by Julia Harlow
“Hi.”
“Hi, yourself. How are you?” The deep tone of his voice caressed her through the phone.
“Good. Really good, in fact. Something incredible happened today. I got my job back at Baycrest and will be moving on with the team to Soter.com!” As she uttered the words, a warmth spread through her. It dawned on her that Ty was the one person she most wanted to be celebrating with.
“No kidding. That’s fantastic, Isabel.” She started to ask him about his day, but just then a hand grabbed her around the waist from behind and pulled her back against a hard body. An undeniably aroused body. She jerked her head around as Logan planted a sloppy kiss on the exposed side of her neck.
“Get off me! Right now!”
“What’s wrong, honey? It’s jussa li’l kiss.” Logan’s badly slurred words and beery breath had her jerking back.
“Who the fuck is that?” Ty’s roar over the phone had her ready to strangle Logan with her bare hands.
“Just someone from work.”
“Where are you?”
“At a bar, celebrating with people from my team. Back off, now! Not you, Ty.”
Logan had consumed enough alcohol to be no match for her determination to keep him away. He teetered slightly at her shove against his chest and had to steady himself with a hand on the wall to keep from keeling over on his drunken ass.
“I’m coming to get you.” Ty growled.
“No. I can handle him. He’s just had too much to drink.”
“And what about you?”
“Two glasses of wine. Hold on a second, would you?” She steered Logan back to Scott with orders to keep him away from her.
“Sorry, Ty.”
“What’s his name, Isabel?”
“Logan.”
“What’s Logan’s last name?”
“Chou.”
“Noted.”
“Forget about him. I was getting ready to read him the riot act when you called. He thinks there’s something between us, but I’ve made it clear all along that’s not the case. Maybe if I beat him over the head with it . . .” She leaned her forehead against the cool wall and sighed. “Can we just forget that happened? I’m glad you called.” Then she added softly, “It’s so nice to hear your voice.”
She thought she heard him breathe in sharply. When he spoke, the roughness had disappeared and had been replaced by a velvety purr. “It’s good to hear your voice too. But I wish I were there with you. I can’t stand the thought of some drunk with his hands all over you.” The rough edge had returned.
“I’m leaving soon.”
“How are you getting home?”
“One of my colleagues, a woman, is taking me to the Mission.”
“I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“No. Don’t come. It’s fine, really.”
After a long silence, he spoke softly. “I want to see you.”
“It’s already late, and now we both have a lot going on at work.”
Heavy sigh. “Well, I called about our date. How about Friday?”
She rubbed two fingers against her forehead. Although disappointment flooded her at the gloomy realization that it would be four whole agonizing days until she saw him again, she attempted to hide it with a chipper tone. “Friday would be lovely.”
“Friday, it is. I can hardly wait. But, seriously, call me if you want me to come and pick you up now. I mean it.”
“I know, but you really don’t need to.
“Goodnight, Isabel.”
“Goodnight, Ty. Sweet dreams.” With a huge smile on her face, she disconnected.
~~~
Tuesday turned out to be a frantic day for Isabel as she tried to get up to speed with the changes resulting from the Soter.com takeover. During the past week, those who were moving on had participated in scheduled training sessions, and Isabel needed to cover several days’ worth of material on her own. All the while new assignments piled up.
By Wednesday at one o’clock, she was hungry and needed to clear her head, so she decided to pick up a sandwich from a new delicatessen Kendall had mentioned, a brisk ten-minute walk from Baycrest.
The day was overcast but mild. It felt good to stretch her legs and walk fast, and she admired the huge clay pots of salmon-colored geraniums with hanging tendrils of variegated ivy in front of a coffee house, as well as hanging baskets of purple and pink petunias at the streetlights on the corner. Cars and bicycles whizzing past, an occasional horn blaring, the clanging of streetcars, and the usual lunchtime bustle that surrounded her made her feel an integral part of this vibrant city.
The deli smelled of rich corned beef and salt-crusted rye. It was packed, and Isabel had to thread her way past a sea of bodies to the counter. Fortunately, she’d called in her order ahead of time and only needed to pick it up and pay. On the way to the deli, she’d spotted benches at a park where she’d taken Pilot a week ago, and that was where she planned to eat her lunch and relax a bit before returning to work.
The park was on a street parallel to the delicatessen. As Isabel cut over a side street, she noticed a swanky restaurant with a carved black wooden sign trimmed in gold hanging over the entrance that read “Bella.” Diners filled the seats on a lovely outdoor patio sprinkled with tables and pots of overflowing ferns. She noticed the physique of an impressive, blond-haired man whose profile resembled Ty’s. Could it be Ty? Was he having lunch by himself?
As she considered whether or not to go over to him, she angled to get a better view. No, he was talking to someone just out of her range of sight. Maybe a business lunch? She maneuvered closer until she spotted his dining companions: an elegant blonde cradling a baby in her arms. Isabel edged behind a knotty old tree, surveying the trio, feeling stupid that she was spying on him. The woman passed the baby to Ty, who lifted him up in the air and then lowered him to plant kisses on his cheeks and forehead. The baby squealed and kicked his pudgy legs in glee. Ty lowered him and hugged him tight against his body.
As she stared at the scene unfolding before her eyes, she couldn’t help but notice that the baby was the image of Ty; the shape of his head, the spacing of his eyes, and the color of his hair were a carbon copy of him. From her vantage point, she caught the expression of sheer adoration on Ty’s face. The bottom dropped out of her stomach.
The baby was his son. The woman was his wife. TY. WAS. MARRIED.
Chapter 7
She wouldn’t cry—no matter what. And anyway, she was too angry to cry. “It has to be perfect for you, sweetheart,” she mimicked Ty’s words out loud in an exaggeration of his deep voice, indifferent to the passersby on the sidewalk, gaping at her.
A small amount of relief came in tiny ripples at the recollection that she hadn’t had sex with him on Saturday. But, oh dear God, she’d practically thrown herself at the man. If Ellen and Andrew hadn’t walked in on them when they did, well, she’d be adding that to her growing sense of mortification. One more sexual conquest. That’s all she’d ever meant to him.
How stupid was she? Really! Her steps landed harder with each rapid footfall on the way back to Baycrest. She should have heeded her intuition and paid attention to those creeping doubts. Wealthy, stunningly handsome Ty Griffin with the lowly Isabel Beachwood? What a joke. A painful joke at her expense.
How would she ever finish out the day at work before she could slink away to hide in her room and suffer in private? Glancing down at her watch as she opened the door to Baycrest Enterprises, she noted it wasn’t quite two o’clock. Three excruciating hours, that’s what she had to endure.
She plucked a red Sharpie from her desk drawer and wrote on the white paper bag from the deli, Ham and Swiss on rye with a side of coleslaw from the new deli—help yourself, and set it on the break-room counter. No matter how miserable she was, she couldn’t bring herself to throw away a thirteen-dollar sandwich when one of her co-workers might enjoy it for lunch or an afternoon snack. With her stomach knotted into coils as unyielding as bedsprings, she c
ouldn’t eat a single bite.
Hunkering down at her desk, she buried herself in work and prayed no one stopped to talk to her. Where was a Do Not Disturb sign when you desperately needed one?
By five o’clock, Isabel felt raw, as if every one of her nerve endings were exposed. Even though she hadn’t eaten anything since a granola bar, half a grapefruit, and a cup of coffee at seven that morning, she wasn’t hungry. Her stomach was too busy churning a stew of ugly emotions.
Ellen had already left by the time Isabel arrived home. A note pinned under a green artichoke magnet on the sleek stainless steel fridge read:
Meeting Charlotte for happy hour at Celestial. Join us if you’re up to it. Dogs have been walked and fed. Love you, Ells.
Pilot padded close behind her into the bedroom. She closed the door and stripped off her clothes. Unfailingly tidy in her personal habits, she would have hung up her dress in the closet, put items to be laundered in the wicker clothes hamper, and placed her heels on the closet shelf where they belonged any other day. Now her shoes lay scattered on the floor where they’d landed when she’d kicked them off, and her clothes were piled in a heap on a chair.
She slipped her oldest, softest sleep shirt over her head and crawled under the covers like a wounded animal who’d been caught in a steel leg trap. Only it wasn’t her leg that hurt. Why did it feel as though metal teeth were clamping down on her heart?
Standing beside the bed, Pilot rested his head next to her pillow. She stroked his velvety ears, softly cooing, “I know. I know. He fooled you too. And dogs don’t have fantasies about men, do they? Especially you.” Tears stung her eyes. “You’re supposed to protect me, Pilot. And that includes my heart.” She sniffed back a sob. “Why didn’t you bite him that first day when he came to the Victorian to buy the table?”
At the sound of Pilot’s high-pitched whine, she knew she had to get a handle on herself. Her histrionics over this good-for-nothing, would-be adulterer were causing her dog to cry!
After hours of re-hashing everything she’d done wrong from the moment she’d met Tyberius Griffin, she finally drifted off to sleep.
~~~
Sunlight streamed in through the windows when Isabel squinted her eyes open at six the next morning. Why hadn’t she lowered the Roman shades last night? She stretched her body over the pillowy, extra-plush mattress pad she’d treated herself to when she’d first been hired at Baycrest Enterprises. For the first brief moments of wakefulness, it seemed like a wonderful new day chock full of promise. Pilot’s tail thumped against the floor the instant he registered that she was awake. The stygian memories were at bay.
Then, in a crushing rush, they came flooding back to fill her consciousness with blackness. The intensity of the pain hadn’t lessened a bit since yesterday, and her body reverted to the fetal position in a futile effort to escape the torment.
Then, from somewhere deep inside her, the steel backbone and heart of a lioness she’d inherited from a long line of Beachwood women welled up like a tidal wave and grabbed hold of her. Suddenly, she was ashamed. What if her mother or grandmother or any of her ancestors knew she was behaving like a spineless little twit?
She threw off the covers, stripped off her T-shirt and headed into a steamy shower in less than two minutes. First, she methodically scrubbed away every caress, every kiss, every endearment of Ty’s, and focused on the lavender-scented suds disappearing down the drain. That would be the end of it. The end of him.
Why was the light of day always so rejuvenating? Out of the shower with her body wrapped in a towel and her head bent forward, she blew her hair dry and let the power of logic take over as she styled her hair then applied mascara and blush. After dressing in a mint-green flared-hem skirt and cream blouse, she finished the ensemble with a wide leopard-print belt.
She’d known Ty for what? Ten days? Only a mere blip in time and not worth a scintilla of anguish. And good riddance to him. Someday she’d find a man who would worship her the way Andrew worshipped Ellen, who was too dense to realize what she had. Baycrest had rehired Isabel—that was huge. She was back on track and hadn’t lost anything, just a stupid pipe dream about a man she had no business dreaming of in the first place. Oh, and her darling Victorian apartment. Well, she’d start the search for another one as soon as she found some free time.
Ellen was still asleep, so Isabel grabbed the leashes and a juicy peach from the white ceramic bowl in the kitchen and headed out with the dogs, already heartened at the progress she’d made with Queenie. The aroma coming from the coffee house on the corner beckoned, and now that she could afford it, she treated herself to a cappuccino, relishing every delicious sip. As she convinced herself to concentrate on the many things she had to be happy about, her cell rang.
She blinked down at the display. The readout indicated Ty was calling. At seven in the morning? Why was the cheater calling at all? After letting the call go to voicemail, she noticed there were four other missed calls, all from Ty last night. She’d muted her phone when she’d collapsed in bed after work. Now, without hesitating, her finger stabbed the delete button, and the messages vanished in the blink of an eye, every one of them unheard.
~~~
A sheepish Logan approached her in his BlackV Club shirt. Shoulders hunched and eyes cast down on the tightly-woven gray industrial carpet, he stopped short of her desk, foregoing his customary habit of leaning his hip against it.
In a mumble, he began. “Sorry about the other night, Isabel. I was way out of line.”
Isabel sighed. She didn’t need this, not this morning. On the other hand, since she’d taken up the ancestral sword, she might as well slay this particular dragon head-on.
“Look, Logan. You’re a friend and colleague, but that’s all. Our relationship is never going to be anything more than that. Since we’ll be working together at Soter.com, we need to be crystal clear about this.” She grabbed her cell to silence it. Ty calling. Again.
Logan nodded, and his gaze rose to the corner of her desk, but still not up to her. “I know. You’re right. The last thing I want is to wreck our friendship. I’m really sorry.” With those few words, he skulked back to his desk.
Isabel had just opened a file for a new project she was working on when Gloria whirled around the corner, her red hair appearing to be aflame. “There’s a call for you on the Baycrest line.”
It didn’t take a genius to figure out who had given up calling her cell and moved onto other measures. The man had some freaking nerve.
Clasping her hands on the edge of the desk in front of her, she peered at Gloria with all kinds of pleading in her eyes. “I hate to ask this, but would you mind taking a message. It’s someone I really don’t want to talk to.” She widened her eyes and cocked her head to one side, appealing to Gloria’s sense of sisterhood solidarity.
Thank God, her boss bought it. “I understand completely, Isabel. No problem.”
Certainly this would be the last time he attempted to contact her.
~*~
Logan Chou resented hotshot financial dick-heads like Ty Griffin. Why did those guys get all the glory just because they were in mergers and acquisitions? Big fucking deal. And why did they get the pick of all the best women?
He’d had designs on the hotter-than-hell Isabel Beachwood for almost a year. Not just sexual designs, either. Granted, he wanted to fuck her brains out—he could hardly think of anything else. But he’d visualized more than that for the two of them.
He’d watched her, even spied on her, to find out everything he could about this spectacularly sexy woman. He’d ridden his bike by her Victorian before she moved, and now he rode by the loft where she’d recently moved in the Mission District—always at night when he couldn’t be seen. He took his binoculars, praying to get a glimpse of her taking her clothes off. But she kept her fucking shades drawn, and he couldn’t see anything. He’d secretly taken pictures of her at work. She was so fucking beautiful. The mere scent of her made his cock as stiff as a
baseball bat.
He’d culled information by eavesdropping whenever possible. He’d overheard tidbits about her now living with a stepsister named Ellen. He’d also overheard her talking in a soft, intimate voice to Ty-fucking-Griffin. She never spoke to him that way.
And now that douche-bag Griffin had his hotshot money hooks in her. A flashy, big-ego guy wasn’t at all what she needed. Logan knew he was a much better fit for Isabel. And he’d be there for her when that jackoff inevitably moved on to the next hot babe.
So he bided his time, kept his eyes and ears open. Before long, opportunity dropped smack into his lap. Hours before the celebration for Isabel being rehired, he’d overheard Gloria Parnell’s conversation with Kevin Ward, the big shot’s assistant at Grandin. From the apprehensive tone in Gloria’s voice, he could tell something major was going on. By pretending to tie his sneaker outside her office door, he’d found out she was faxing Kevin personnel lists and replying to his email. After she’d hung up, he casually strolled by her office. At the open door, he noticed her elbows propped on the desk, her head cradled in her hands.
Somehow he had to get a peek at her computer. It would only take a few minutes for him to hack into her email. Something big was in the works, and he’d gotten the feeling it had to do with Isabel. No doubt that dickhead Griffin somehow had to be involved.
~*~
Isabel stayed late at work, catching up, proud of herself that she’d managed an emotional one-eighty since yesterday. On the bus ride back to the Mission, she welcomed the hunger pangs gnawing in her stomach. Her appetite had returned with a vengeance. Her thoughts flitted about like a hummingbird sipping from flower to flower, wondering what Ellen’s dinner plans were and trying to remember if there was anything promising in the refrigerator. Ellen was an accomplished cook, despite Valerie’s attempts to keep all her daughters out of the kitchen while they were growing up. Did she remember seeing some leftover spinach lasagna? That would taste scrumptious right about now.
As she strolled up 24th Street, a tentative smile inched across Isabel’s face. This was good. Early evening was her favorite time of day and she embraced it. The setting sun cast a raspberry-pink band to the west. She caught the pungent scent of seawater on the breeze. After-dinner folks with their dogs waved as they passed probably en route to the park or maybe on a short walk. She imagined the couples passing by were headed out for coffee or maybe for a drink. As she took comfort in these routine evening activities all around her, one thing she didn’t notice was the pearl-white Bentley parked across the street from the loft.
