Isabella - Book One

by Thompson, Jamie Brook

  Pretty Woman

  The Billionaire Bachelor Series

  ISABELLA

  Book One

  JAMIE BROOK

  THOMPSON

  Isabella © 2016, Jamie Brook Thompson

  All rights reserved

  The book contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13:978-1533678935

  ISBN-10: 1533678936

  Editing by Donna Marie, Always Right Proofreading and Copyediting editordonnamarie@gmail.com

  Editing by Lovenia Stam APRN, Love Editing and Proofreading

  Cover design by Jamie Brook Thompson

  Interior book design by Bob Houston eBook Formatting

  DEDICATION

  To Julia Roberts.

  You still make me believe in fairytales!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To the real Pretty Women that I share my passion of writing with!

  You know who you are.

  Thank you ladies!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Are you kidding me? I stare at the mess of pallets strung across the garden center’s parking lot and wonder who worked the morning shift. Only a man could do something this stupid.

  I hate that I know exactly what man did this.

  I pull the handheld radio from the front pocket of my blue apron and press the side button. “Who the hell put these pallets like this?” I snap.

  “Nice to talk to you too, pussycat,” his voice charms until a wave of static blares.

  I lower the device.

  “Do you realize I’ve got fertilizer next to weed killer? And pallets of bark scattered all over the place? I don’t want anybody coming after me when our customers go home and kill their lawns.” I shove the noisy handheld radio in my pocket, and take in a deep breath. This is going to be a long day.

  I pick up a torn bag of bark. Its earthy scent basically gives me the only pleasure I’m going to get during my shift. I swear if it weren’t for the flowers and outdoors I’d quit this side job and just enjoy the easy money of being an escort. Seven years have taken their toll with all the creepers around here. Or maybe it’s the last three of Jeb harassing me that I can’t handle. Why can’t he take the hint? This pussycat isn’t interested. He’s about as prickly as the bits of bark slipping down the front of my chest. I place the bag of bark on the ground before I start fishing for a few of the larger pieces.

  “Excuse me?” A deep voice startles me from my thoughts.

  I rip my hand from shirt and spin around only to have my eyes gaze up to the stranger’s sandy blond man bun. “Can I help you?”

  A smile teases his perfectly pale-pink lips.

  “I’m looking for some flowers for—a friend,” he says not bothering to remove his intimidating stare.

  “Okay.” I breakaway from his eye contact and turn to the flowers stacked on the rolling cart next to me. “Are you looking for perennials or annuals?” I ask, filled with humiliation. Why didn’t I check to see if anyone was around before I went fishing for wooden slivers?

  He laughs as though he can see the embarrassment written all over my face. “I actually have no idea what perennials and annuals are. I just want something nice.”

  “Well does your friend want them to bloom next year?” I mock his ignorance and glance down at his left ring finger. Damn, married. Figures. I’m ashamed to admit a conversation about flowers has me so stimulated. I mean, how does a man wearing his hair in a bun pull off such a conceited look wearing a suit and tie?

  “Hey, pussycat, I’m coming to help.” The radio blares in my pocket. “Do you need me to bring out the skidsteer for the pallets? I have plenty of time to spend with you this afternoon.”

  I glance at the sun overhead and sigh before holding up my finger. “I’m so sorry, can you give me a second?” I whip around and hold the radio close to my mouth. “I’m helping a customer. Give me a few minutes.” A soft growl grits through my teeth, and then I turn back around.

  The man is holding a small pot of red geraniums. “These stink.” He scrunches his face, and sets them back down.

  “They’re great at keeping the mosquitos away.” I entertain him with the positive.

  “They’re great at keeping everything away with that smell.” He wanders into the garden center and I stand there shaking my head. There has to be an unwritten law that bans men from being this sexy when they’re married. His poor wife. “Are you coming?” he asks, peeking his head around the gate covered with a store advertisement.

  “I’ll be right there.” I turn and straighten a few pots so he doesn’t think I’ve had my mind on him the entire time, and then smooth the front of my apron. “Are you looking for something in a planter or something your friend will have to plant?”

  “Oh, she doesn’t get her fingernails dirty.” He takes my hand and lifts it a few inches from his face, inspecting every detail of my cuticles. “Not like you, I suspect.”

  I pull my hand away and my chest pounds, pooling an obnoxious heat at the apples of my cheeks. “I happen to like gardening,” I pronounce, defending my poorly cared for fingernails that haven’t been polished in a while. Madame X hasn’t had me on an assignment so I’ve taken full advantage by playing in the dirt. And what’s so wrong with that? “Gardening is a great stress reliever. It takes the mind off other things.” I take in a deep breath of the sweet scent of lilies that’s swirling around in the soft, warm breeze.

  A twinkle of mischief sparkles inside his deep blue eyes. “I apologize if I—”

  “No, you didn’t offend me,” I interrupt. “I just have personal space issues.”

  “Ah, I see.” He glances up to watch a bird flying over our heads. It’s a charming distraction from the busy cars driving thru the parking lot. “So tell me, what does a woman like you need to take her mind off of?”

  I’m stunned he would ask such a personal question. It’s beginning to annoy me that he’s this forward with a wife at home and probably a few babies she’s killing herself to take care of. I refuse to answer such a question.

  “Look, I’ve got several pallets out there that I need to reorganize before somebody buys the wrong thing.” I raise my thumb and point it over my shoulder, and then I notice Jeb stepping through the automatic doors, heading toward us. “But, Jeb, can help you out.”

  Jeb gives me a kissy face and I roll my eyes. You’re in management.

  “Hey, Jeb, this gentleman needs help finding some flowers for his friend,” I mention while the world’s biggest idiot manager pokes my side.

  “The name’s Reef.” He holds his hand to me, not bothering to give Jeb the time of day.

  “Well, it was nice meeting you, Reef.” I lightly take his hand as he shakes mine with his strong grasp.

  Jeb leans down and begins whispering in my ear as though Reef can’t hear a word. “Girl, why haven’t you been answering my calls? Are you mad at me?”

  Reef folds his arms across his chest. His broad shoulder pulls at the seams of his suitcoat. “Pardon me, but is there something going on between you two that I’m not catching? A relationship maybe?” He glances back and forth at the two
of us.

  “Oh, no.” I gasp. “We’re not dating. He’s my manager.”

  Reef nods. “Interesting.”

  Ugh. He’s my manager. How embarrassing. I can’t even imagine what this gentleman is thinking. Maldecir mi vida lamentable. And curse Jeb for being such a freak of nature.

  An awkward silence invades the warm sun kissing our skin.

  “Okay, I think this is a good time to start organizing those pallets.” I nudge Jeb’s shoulder and spin around to head back out to the parking lot.

  Are you kidding me, Isabella? I grumble in my head. What is wrong with you? Whatever happened to Issi the ice queen? Men don’t affect me like this. I’m smarter than that. I kick at a small pebble resting against the blacktop.

  Just because it’s my last year with Madame X doesn’t make me desperate for marriage, or a total idiot talking to strangers. You’re only twenty-five years old. Plenty of people start college at twenty-five. Yeah, happily married people. I let out a sigh and try to focus on the flats of petunias. I have plenty of time to find a suitable man to take home to my father. Although, finding a Mexican man might be a little tougher than Mr. Man Bun up the street with three kids and a wife, but surely there has to be someone out there. I’m sure of it.

  I shake my head and wonder if I remember how to date a guy. It’s okay if they touch your hand. I remind myself. I can’t think of the last time I’d been on a real date. One without boundaries. Something where I’m more than just a trophy next to his side for the weekend.

  “I didn’t catch your name,” Reef says, sneaking up behind me again.

  I reach up to cover my nametag. “Isabella.”

  He raises his thick brow. “I would’ve never guessed that by what you have written down.” He points to where I have my hand resting.

  “Oh, this.” I drop my hand. “I had to write Issi only because the Chinese don’t take into consideration that Americans have longer names.”

  He tilts his head back and laughs. “Ah, so, it’s China’s fault that you can’t write your name right?”

  “No.” I feel that obnoxious heat rising to my face. “I’m just saying—”

  “Let me guess. You’re against global trade.”

  Listen buddy. I’m Mexican. I highly doubt anybody would accuse me of being against any sort of trade. We’re born negotiators. It’s in our blood.

  A car passes behind him and he steps closer. Too close.

  “I’m just saying anything you buy from China is smaller than normal size.” I back away and reach down to pick up the garden hose. Why can’t this guy just leave the store and not bother to come back. It’s not like he’s one of our regulars. I’ve never seen him before. “Have a nice day.” I call out, hoping he’ll take the hint.

  “I intend to, Issi with a flower next to her name.” His feet step beside me.

  I squeeze the handle of the garden hose. Why is he paying so much attention?

  CHAPTER TWO

  How does a woman run such a private escort service out of a strip mall in downtown, San Diego? The puke mustard shade of the stucco is enough to make me crazy that somebody could be so brainless to paint a prime piece of real estate this horrible color. You can’t miss it, she said over the phone. And Madame Alexandria would be right about that. It looks like somebody choked a canary and plastered the damn bird against the building. It’s a good thing Isabella turned out better than I had anticipated, or I’d run like hell from this prime real estate disaster.

  I turn off the key to the Range Rover and duck my head to stare out the front window. Who really paints a building this color? I shake my head and step out of the vehicle. The wet heat instantly sticks to my skin. This place is ridiculous.

  I move to the front door.

  It opens before I get the chance to press on it. “Welcome, you must be Reef,” a woman greets from the other side.

  “Madame Alexandria.” I reach out my hand. Her voice sounds exactly how it does over the phone.

  “Please call me Madame X.” She pulls me into the room. “Make yourself comfortable.” She fans her hands to the two black chairs in front of her.

  I take a seat and notice a heavy smell of sweet coffee.

  “And how did you like my Isabella?” She pulls out a binder from a drawer next to her leg.

  “She’ll do.” I shrug, hoping not to give away the excitement I’ve felt from the moment I laid eyes on the pretty woman.

  “Sir, are you not well pleased with what you saw?” Her eyes tighten, making the false eyelashes on her upper lids bunch. “It’s my goal to make all my customers happy.”

  I put on my best poker face. I don’t want to place all my chips on the table until I get a good feel for the cards she’s holding. There’s no need to admit Isabella’s sweet on the eyes, and tingly in the gut if I want to take my thoughts where I shouldn’t.

  “I have a few other girls in the back if you would like to choose a woman that suits you better.” She presses a button on her desk that rings a bell, and three girls come rushing out.

  Nope.

  Nah.

  Not a chance.

  How could she even compare these women to Isabella? None of them grab my attention the way Isabella’s smile had me at hello.

  “I also have a few others…” her words become a buzz in the distance as I remember the bits of bark clinging tightly to the front of that blue apron that barely fit Isabella’s chest, and even when she wiped at them, I found myself envious of her hands.

  “Are her breasts real?” I ask still in a stupor of thought.

  Madame X startles.

  She quickly motions the girls to leave the room.

  I’m assuming I’ve said something wrong by the way all of ladies rush out of the room. I didn’t mean to offend any of them. I only want to negotiate a deal on the woman I want.

  “Sir, I believe your brother has misinformed you. I do not run a house of prostitution. This is a very strict dating service. My girls are not for touching.”

  We’ll see about that. I make another mental picture of Isabella’s chest. It seems like a crime just to stand there and not cop a feel after I get in a few kisses. That’s basically all I need out of this one before I can send her home out of boredom. It’s really a win-win if I think about it. I’m in the mood for a little tease.

  “Sir, did your brother inform you of my rules?” Madame X narrows her brows.

  I can see I’ve struck a nerve asking about Isabella’s chest.

  “Yes, of course,” I lie. “I’m only asking because I’m not into artificial looking women and I couldn’t quite make out her shape in that blue apron she wears at the garden center.” Another lie. Any man with eyes would go in there asking about dirt just to take a peek at her stack and that hourglass shape.

  “I assure you that my Isabella will not disappoint you or anyone you introduce her to. She is one of my finest. I rarely have her open for appointments. I’ve actually cleaned her books because your brother told me you were coming. She’s had plenty of time off so this should be good for her.”

  “So are we done here?” I glance around the extremely feminine decorated room. I could kick Rexton’s ass if he weren’t my brother. He never told me this place would be as uncomfortable as shopping in a woman’s panty store.

  “I only have a few more things to go over. It seems your fingerprints and background check came in yesterday.” She picks up a few pages off her desk and places them in a binder. “Now all I’m going to need is a few signatures while I go over the rules of the contract.”

  I check my watch. It’s a habit when I’m not in the mood to sign any contracts that my lawyer hasn’t looked at.

  I reach in my pocket and pull out a wad of money folded in half. “Will this do?” I hold out the cash. “To cover the whole contract thing?”

  Her eyes widen.

  “I’m not a big signature guy.” I lean forward in the chair and set the money down on the desk. “I’m perfectly aware of the rules. I on
ly intend to take Isabella to a luncheon and dinner meeting in Cabo for the weekend. She will sleep in separate quarters. And I will have her back here untouched.”

  “This is not how I run my company.” Madame X pushes the money towards me.

  I reach out and stop her. “Look, I just need a woman that’s been trained to make me look good in front of my finest customers. I’ll have her back by Sunday.”

  “Isabella is no ordinary woman.” Madame X picks up the cash and shoves it in her bra. “I will allow her to go with you for the weekend, but only because I know her ice-cold heart. Trust me, Mr. Vanguard. You will never break through that iceberg. She is the only girl in this facility that I can trust that her loyalty belongs to me.”

  The idea of her being a girl turns me off.

  “And may I inquire her age?” I ask.

  “She’s twenty-five.” Madame X lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry to say I will be losing her this year.”

  I tilt my head.

  “Anything older than twenty-five does nothing for a gentlemen’s business.” She chuckles. “It’s nothing personal. It is only business, sir.”

  Her fake French accent is about as ridiculous as the paint on the outside of the building, or the black and white wallpaper on the walls. What the hell is she thinking with all this glitzy female decorating?

  “Just go ahead and let her know that my driver will pick her up tomorrow bright and early. I have a few things I need to do, so I’ll have them meet me at the airport,” I say, changing the subject. I have no desire to touch the topic that all men are pigs seeking younger women. It’s a conversation I know I’ll never win with a woman.

  “She’ll be here.” Madame X flashes me a wicked grin. “But I should warn you that Isabella is not much of a traveler. She tends to get motion sickness even on the merry-go-round.”

  I nod. “I’m fine with that.” And trust me, Madame X. A little puke in a barf bag isn’t going to keep me from getting close to your precious Isabella. It’s been a long time since I took a woman out for a weekend. My heart pulses at the idea of all the fun I’m going to have with this hot little vixen.