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Day one of my quest has certainly given me a glimpse of what’s to come.
So, Fletcher sent me a warning, just like the cyberattacks on Hartley Marine. Cheap! And I’m not going to be intimidated. I’ll deal with that son of a bitch—I will—but firstly, I have to win Isabelle’s trust. I’ve got to convince her that from now on,Iwill protect her.
But how?
Her son.
He’s the key to her. It crossed my mind to bring him up in our conversation earlier—to somehow convince her that I had what it took to protect him too. But putting a child in the spotlight while his mother feels cornered is never a good idea. And I should know—even though her son is the key, he’s not a pawn.
So how the hell am I going to earn her trust?
Two coffees after being left bewildered by her, I still don’t have the answer—not even a plan on how I can see her again. God have mercy, I’m still trying to figure out what to make of my day!
As I continue driving aimlessly around L.A., the best I can do now is to wash myself in nostalgia. Even though the moment that buoys me only happened hours ago, starting from me waking up at five in the morning to see her.
When Blake told me last night that Donovan Fletcher and his men were off to Kenya again, I decided today was the day I was going to pay her a visit. I never anticipated the ending, but the start certainly warmed me.
I was going to say hello to her as soon as I arrived, but seeing her tending to those young people with a smile and a reassuring voice no matter the situation—I stood mesmerized, helplessly watching from a corner. Ten minutes turned into an hour and an hour into two.
How she cared for her last patient at the time—a little girl who was in all sorts of pain—summed up what Isabelle is made of. Behind the glamor she exuded when I first met her, beyond the helplessness when she was lying unconscious in my arms, she’s a gentle, caring human whom the world needs. Isabelle comforted the girl, despite her mother screaming at her and despite the girl unleashing a hefty pool of vomit all over her.
Call me a stalker, but the connection between her and me is real, and my intention is just. I want her, but if she doesn’t want to do anything with me, I’ll be happy to let her go—as long as she’s free from Fletcher’s control. Seeing firsthand how much love she has in her, I’m more adamant that I’ve got to do it.
It’s apparent now. My biggest challenge is not Fletcher himself but Isabelle’s resistance. I must admit a little bit of my ego was dented this morning. Very rarely women rejected me—if at all. Isabelle has done it twice now. I haven’t forgotten her firm push and her threat at the manor that night when I tried to convince her to stay. Then, in front of the hospital this morning, once again, she insisted on her ‘we’ve never met’ stance. She even called me Mr. Hartley at the end of our conversation.
Am I embarrassing myself?
Perhaps.
Maybe because she’s in Fletcher’s grip that my desire to have her is raging like a dam has burst in my heart. But truly, past the noise, my feelings for Isabelle surpass any of my experiences with other women.
Am I wasting my time?
I don’t believe so.
I won’t be able to live with myself knowing she’s giving up her life because of that stray cat.
Isabelle Martin—she’s too good a person to be with such a rotten man.
I’m a man of logic. But I give myself permission to rely on fervent faith this time. Bringing her into my life is the path I’ve got to take.
Still driving around in circles, I’m back at the hospital complex. Perhaps I need another coffee. Maybe she’s still there, and I’ll apologize to her and ask how I can make it up to her. But I give it a pass.
Traffic piles up in front of me. At this time, the route to Newport is always a pain in the ass. I ask Siri to check my messages, and so far, there doesn’t seem to be anything urgent for me to handle. I hope my assistant is holding the fort back at the HQ because I’m not up for more drama today.
As I stop myself from thinking about Isabelle again, my mind goes to Fletcher andhisdrama. I try to conjure up why his deal with the Kenya Airports Authority fell through. Perhaps General Adler did contact the CIA, and Fletcher’s so-called new investors smelled trouble and got cold feet. From what my PI Blake has gathered, there are signs that the Chinese developer Fletcher Tech is looking to partner with is going to withdraw from Africa altogether.
I’m not sure if Fletcher knows this yet. So far, the chaos he’s trying to put in order seems to confine to the Nairobi Airport contract only. I guess time will tell.
As my stomach starts asking me, ‘what’s for lunch,’ an incoming call flashes on my dashboard screen.
Seriously? Matty’s school?
“Mr. Hartley.” I recognize the principal’s voice. “Matty isn’t feeling well. We need you to pick him up immediately.”
“Is he okay?” I ask nervously.
“Yes. It’s just a headache, and we’ve given him acetaminophen, but your brother insists that you pick him up.”
