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“Hardly. It’s a matter of comportment, not status. I meet plenty of CEOs and aristocrats who are anything but gentlemen.”
“And you think you’re an exception?”
I couldn’t help it. A wicked smile touched my lips. “Only in certain situations.”
I spotted the instant my meaning registered. Isabella’s high color returned, washing her face in a lovely bloom of pink. Her lips parted in an audible breath, and despite my better instincts, dark satisfaction curled through my chest at her reaction.
I wasn’t the only one tortured by our attraction.
She opened her mouth right as the engine cut off, swallowing her words and abruptly severing our link.
We’d arrived at Monarch.
I hid a twinge of disappointment when a valet hurried over to us and took the keys from Dante. By the time I turned back to Isabella, she’d already exited the car.
I released a controlled breath and tucked the wayward emotion into a padlocked box before following her into the building.
It was better that I didn’t know what she’d been about to say. I shouldn’t have slipped up and teased her in the first place, but there was a growing civil war between my logic and my emotions where Isabella was concerned. Luckily, Dante and Vivian were too deep in newlywed land to notice anything amiss.
The elevator whisked us up to the top floor of the skyscraper, where Monarch overlooked the sprawling expanse of Central Park.
Since we were early for our reservation, the maître d’ offered us complimentary glasses of champagne while we waited in the well-appointed entryway. I was the only one who declined. I wanted a clear head tonight, and God knew Isabella’s presence was intoxicating enough.
My phone lit up with two new emails—a follow-up about DigiStream and logistics for the upcoming executive leadership retreat. Things had been suspiciously quiet since my mother announced the CEO vote, but I’d bet my first edition set of Charles Dickens novels that at least one of the other candidates would make their move at the retreat.
“Kai?”
I glanced up. A somewhat familiar-looking woman stood in front of me with an expectant smile. Late twenties, long black hair, brown eyes, a distinctive beauty mark at the corner of her mouth.
Recognition clicked into place with a breath of surprise.
Clarissa, my childhood neighbor and, judging by the number of articles she’d forwarded me regarding Clarissa’s philanthropic efforts and accomplishments, my mother’s first choice for daughter-in-law.
“Sorry, I realize it’s been a long time since we last saw each other.” She laughed. “It’s Clarissa Teo. From London? You look almost exactly the same—” Her eyes flicked over me in appreciation. “But I realize I’ve changed quite a bit since the last time we saw each other.”
That was an understatement. Gone was the awkward, braces-wearing teen I remembered. In her place was an elegant, polished woman with a beauty pageant smile and an outfit straight out of a society magazine.
I declined to mention I’d googled her last week, though she looked almost as different in person as she did from her teenage years. Softer, smaller, less stiff.
“Clarissa. Of course, it’s so good to see you,” I said smoothly, masking my surprise. According to my mother’s unsolicited updates, she wasn’t supposed to arrive in New York until next week. “How are you?”
We made small talk for a few minutes. Apparently, she’d moved to the city earlier than planned to help with a big, upcoming exhibition at the Saxon Gallery, where she was in charge of artist relations. She was staying at the Carlyle until they finished renovations at her new brownstone, and she was nervous about moving to a new city but lucky to have found a mentor in Buffy Darlington, the well-respected grande dame of New York society, whom she was meeting for dinner tonight. Buffy was running late because of an emergency with her dog.
I’d had dozens of similar conversations over the years, but I feigned as much interest as possible until Clarissa started comparing the pros and cons of Malteses versus Pomeranians.
“Forgive me. I forgot to introduce you to my friends.” I cut her off neatly when she paused for a breath. “Everyone, this is Clarissa Teo, a family friend. She just moved to the city. Clarissa, this is Dante and Vivian Russo and Isabella Valencia.”
They exchanged polite greetings. Full name introductions were common in our circles, where a person’s family said more about them than their occupation, clothes, or car.
More small talk, plus a hint of awkwardness when Clarissa slid a quizzical glance at Isabella. She’d recognized Dante and Vivian, but she clearly didn’t know what to make of Isabella, whose violet highlights and leather skirt were the antithesis of her own classic neutrals and pearls.
“We should catch up over lunch soon,” Clarissa said when the maître d’ announced our table was ready, saving us from further stilted chatter. “It’s been too long.”
“Yes, I’ll give you a call.” I offered a polite smile. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”
My mother had already given us each other’s number “just in case.” I wasn’t looking forward to another round of small talk, but encounters with old acquaintances after a long time were always strange. Perhaps I wasn’t giving Clarissa enough credit. She could very well be a brilliant conversationalist.
“Ex-girlfriend?” Isabella asked as we walked to our table.
