.” She steps closer to me, then fists my dress shirt in a determined hold. “You’re my friend, Isaac. I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”
“Then you should have valued my opinion when I suggested you look for employmentoutsideof Attwood Electric.”
This time when I shut the door, she lets me.
20
As the heels on Clara’s boots stomp across the wooden floorboards in the hallway, I run a hand over my throbbing head. I will admit I handled the situation poorly. It’s been a long couple of months, and my usually well-governed astuteness is waning. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in months, and it’s showing on both my face and in my judgment.
I rub my tired eyes while pacing toward the bed. Even with my temples thumping from tiredness, the foreignness of a dozing woman in my domain is still amusing. I’ve never had a female spend the night, not even during the months I dated Ophelia. We were together, but for the most part, our lives were lived separately. She had her life in Hopeton, and I had just started mine in Ravenshoe. At the time, I thought it was ideal. I had multiple business adventures in the works as I struggled to commence my empire, a college degree to finish, and the underground fights that funded my business capital hogged every Friday night. My time was stretched extremely thin.
Don’t misconstrue. I loved Ophelia, so I made time for her, but she never solely stole my focus from the goals and aspirations I had been striving to achieve since I was a child. Only one lady has done that. It’s the same one who I plan to share a bed with for the second time, even without us being intimate. The very same woman I haven’t touched despite the numerous silent pleas from her body.
Even while sleeping, Isabelle’s body can’t help but respond to my meekest touch. Every fine hair on her body bristles to attention when I run my index finger down her exposed arm and across the small portion of skin exposed between the waistband of her tight pencil-pleated skirt and the hem of her fitted shirt. Her breathing shallows, and the scent I become besotted with in an awfully short time doubles in strength.
I slant my head to the side when I notice the elastic in her skirt has marked her beautiful skin. Her outfit wasn’t designed for sleeping, and the realization has me moving for my luggage to find her something more comfortable to wear. I could have one of the staff atMummo Kotifetch her suitable nighttime attire, but the thought of her in my clothing inflates my cock so fast, I cross the room at the speed of light. Isabelle’s scent is already intoxicating, so I can only imagine how invigorating it will become when intermingled with mine.
