“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.
“Yes. Now. Occasion? Is someone getting fired? Married? Who died?”
“We’re promoting Josh to president of Sawyer Financial,” her father said.
News of her ex’s promotion settled in Isa’s stomach like a rock. The waitress’s timing on that second glass was impeccable. Isa accepted the wine and drank down a hearty gulp.
“We’d like you to attend the ceremony next month.”
Isa opened her mouth to say no, or more aptly hell, no, but her father anticipated the answer and spoke first.
“Just because you two are no longer dating doesn’t mean you can’t support him.”
“Isn’t that exactly what not dating him means?” she asked.
“This is a very big win for Josh,” her father said.
Isa replied drily. “Yes, it’s everything he ever wanted.”
Everything he’d ever dated her for. She’d always wondered if, when she broke things off with him, he was saddened because their relationship was ending or because he might not be able to secure a higher station at Sawyer Financial.
“He’s a very driven man, darling. You can’t fault him for that.” Her mother moved her hands to her lap as the waitress brought a round of tapas.
No, and Isa didn’t fault him for his drive. She faulted him for not loving her in a whole and genuine way. He appreciated her breeding more than her as a person.
“You are still a part of this family,” Helena continued, “even though you’ve opted to go the servant route rather than take on the position we grew and pruned specifically for you.”
Isa closed her eyes and counted to five. That was the farthest she made it before her father started in.
“Our families have decades of past business between us. It would be rude for you not to show up and support the Lindens over some petty breakup eons ago.”
“It was not petty, Dad,” Isa said, measuring her words carefully. This wasn’t a new conversation. One day, they’d hear her. For now, she would let them think she was having a repeat of her teenage drama years. “Josh was more in love with Sawyer Financial Group than he ever was with me.”
Her mother let out a disbelieving pfft.
“And we broke up three years ago, which, yes, was a while but definitely not eons.”
“He’s single,” her mother said. “And so are you.”
Okay, so this angle was new. Isa felt her forehead crease. “I’m not…we’re not getting back together.”
“He’d like to see you, though. He misses you.” Her mother cut a scallop in half casually as if she wasn’t trying to steer Isa into the arms of a man who barely liked her, who’d never loved her.
“He doesn’t miss me,” Isa said. How could he? He’d barely tolerated her and her big ideas to start a business outside of Sawyer Financial when they were dating.
“I’m a man, Isabella.” Her father lifted his martini to illustrate his point. “I can see when another man is heartbroken.”
“Is that why Josh has been dating vapid excuses for women lately?” Isa mumbled. She wasn’t jealous, but it was frustrating to know that he’d carried out the plan he’d warned her about.
If you don’t climb to the top of Sawyer Financial mountain with me, Bella, I can find someone who will.
“You can’t blame him for drowning his sorrows,” her mother interjected.
“Oh, please.” Isa lifted her wine.
“We’ve already spoken to him about reputation. As upcoming president of our institution, we can’t have another repeat of Reese Crane’s issues.”
Isa put down her glass without taking a sip. Her father was referring to Reese’s reputation with women before he’d married Merina. Twice. Rumor had it he’d nearly missed out on being named CEO because of his philandering ways, but who knew what to believe?
“Renegades, those Cranes.” Her mother sne
ered.
“What do you know of the Cranes?” Isa asked, because seriously, how random was it that they’d brought up the Crane family the very week she’d stepped in as Eli’s assistant?
“We read the paper,” her mother said, chin aloft.
The gossip rags, she meant.
“Those groups of wealthy misfits are known for their rogue behavior. Sawyer Financial doesn’t need that type of attention.” Her mother chewed a tiny bite of scallop and carved another.
Yes, wealthy people were to be well behaved, quiet, and pave paths only with the gold of their ancestors. Heaven forbid one of them start a rebellion.
“Well, I’m sorry to say I won’t be getting back together with Josh to help repair his reputation. I’ll thank you not to pimp me out to the highest bidder in the future.”
“Isabella.” Her father’s fair skin went pink. “Don’t use that language with us. You know our position on you and Sawyer Financial. You know we want what’s best for you. You’re essentially pimping out the kinds of people your mother and I casually hire and fire. Where is the commitment in your business? To excellence? To permanence?”
His words never failed to cut her to the quick. Several defenses sprang to mind, all well worn. Frankly, Isa was too tired to participate.
“We want better for you.” Her father’s temper cooled and he laid a hand over hers on the table. She knew he wanted the best for her. At their core, both her parents did. But she refused to bend to their will if it meant sacrificing her dreams for theirs. “You’re our princess.”
She snatched her hand away. She was not a princess, refused to be a princess. She wanted to rule the kingdom, but she’d do so following her own rules, not those set by the elitist few.
“Dad, I’m happy. I tell you this nonstop. I’m happy with what I do. I’m good at what I do. I have thirty-two, er, thirty-one”—since Melanie’s exit—“employees to oversee and I won’t leave them in a lurch.”
Isa used to try to make her parents proud but soon found it impossible. Now she’d settle for quiet. If they’d stop harassing her about her lowly choice of vocation, she’d be eternally grateful.
“Anyway,” Isa said, slicing into her own scallop, “even if I wanted to date Josh, I couldn’t.” She hated to lie, but they hadn’t left her much choice. “I’m seeing someone.”
“Since when?” her father asked.
“Who are you seeing?” Her mother’s brow rose to its highest point.
“It’s still very new.” Like as of ten seconds ago. Isa redirected her eyes to her plate. “I don’t want to jinx it.”
Especially since it wasn’t true. Isa had been single and just fine, thank you, since she and Josh had split. She’d had a dinner date here and there before then, but over the last eighteen months, she’d quit dating altogether. Her focus had been on building Sable Concierge to the next level. And now that she was so, so close to that goal, her parents wanted her to start dating Josh?
No friggin’ way.
“Well, since this development is so new, you can plan on attending Josh’s ceremony,” her father said, adding an unfriendly, “Your new beau might not be around by then.”
“Is Josh going to be single then?” Isa snapped.
“Yes,” her parents answered at the same time. Damn. Had they put his dating status into his contract or something?
“And if you happen to be single,” her mother added with a smile, “I’m sure Josh will be overjoyed at the idea of your reconciliation.”
“Splendid idea, Helena,” her father said with a proud smile.
A perfect example of why talking with her parents was akin to talking to a wall. They had an agenda, and they’d see it through. The option of not showing up was tempting, but she also knew there would be many Chicago elite at that party. It wasn’t a bad idea to rub elbows with them. But the matchmaker thing was not happening.
To be sure, she’d hatch a plan of her own, Isa thought smugly as she sat back so the waitress could take her plate and replace it with a salad. Isa would find a fake date for that night to be her arm candy while she worked the room.
Win-win.
* * *
At her dining-room-table desk at Eli’s house, Isa jotted the afternoon’s tasks onto a pretty pad of paper she’d picked up at a fancy stationery store. Orange and gold flowers decorated the corners, and every narrow, crisp line was preceded by a checkbox. Nothing made her happier than a checked list, unless it was a pretty one.
She’d grown accustomed to working in here and was starting to favor Eli’s high ceilings and windows over her cramped, piled office. Today, the sun shone brightly, the day a little warmer than usual for late September. Sunlight filtered through the paned glass windows, giving an ethereal feeling to the rugged space—the dust motes sparkling like glitter. For the third or fourth time today, she pulled in a cleansing breath.
Dinner with her parents had left her frustrated for several reasons. Mostly because they were trying to mash her and Josh together. Simply put, Josh had been a bad boyfriend, prioritizing his work over Isa. Toward the end when he rolled out an ultimatum, she’d had an epiphany. She refused to take second place in his life—or in her own. She found the strength to leave him and the strength to move forward with her business idea at once. In a way, she owed Josh a thank-you for paving that path, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to date him.
Her phone rang and she hesitated answering since she was on Eli’s clock, but then figured he wouldn’t notice anyway. He spent every day entrenched in…something, rarely coming out of his office. This job had become like monitoring a wild animal. Feed it, stay out of its way, and try not to disrupt its normal and natural pattern.
“Chloe, hey.” Isa stood from the table and half ran/half walked to the kitchen where there was an additional partial wall between her and Eli.
“Sorry, hon. No luck.”
“Did you try Tracy?”
“Yeah, he’s getting married that day.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“I know. Unlucky, right? I heard back from the other guys on your list.” Chloe had started reaching out to Isa’s professional and personal male friends last week to ask if they could attend a social event with her. Isa hadn’t elaborated further.
“And the rest of them?”
“All nos.” The sound of Chloe flipping through pages of notes accompanied the saddest checklist ever. “Brandon is out of town for work, and Nathan said his wife would kill him.”
“My gosh, Nathan is married too?”
“Uh-huh. And Travis and”—more paper flipping—“Jacob and Antonio…No, wait, Antonio isn’t married. He’s gay and his partner’s birthday is that weekend.”
“Stop.” Isa couldn’t take any more. “I’ll have to make a plan B.”
“Escort service?” Chloe joked.
Isa groaned. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“What do you need a date for anyway?”
Isa would gladly have avoided this conversation altogether but found herself in need of a sympathetic ear. She lowered her voice and cupped her hand to the phone. “My parents are trying to get Josh and me back together.”
There was a measured silence. “Why?”
“The usual.” She dropped her hand. “Breeding of the strong bloods, world takeover, yada yada.” Isa kept her voice down when she added, “I told them I was dating someone. I didn’t think it’d be this hard to find a stand-in by the time of the banquet.” Yet here she was: dateless, and the ceremony was next week.
“Crap.”
“Yeah.”
“What about my brother?” Chloe chirped. “He’s twenty-three but very mature.”
“Absolutely not.”
“He looks older.”
“The idea was to be discreet and keep everything professional. Plus, doesn’t your brother live in Maryland with your family?”
“Good point.”
“Thanks for trying.” Isa walked from the kitchen to the living room, care
ful not to say anything too revealing. “I’ll work it out on my end.”
“You sound formal. Are you pretending to work in case you’re overheard by Beast Crane?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Would you settle for a pretend girlfriend? I look great in a cocktail dress.”
Isa let loose a laugh as she paced back to the dining room table. “I’ll consider it. There would be the added bonus of stealing Josh’s thunder.”
“Sable!” came a shout from Eli’s office.
“He does not call you that.” Chloe gasped.
“He does.”
“It’s kind of sexy, though. Don’t you think?”
She did. For some reason, whenever he bellowed her nickname, shivers tracked down her spine. And not in a bad way.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Gotta go.” Isa hung up on her friend and dropped her phone on the table, straightening her outfit for maximum Bettie Pageness on her way to Eli’s office.
* * *
Isabella was clacking around his warehouse—he could hear those spike heels every time she stepped off the carpeting onto the concrete. His concentration had been interrupted several times in the last hour. He looked away from the calendar reminder announcing his friend was arriving soon to shout her name. Again.
“Sable!” There was a pause in her steps; then those steps came his direction. The closer the clacking drew, the tighter his gut went. She’d been here, what, two weeks now? Every damn time he saw her, that tightness extended from his gut to his chest the moment she poked her head—
“Yes, Eli.” She leaned in, wrapping her hand around the edge of the wall, her dark hair coasting over one shoulder, her nails pale and manicured, her eyes catlike as she gave him a slow blink. He absolutely did not look at her cleavage, on display in a ruffly white shirt she’d paired with a black skirt that ended demurely below her knees.
“Your shoes are irritating,” he said through his teeth.
“These?” She pointed a toe in a pair of shiny black heels that led to delicate ankles and the tempting swell of her calves. He shifted his legs beneath the desk, because it was either that or bite his knuckle in sexual frustration.
The Bastard Billionaire Page 4
