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Chapter 3
Three of the longest days of my life,” Isa told Chloe. She plunked her tote onto her desk, where her assistant sat tapping out an e-mail.
After completing her third day at Eli’s beck and call, Isa realized she wasn’t at his beck and call. He didn’t “beckon” or “call” her to do anything. She’d been the one pushing and prodding him. This assignment was certainly different than any in her past experience. Eli wasn’t piling to-dos on top of to-dos onto her shoulders—quite the opposite. She spent most of her day trying to keep busy and e-mailing Reese to ask what to do next.
That stopped tomorrow.
She understood the gist of what Reese wanted and refused to keep bugging the busy CEO for details. The man had plenty to do that had nothing to do with his stubborn mule of a brother. Though, she admired the way he behaved as if Eli were part of his job. Worrying over him like a mother bird fretting while her baby attempted to leap from the nest.
“And…done.” Chloe tapped the keyboard with flair and waggled her hands in front of her like she’d performed a magic trick. “So you survived another day with Cranky Crane?”
“I did survive.” Isa smiled at her friend’s nickname for their latest client.
“If anyone can do it, you can.” Chloe rolled the chair away from the desk. “I answered all of the e-mails I could, sent out letters to clients who haven’t paid in thirty days or more, sent invoices to collections for clients who haven’t paid in sixty days or more, and fielded your many, many phone calls. The good news”—she stood and pulled a manila file folder from Isa’s inbox—“is that the items you have to deal with are all in this folder. You can work from home if you like.”
“Bless you.” Isa stuffed the folder into her tote. One reason why Chloe was her right-hand woman was her insane efficiency. “I will work from home. After dinner with my parents.” She lifted an eyebrow sardonically.
“Ouch. Is this about…?”
“Probably.”
Chloe knew the story since she’d been Isa’s in-office PA for over two years. Isa leaned on her more than anyone.
“Anyway,” Isa told her, “I should go before I’m late. I’ll walk out with you.”
Together they shut off lights and computers, set the alarm, and walked to the private parking lot. Isa didn’t bother going to her upstairs apartment to change. Dinner with her parents was going to be a formal, dry affair, and what she was wearing—a slim skirt paired with a blouse—would do nicely. Or so she’d thought.
When she arrived at Flaire fifteen minutes late for dinner, she wished she’d changed. “Fancy” didn’t describe the place. It was oppressive, the sweltering atmosphere drowning diners in an air of money and pompous righteousness.
She thought of Eli, this time with a measure of relief. His environment was nothing like this one despite his money—in fact, she wouldn’t have guessed his monetary status if she hadn’t known his background. At least working for billionaire Elijah Crane didn’t involve a massive mansion with a house full of staff buzzing about. She could handle grouchiness, but the privileged elite, not so much.
She spotted her parents the moment she bypassed the host stand, her mother’s red dress and her father’s height standing out. Helena Sawyer’s long hair was pulled into a proper chignon, black with a few gray threads she insisted gave her “character.” Her father, Hugh, had lighter hair than her mother’s and turned an affable smile to Isa the instant he spotted her.
“Mom. Dad.” Isa sat.
“You’re fresh from work.” Her mother frowned.
“Yes. Busy day.”
“You could have taken the time to change, Isabella. You know we prefer you dress for dinner.”
“I’m here now, so let’s just deal with that.” Isa ordered a glass of white wine from the waitress and lifted the menu to review the a la carte selections. Her parents followed suit and reviewed their own menus, chatting off to the side about which entrees to share and which to skip.
Isa was glad they were occupied by something other than what she did for a living. It was an exhausted topic, one she definitely didn’t want to broach after a long, long week, half of which was spent in the company of Eli’s bad attitude.
There she went thinking about him again. She guessed that wasn’t atypical considering she often took her work home with her. She hadn’t been a personal assistant since she’d hired enough staff to stop. It wasn’t all that strange that she’d be caught up in her thoughts, turning over the last days she’d spent with him.
Or it could be electricity snapping in the air whenever you’re in his presence.
Hmm.
They ordered and Isa lifted her wineglass and took a hearty swig. “So. Why the dinner invite? What’s the occasion?”
“We don’t need an occasion to see our daughter, Isabella,” her mother said, lids lowered, brows raised.
“You don’t need one, but I’m sure there is one.” Isa finished her wine and tapped the rim of the glass when the waitress walked by.
“Two glasses before dinner. Is that necessary?” her mother asked.
