Chatsfield's Ultimate Acquisition (The Chatsfield: New York Book 1)

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  No, it would be business as usual with him come tomorrow. She could predict what he would do. He would have a plan in place once he’d had time to think things through.

  But this time she would be better prepared.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SPENCER SPENT A wretched night watching the clock go round as he wrestled with every demon that possessed him: the commitment fears that plagued him, the claustrophobic sense of his life being controlled by others, of not being worthy, of not having all the facts on the table. Of not being in control.

  He thought about the baby. What would little Olive be like if she’d survived? Would she have looked like Isabelle or him or a combination of both? What sort of father would he have made? Would he have been ready for fatherhood in the way Isabelle had been ready for motherhood?

  The doubts fluttered like moths at the edges of his conscience. What would he have done if she had told him straight up? That was the thought that plagued him the most. Unsettled him to the point where he shied away from thinking about it like a horse does at a difficult jump. He could actually feel the physicality of it—a jerking, pulling-away sensation in his stomach every time he tried to picture the scenario of Isabelle facing him with the news of her pregnancy.

  Spencer stood outside her suite the next morning with a breakfast hamper he’d sourced from catering. Why was it taking her so long to answer the door? He knocked again, straining his ears for the sound of her footsteps. Had last night upset her so much she wasn’t able to face him this morning? Should he have stayed to comfort her? God, why hadn’t he stayed?

  Because you would have lost the two per cent.

  It was confronting to face his competitive streak head-on. He didn’t want to be the type of person who would put business before someone he cared about. But he had worked so hard for this takeover. Years and years of putting in long hours, living a life out of a suitcase instead of settling in one place because he had something to prove. Not just to his family, but also to himself. Maybe only to himself.

  The door opened and Isabelle’s cool expression felt like a gust of cold air over his heart. ‘I’ve changed my mind about breakfast,’ she said.

  ‘Can we talk?’

  She pressed her lips together for a moment. ‘If you insist.’

  ‘I do.’

  She stepped back from the door with a ‘whatever’ shrug of one slim silk-clad shoulder.

  Spencer put the hamper on the nearest surface before he came to stand in front of her. He searched her features but she was keeping her emotions under tight control, although there was an unnerving hardness to her whisky-brown gaze as it met his. ‘How did you sleep?’ he asked to break the ringing silence.

  ‘Fine. You?’

  He scraped a hand through his still-damp hair. ‘Terribly.’

  She didn’t respond other than to stand with her arms folded, her gaze still centred on his.

  He let out a long breath. ‘I can’t undo what’s happened, Isabelle. No one can. But I can try and make it up to you now.’

  ‘How?’

  It was only one word and yet it felt like a sucker punch to his guts. How indeed? ‘We can start again,’ he said. ‘We’re good together. Better than good. I should’ve realised that ten years ago. But maybe I did and that’s why I pulled away...if that makes sense.’

  Her chin came up to a combative height. ‘Would you have offered to marry me if I’d told you about the baby?’

  ‘If that’s what you’d wanted.’

  She gave a harsh-sounding laugh. ‘And how long do you think that would’ve lasted? We’re totally unsuitable.’

  ‘I disagree.’

  She rolled her eyes and turned away. ‘You were twenty-four years old. You would never have settled down to the responsibility of marriage. You’re not ready even now. The most you’ll commit to is a week or two fling.’

  Spencer stepped up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘We can start again. We can get married and have another baby.’

  Her top lip curled and her eyes flashed with fire. ‘You insensitive jerk.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  She pulled out of his hold, rubbing at her arms as if his touch had tainted her. ‘You don’t want to marry me. That’s just your guilt proposing.’

  ‘I want us to be together,’ he said. ‘I don’t care if it’s through marriage or whatever but I want us to be a couple.’

  She threw him a contemptuous glance. ‘You want my hotel. Not me.’

  Spencer took her by the hands, shocked at how cold and stiff and unyielding they were—like two blocks of ice. ‘Listen to me, Isabelle. I want you. Not because of the hotel. I couldn’t give a stuff about the hotel. I want you.’

  Her chin lifted. ‘Prove it.’

  He frowned. ‘What else can I say to convince you?’

  Her eyes challenged his. ‘Give me the two per cent.’

  His hands tightened on hers before he released her. ‘I can’t do that. Not that.’

  Anything but that.

  How could she ask it of him? Or was that the whole point? She wanted to win and was using blackmail to do it. He would have to give up the one thing he had worked so hard for. The one thing he needed to prove to his family he was a success in his own right. The one thing he needed to prove to himself he finally belonged.

  He couldn’t do it.

  Her expression was as cold as marble. ‘Then I think it’s time you left. Our fling is over. I have nothing more to say to you.’

  ‘Is this really how you want to end this?’

  ‘It’s your choice.’

  ‘Damn it, you’re asking the impossible.’

  She gave him a flinty look. ‘What’s impossible is you thinking you can control me. I know how your mind works. You thought you could win me over with a few insincere endearments, a few flashy gifts and hot sex. But guess what? You failed. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you.’

  Spencer clenched his jaw so hard he felt his molars grind together. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  She lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. ‘Go on deluding yourself. It’s no skin off my nose.’

  ‘We made a baby together, Isabelle. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’

  Her eyes pulsed with bitterness. ‘Don’t you dare bring her into this.’

  He let out a gusty breath, his emotions so messed up he could barely think. He was angry with Isabelle for locking him out, furious and frustrated, and yet a part of him felt so guilty about what she’d gone through alone he wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let her go.

  His feelings for her had always confused him. Love was something he avoided feeling. But to hear her say she didn’t even like him made him feel...empty. She had slept with him and yet not given anything of herself other than her body.

  Just like you have done for years with every lover.

  Spencer backed away from the thought. It was too confronting. Too shaming to acknowledge the shallowness of his life up until now. He needed more time to think. Less than twenty-four hours ago he’d thought all he had to contend with was Isabelle’s anger about that stupid bet and the takeover. The new knowledge of his almost-fatherhood was too raw. He needed more time to process the cauldron of emotions that was burning a cavernous hole in his chest. ‘I’ll talk to you later today, over dinner or something. We both need time to think about where we go from here.’

  Her arms were folded across her body in her classic keep-away-from-me pose. ‘I’ve already decided.’

  A sinkhole hollowed his insides at her implacable look. But he refused to show her how much her stand-off was hurting him. ‘Fine. Have it your way.’ He scooped up his jacket where he’d left it on the back of the sofa near Atticus. The cat blinked up at him through sli
tted eyes as if to say, You’re leaving already? Spencer stopped to give him a quick pat. ‘You deserve much better than this, buddy.’

  Isabelle sent him a venomous glare. ‘He was perfectly happy until you showed up.’

  Spencer arched a brow as his hand wrapped around the doorknob. ‘Was he?’

  * * *

  Isabelle stormed into her office five minutes later. ‘Cancel all of my appointments,’ she said to Laura. ‘I’m heading out of town for a few days.’

  Laura swivelled on her chair to face her. ‘Do you want me to book Atticus into a cattery?’

  ‘No. I’m taking him with me.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  Isabelle wondered if it was wise to tell her secretary in case Spencer tried to milk her for details. But if anything went wrong while she was away it was important for Laura to be able to contact her. ‘I’m going to a cottage in the Hamptons. I found it online last night. It’s pet friendly.’

  ‘I think it’s about time you took a break from things,’ Laura said. ‘You haven’t had a holiday in ages. Is Mr Chatsfield going with you?’

  Isabelle glared at her. ‘What on earth gives you the impression I would go away with him?’

  Laura shifted her lips from side to side. ‘Pardon me, but I thought you two were getting along famously.’

  Isabelle gave a scoffing laugh. ‘As if. I hate him more than I thought it possible to hate anyone.’

  ‘Always a good sign.’

  She frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Laura looked up from her typing. ‘It’s a two-sided coin. Hate and love. All it takes is a simple flip and there you have it—one or the other.’

  Isabelle pressed her lips together. ‘Don’t call me unless it’s an emergency.’

  ‘How long will you be away?’

  ‘A week,’ she said. ‘I don’t trust Spencer to refurbish the place in my absence. I can just imagine what he would do. Probably install a brothel or something.’

  Laura sat back in her chair. ‘Is running away the right way to handle him?’

  Isabelle bristled. ‘I’m not running away.’

  Laura gave her a speaking look.

  She let out a long sigh. ‘Okay, so I’m running away, but he confuses me. I don’t know how to handle him.’

  ‘Men are like that. They don’t come with a user manual, more’s the pity.’

  Isabelle slammed the drawer on her desk. ‘Do you know what he did?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘He asked me to marry him. Can you believe that? The hide of him.’ She stomped across the room to snatch her phone charger out of the power outlet. ‘I wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man on earth.’ The power cord refused to budge so she had to give it an almighty tug that nearly pulled out the whole power point. ‘Or in the universe.’

  Laura’s lips twitched. ‘No, of course you wouldn’t.’

  ‘And I’m not going to his stupid ball,’ Isabelle ranted. ‘I don’t care how much money he raises for charity. I’m not going to have my nose publicly rubbed in the fact he’s taken my hotel off me.’

  ‘No, of course you don’t.’

  Isabelle stopped pacing to look at her secretary. A bubble of emotion came up from deep inside her and she had to swallow to keep it contained. ‘The thing is...ten years ago I would’ve given anything to hear him say those words.’

  Isabelle blinked back the stinging tears. ‘Do you know what I hate the most about him?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  Her bottom lip quivered so much she had to bite down on it before she could speak. ‘He’s so...so much of what I dreamed of as a young girl as a future husband. Someone who was strong and ambitious and yet caring and gentle when he needed to be.’

  ‘Very good reasons for hating him.’ Laura nodded sagely.

  Isabelle turned for the door. ‘If he asks where I am don’t tell him.’

  ‘Under any circumstances?’

  Isabelle thought about it for a beat. ‘If he wants to give me the two per cent shares back, then yes. Tell him where I am.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THREE DAYS LATER Spencer looked out of the window of his office at The Harrington. The weather was dismal which perfectly matched his mood. The hotel was just another hotel without Isabelle’s presence. It was still stylish and functioned at a high level but the atmosphere was different.

  Like your life.

  This time he didn’t shy away from the thought. He drew it in close and examined it. Put it under the microscope of his conscience. His life was enviable to a lot of people. He had money, he had friends and family, he had a career he loved, and yet something was missing.

  Isabelle.

  The one woman who had shown him what he was capable of being: a friend, a lover, a protector, a mentor.

  A father.

  He was used to the word now. He embraced it. He held it close to his heart. He wanted to tell people about his little daughter. He wanted the world to know he loved her even though he had never met her and would never do so.

  Why had he walked out on Isabelle again? Hadn’t he learned anything in the past decade? She always pushed him away when she was hurt.

  He had hurt her.

  He was continuing to hurt her the longer he held majority share of the hotel. The only way he could prove his feelings for her was to give them back. It would cause all sorts of dramas with his family, but right now he didn’t care.

  If things had been different he and Isabelle could have had their own family by now. His chest squeezed like a clamp was around his heart every time he thought of that ultrasound image of his little baby girl.

  How had it taken him so long to realise he loved Isabelle? Wasn’t the fact he’d broken all his dating rules with her ten years ago the biggest clue of all? He had seen something in her that spoke to him on a level no one else had ever reached. She understood him—his drive, his ambition and his need for control—because she had the same qualities. She had sacrificed so much for the sake of the hotel and he had swanned in and taken it as if it was a trophy at a competition.

  Life wasn’t a competition.

  It was a delicate balance of meeting other people’s needs and having your own needs met. He hadn’t had his needs fully met until he met Isabelle. He loved that she was strong enough to stand her ground with him. She fought from her corner with the passion and drive that was an elemental part of her personality.

  He loved her far too much to lose her a second time. His family might scoff at his sentimentality but this was one time when he was glad he wasn’t truly a Chatsfield.

  He was his own man.

  And when a man had to do what a man had to do, he simply got on with it.

  * * *

  Isabelle walked down to the jetty late in the afternoon just as she had done for the past three days. The sun was shining but there was a cool breeze coming in off the water. The small island she was staying on had a series of privately owned cottages. Hers was the smallest but it had the nicest view. Atticus loved the suntrap of the little garden out the back. Every morning he sauntered out, stretched his back, gave a wide yawn and then curled into a ball on top of a lemon-scented geranium and slept for the entire day.

  She envied him. She hadn’t slept a wink the whole time she’d been on the island because all she could think about was how much she wished Spencer were here with her.

  Yes, even though she hated him.

  At least she felt alive when he was around her. He made her want more out of life than living in a suite in a hotel. He made her want more than a casual date now and again. He made her want to be kissed and bought gorgeous gifts and flowers and called by loving endearments, and he made her want to be held all night long so she felt treasured and pr
otected and safe.

  Damn him for making her want those things. Those things she had spent the past decade teaching herself not to want. He had no right to storm back into her life and stir up all those emotions she’d locked away. She couldn’t get them back under control. It was like trying to refold a paper map. It was darn near impossible.

  The sound of a boat skimming along the water in the bay brought her head up. Isabelle held her hand up to shade her eyes from the afternoon slant of the sun. It was a flash-looking speedboat with red and white and black stripes along the sides and a powerful outboard engine that gave a throaty roar as it turned for the jetty.

  A shiver ran over her body as she watched the tall dark-haired man behind the wheel expertly dock the boat and tie it to the jetty. He jumped from the boat to the jetty and came towards her carrying a huge bunch of flowers that looked a little worse for wear after their trip across the wind-whipped water, what looked like a large box of chocolates and a tiny velvet jeweller’s box.

  Isabelle swallowed a tight lump in her throat. Was she dreaming? Had she somehow conjured up this exact scenario? She didn’t allow herself to get too ahead of herself. She kept her emotions in check, her voice cool and her posture collected. ‘I hope you’re not going to kiss me, because if you do that’s every single rule bro—mmm...’

  The rest of her sentence was smothered by Spencer’s mouth as it came down on hers. She wound her arms around his neck and gave herself up to his kiss, swept away by the desperation of it, the heat and potency and promise of it.

  The flowers flopped to the wooden jetty, the chocolates were squashed between their bodies and the jeweller’s case was gripped tightly in Spencer’s hand as he held Isabelle to him.

  He lifted his mouth off hers to look down at her. ‘I love you. I don’t care if you don’t love me back but I just had to tell you. I don’t care about the shares. You can have as many as you want. Just say you’ll give me a chance to make it up to you for all the hurt I’ve caused. Give me a chance, darling. Please?’

  Isabelle blinked back tears. ‘I can’t believe you came. I wasn’t game enough to hope. I’ve been so used to being unhappy I expect to be disappointed. It’s easier that way, you know?’