by Shandi Boyes
“Hi, Clara.” I grit my teeth, loathing that my greeting came out with a quiver.
“Isabelle.” She flashes a smirk that makes it seem as if she has the world at her feet before she closes her apartment door—the same apartment door that once belonged to Isaac’s fuck pad.
As bile burns the back of my throat, I walk shoulder to shoulder with Clara to the elevator bank at the end of the hallway. Thankfully, the elevators are programmed to ascend straight to the penthouse floor. Unfortunately, that means the thick stench of awkwardness plaguing the corridor will soon move into the even smaller confines.
“Have you been living here long?” Even with my insecurities wreaking havoc with my stomach, my quintessential need to know everything means I can’t help but pry.
“No. I only moved to Ravenshoe two months ago.” Clara gestures for me to enter the idling elevator car before her. I’d buy her class act if I weren’t delivered with a devious smirk. “But I’ve stayed at the apartment many times previously.”
It could be paranoia and perhaps a dash of jealousy, but I’m certain her tone came out bitchier this time around. “Isaac said you’ve been friends for several years, so I’m not surprised you’ve stayed with him. He’s very accommodating to his friends.” I literally have to strangle my words out of my mouth, and even then, they’re delivered with a scowl.
Clara’s red-painted lips lift into an illustrious grin. “Friends? I’m reasonably sure Isaac has never taken friends to that apartment.”
Since I’m preparing my heart for its imminent collision with my stomach, Hugo replies to the insinuation in Clara’s tone before me. “That’s enough, Clara.”
I touch his forearm before shaking my head. I’m more than capable of handling my own when it comes to bitchy, jealousy woman. When I take a step closer to Clara, victory heats my blood. I barely moved, yet intimidation still flashed through her eyes.
“If you’re insinuating that something happened between you and Isaac, you can quit right now. I asked Isaac weeks ago if there was anything between you two. He assured me nothing like that had happened, nor will it happen.”
When the elevator arrives in the lobby, I adjust my satchel before pacing out of it. I freeze just outside the doors when Clara’s nasally voice screeches through my ears. “I suggest you ask Isaac again as the circumstances of our friendship altered since your original interrogation.”
She has the most patronizing smirk stretched across her face, but before I can remove it, the elevator doors snap shut before it continues its descent to the parking garage one floor below.
“Izzy—”
The plea preparing to flow from Hugo’s mouth stops when I cut him off with a glare. “Just give me a minute.” Like a minute will be sufficient to calm the anger tearing me in two. “Just one goddamn minute.”
When he nods, I move to the side of the lobby so I can take a moment to contemplate my next move. If I call Isaac, I fall straight into the trap Clara planted for him. If I don’t, paranoia will eat me alive until my question blurts out of my mouth at the most inappropriate time, so I may as well get the inevitable over and done with.
After yanking my cell out of my pocket, I hit the speed dial for Isaac’s cell, then press it to my ear. After several painstakingly long rings, he finally answers. “Isaac Holt.”
I’m taken back by his abrupt greeting. My number is stored on his phone, so he’d know who’s calling him, wouldn’t he?
“Hey, it’s Isabelle—”
“I’m aware of that. Now is not a good time.” His tone is similar to the one he uses when talking to members of his staff.
“I promise it won’t take long. All I need is a minute of your time.”
He sighs heavily down the line. “Is it an emergency?”
“No, but—”
“Then it can wait until I call you this afternoon.”
My frustrated squeal bounces off the fancy gray walls of the lobby when he disconnects our call without giving me the chance to reply. With my hackles up and my annoyance at its pinnacle, I angrily fumble my fingers over my phone. Because it’s so ancient, it takes me nearly five minutes to send a two-line text, but the reprieve it comes with is undeniable. It’s time for me to start sticking up for myself.
Me: Don’t bother calling me back. You obviously have more pressing matters to take care of.
I stare at my phone, willing it to ring or announce it has received a text. It’s an extremely long two minutes.
As disappointment stabs my chest, I snap it shut, shove it into my pocket, then stomp to Brandon’s blue BMW idling at the curb. Hugo doesn’t speak a word as he retraces my steps. He’s not stupid, and this also isn’t his battle. Only one person is deserving of my wrath. That person is the incredibly alluring and undoubtedly frustrating Mr. Isaac Holt.
Chapter 23
Isabelle
My eyes bulge when Hugo weaves Brandon’s car down a large pebbled driveway lined with manly hedges that are a foot tall. A dense thicket of trees blocks the view of anything over the horizon, but the heavily-wooded property adds quaintness to the country residence in the distance. The white two-story house is surrounded by rolling turf and deciduous trees that display the color of fall. All the windows at the front face the rolling hills, and they’re flanked by rustic blue shutters that are in the process of being given a fresh coat of paint. The ladder and paint tins stacked to the left of the house assures this, much less than men painting the lower level shutters. Brandon’s family home is a classic farmhouse that will be breathtaking once it’s renovated.
As the car rounds the corner, a cedar wood barn peeks out from behind the farmhouse. Its roofline matches the height of the house, but it’s longer in length. The double black wooden doors are hanging open, exposing bales upon bales of hay.
“Do you have horses?”
The veins in Hugo’s arms bulge when Brandon places his hand on my shoulder. He’s not cozying up. He’s merely assuring me the panic in my tone isn’t necessary. It is, but who am I to argue? I’m as scared of horses as I am flying.
“Do you want me to teach you how to ride—?”
“No.” My tone is blunt and straight to the point and somewhat rude. “I prefer keeping my feet on solid ground, thank you very much.”
When my nerves make my voice come out as bitchy, Hugo’s rigid grip on the steering wheel weakens. He smiles, believing I’m shutting down Brandon’s offer simply because it came from him. I’m not because unlike him, I don’t dislike people without a plausible reason.
Once the fear clutching my throat slackens, I force out. “Horses scare me. They’re so big and… hairy.”
Brandon’s grin competes with the mid-morning sun. “I swear I like you more and more every day, Izzy… as a friend.” He adds on his last three words in a hurry when Hugo’s growl demands an explanation for his comment. “I meant as a friend.”
He pulls on the collar of his shirt, suddenly overheated. He’s not the only one feeling the heat. Sweat rolls down my back as awkward stuffiness fills the car with humidity.
After slitting my eyes, I lock them with Hugo. “Stop it,” I mouth.
My request appears to fall on deaf ears, but I know he heard me as his familiar giant grin adds to the disgusting mugginess teeming between us.
My attention reverts from Hugo to Brandon when he sucks in a sharp breath that puffs his chest out. He’s peering at a young lady dressed in tan riding pants, knee-high black boots, and a black jacket with tan patches on the elbows. Her tight outfit accentuates her fit, petite frame, and her wavy blonde hair frames her flawless heart-shaped face. She’s guiding a bowed-back horse along the dividing fence of the neighboring property. I don’t know if she’s going for a ride or returning from one.
Once the blonde, who Brandon’s gaped mouth assures me is Melody, walks out of our vision, I devote my focus back to Brandon. His pupils are the size of saucers, and his cheeks are hued of red.
I squeeze his hand before giving hi
m a reassuring smile. “You’ve got this.”
Before he can respond, Hugo pulls the car in front of a large six-door wooden garage. When he flings open the driver’s side door, the undeniable smell of country invades my senses. It’s a refreshing change from the city fumes I’ve become accustomed to sucking in the past seven months. Birds are heard chirping in the distance, and the occasional moo and neigh of livestock sound from the barn.
I smile when my curl out of the car has me stumbling onto Hugo’s scrunched-up expression. He’s plugged his nose, and his forehead is indented with three deep creases. “All I can smell is cow dung,” he remarks, gagging.
I giggle. Cow dung is prominent, but since it’s mixed with trees, fresh-cut grass, and wildflowers, it’s not as potent as he’s making it out to be.
When I pace to the trunk to assist Hugo and Brandon in removing our luggage for the weekend, Hugo’s blue eyes pop up to Brandon’s. “Which bag is yours?”
Nerves jump off my vocal cords when I reply on Brandon’s behalf. “We need all the bags.”
Hugo’s eyes bounce between Brandon and me for several heart-clenching seconds before they settle back on Brandon. “Do you have a death wish?”
When Brandon shakes his head, Hugo purses his lips while shifting his eyes to me. “He doesn’t have a death wish, so I guess we’re staying at a hotel.”
“Brandon’s mom said it’s fine for us to stay here.”
“Oh, okay, since Brandon’s mom said it’s fine, I guess it’s fine.” Don’t let his words fool him. He’s being a sarcastic ass. “Where’s the phone Isaac gave you in case of an emergency.”
“This isn’t an emergency.” His cocked brow stuffs the rest of my reply into the back of my throat.
Before I can find the backbone I lost somewhere between here and Ravenshoe, a medium-build, middle-aged woman barrels out of the house. With a wonky smile stretched across her beautiful face and her arms thrust out wide, she yells, “BJ!” at the top of her lungs.
Her half blonde/half gray hair bounces on her sweater-covered shoulders when she gallops down the paint-peeled steps. She leaps into Brandon’s arm, her smile doubling when he spins her around the concrete path. When my eyes flick to Hugo, I note even he’s grinning at their enthusiastic greeting. That’s not surprising. It’s so heartwarming, I yank up the sleeves of my shirt to settle down my raring heat.
After pleading to be put down, Brandon places the lady back onto her feet. Once she has her askew apron sitting back, front, and center, she lifts her sparkling blue eyes to Hugo and me. The crazy beat of my heart ramps up a notch when she rushes my way to greet me with as much enthusiasm as she greeted Brandon with.
“Isabelle! It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.” The scent of rhubarb pie and dandelions filters through my nose when she wraps me up in a warm hug. “You’re even more beautiful than Brandon described.”
Heat creeps across my cheeks. I don’t know who this lady is, but she has an aura that makes me instantly fall in love with her. When she inches back from our embrace, she holds me at arm’s length so her eyes can assess my face with precise detail.
“Oh my goodness, my grandbabies are going to be beautiful!”
A scratch impinges my throat when it suddenly dries, and I don’t need to turn my gaze to know Hugo heard her comment. His glare is burrowing a hole in the side of my head.
“Mom, she hasn’t even walked through the front door yet, so don’t scare her away with baby talk.” Brandon rubs his hands together as his edgy gaze shifts between Hugo and me. He has the right to be nervous. Not only is Hugo glaring at him with the eyes of a killer, I’m just as perplexed. His reply insinuates that we’re a couple, which we are not.
Not a word spills from Brandon’s mouth, but he doesn’t need to talk for me to hear his plea. His begging eyes say more than his words ever could. Although peeved he’s placed me in this position, I nod, agreeing with his wordless plea for me to follow his ruse. I’m not happy, but my scorn can wait until we aren’t in the presence of his mother.
Cashmere brushes against my wrist when Brandon’s mom curls her hand around mine. It’s like she felt the tension in the air, so she anchored herself to me so I can’t do a runner. When her nurturing eyes shift to my right, her pulse surges through our conjoined hands. A smile curls my lips when the almost translucent skin on her cheeks blooms with a pink hue.
Apparently, Brandon gets his blushing from his mother’s side of the family.
“Ma’am,” Hugo greets her with a curt nod of his head.
The nervous sparkle in his eyes is cute. He’s accustomed to being hit on—he’s gorgeous, so I’m sure it’s a regular occurrence—but the way his wide eyes timidly float around our surroundings exposes that he’s not used to being visually undressed by a lady twice his age.
“What squadron were you in?” Brandon’s mom gestures her head to the tattoo on Hugo’s arm I investigated a few months ago.
Hugo tugs down the sleeves of his long-sleeve shirt to conceal his vast collection of tattoos before answering, “American Hornets, ma’am.”
So, I was right, he was in the Air Force, but why isn’t there any details of his deployment in their database? Sensing my silent questions, Hugo flashes me a grin. It isn’t his usual smile, but it’s a clear indication that he’ll never answer the questions beaming from my eyes.
After suggesting we leave the boys to unpack the car, Mrs. James ushers me inside. Freshly baked cookies and pie infiltrate my nostrils when we enter the foyer of her country residence. When my stomach grumbles, she laughs.
“Lunch is still an hour away.” Her cornflower-blue eyes stare up at me lovingly. “But I’ll let you sneak in a few cookies before we sit down to eat. Just don’t tell Brandon. I don’t let him eat sweets before dinner since he’d never eat his greens.”
I keep my expression as neutral as possible, but something on my face must give me away as she peers at me with suspicion not even a second later.
“It was only once, and I promise he ate all his dinner.” He complained about me burning the marinara sauce, but he still polished his plate clean.
Giggling, she leads me into the room responsible for the scrumptious smell in the air. By the time Brandon and Hugo join us, I’ve demolished four raspberry and white chocolate chip cookies. Things are always tense between them, but it’s more noticeable now.
When Brandon’s hand gets slapped by his mom for attempting to steal a cookie from the cooling rack, Hugo uses their distraction to his advantage. He nudges his head to the hall requesting a private word.
After running my sweaty hands down my thighs, I hop off the barstool before following Hugo into the hall. I barely make it halfway into the photo-littered space when Hugo’s fighting stance reveals he won’t just use words to get his point across.
“We’re not staying here.”
I huff as my mood slips back into the eerie blackness my confrontation with Clara started. I’ve been getting pushed around so much lately, my usually easy-going demeanor is gravely faltering.
“It’s my job to protect you, Izzy, so until we know who’s framing you, and if they are the same person who was tailing you last week, everyone will be treated as a potential threat.”
Guilt makes itself known with my gut. I’m not trying to make things difficult for him, I’m just sick of not having a say in matters that affect me. This is my life, so shouldn’t I get a say on how it’s run?
“Until Brandon is cleared as a suspect, Boy Wonder over there will remain number one on my hit list.”
When he motions his head to the kitchen during the ‘Boy Wonder’ part of his arrogant admission, the defense wall I was just lowering resurrects. Brandon has always been there for me, but more than anything, he’s my friend.
“Then, I guess it’s lucky I don’t need your permission on where I can or cannot stay.” My tone is edgy with a nasty side of bitchiness.
“You may not need my permission, Izzy, but do you really think Isa
ac will let you have a sleepover at a male friend’s house?” He folds his arms in front of his chest as his smile picks up. “He wouldn’t even let you stay at Hunter’s house because he has the wrong appendage between his legs.”
“Isaac doesn’t seek my approval for what friends he allows to sleepover at his apartment, so why should I?” The anger I felt earlier during my argument with Clara resurfaces stronger than ever. “I’m an adult, Hugo, so how about you start treating me like one!”
“If you get Isaac’s permission to stay here, we’ll stay here. If you don’t, I’ll carry your ass to the car kicking and screaming.”
My mouth forms into an ‘O.’ “You wouldn’t dare.”
He steps closer to me, his expression deadly serious. “Test me, Izzy.”
“You hate Brandon that much?”
His shrug isn’t fooling anyone. “I don’t hate hate him, but I don’t trust him. Trust has to be earned, and he hasn’t earned it yet.”
“Says the guy who lied to my face by pretending he got fired!” My roar echoes down the hallway. I’m so angry, I swear steam is close to billowing out of my ears.
“I did that for your safety.” His tone is as low as his brows are sitting. “And if we’re going to discuss the semantics of being deceitful—”
I cut him off with a glare. The guilt I feel for lying to Isaac for months still stings my heart, so I don’t need Hugo throwing it in my face.
Hugo breaks our intense standoff first. “You know I’m not the one who makes the rules when it comes to you, Izzy. If you want to fight the system, argue with its creator.”
“Fine. I will.”
Pretending my heart isn’t racing a million miles an hour, I yank the phone out of my pocket before dialing Isaac’s number. I can barely breathe when the seductive voice of Isaac sounds down the line not even two rings later.
