“Except me.”
I continue talking, too frustrated to determine if humor is fueling his reply or disappointment. “How long has he been there? And how did he bypass security?”
“He seems friendly with one of the guards.” Before I can demand the insubordinate be served termination papers, Hugo adds, “Hunter has already taken out the trash, and it’s been a while.”
“A while?” I snap out, seeking clarification. A while to a man as blasé as Hugo could be anything from a two-second chat to a three-hour sex marathon.
It better not be the latter.
My qualm slips irrevocably when he mutters, “If it counts for anything, he arrived with flowers.”
“Is Isabelle on a date?”
Unwilling to go against me, I hear Hugo’s shrug instead of his voice.
“Yes or no, Hugo.”
Still taking the coward’s route, he breathes out, “They could be friends.”
I cup my phone before growling down it. “And I could have admired Tina from afar instead of fucking her like a whore, but we all make mistakes, don’t we?”
“You’re preaching to the wrong man, boss.” When the silence teeming between us takes up more seconds on the clock than his reply, he eventually asks, “What do you want me to do? If I go up there, I’ll break cover. If I don’t—”
My growl cuts him off. I don’t want to think about the consequences of my actions if I don’t respond to Isabelle’s obvious attempt to rile me. Women often try to force me to interact with them by using men as they believed I used them, but not once have I ever considered responding, much less including myself in the retort.
Things are starkly different when it comes to Isabelle. I don’t house an ounce of astuteness when vehement jealousy is my only driving emotion.
“Have Hunter meet me at the fire escape stairs.”
“Unmarked cars still line the streets,” Hugo warns, his tone low with frustration. “And from what I’ve heard, your tail is back.”
As my eyes stray to Logan, who’s doing a poor job of pretending he isn’t annoyed I’m about to brush him off, I mutter, “I’ll be in and out so fast, they’ll never see me coming.”
After disconnecting our call before all of Hugo’s chuckles can rumble in my ears, I slip my cell phone into my pocket before returning to Logan’s side. “How much?”
He assumes I’m referencing his investment in Ravenshoe.
He isn’t mistaken for long.
The nudging of my head to his brand-new Bugatti informs him as to what I’m chasing, not to mention the flare darting through Tina’s eyes when she hopes I’ll give more than its impressive horsepower a whirl when Logan hands over the keys.
“Its paint job is a limited edition.”
“Even more reason for me to own it.”
“The rims are custom.”
Even with arrogance being my strongest emotion, I bite my tongue before replying, “As they should be for a car in that price range.”
“Which I don’t think is inyourprice range.”
I smirk like a smug prick. It hides my frustration well. “Then I guess there’s only one way for you to find out. Name your price.”
Ten minutes later, and several million lighter, I pull into the alleyway at the side of Isabelle’s building. While taking in the new surveillance cameras covering every inch of the alley and several blocks over, I head for Hunter’s van parked a few spots up.
His mischief-filled eyes pop up to mine when I pull open the sliding door. “I hope you know you overpaid by at least ten percent.”
I twist my lips. “Depends on who you’re asking. From what I read, they stopped production on this make earlier this month. That means this line will soon be exclusive for more than its paintwork.” When Hunter shakes his head in disbelief, I mutter, “What else was I meant to do when on dates with women not hired for their small talk?”
