Devotion - Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel (12 page)

She turned back and glanced at the clock.  He had set the alarm for her, early enough for her to return to her house, perhaps even before her mother and Aidan awoke and discovered that she was gone.  Her clothes and coat, including the lingerie he had bought for her, had been slung carefully across the back of the white leather sofa chair.  Her shoes and purse were arranged in front of its ottoman.  Then, she noticed something else on the decorative nightstand—something red and familiar, something that made her drift towards it as the bed sheet trailed behind her like a bridal gown’s train.  Isabel lifted up the red leatherette box and brushed her thumb over its signature gold embossed trim—
Cartier,
she thought
before glancing down at the white calling card and taking in the confident cursive inscription:

Alone—but not abandoned
. 
My devotion is now boundless
. 
See you tonight. Monroe Harbor.  Ten o’clock
. 

Isabel lifted the bed sheet to her nose, searching out a reminder of his masculine scent. 
His devotion.
  She could still feel the persisting burn of his invading touch between her legs and the indelible memory of her rushing climax at his hands.  It had been a night of unrestrained carnal passion—one that neither of them could truly claim they had shared as a couple—and yet, it had been one of the most intimate experiences of Isabel’s life, despite the fact that she didn’t even know with whom she had experienced it. 
His devotion
.  Yes, she had felt it, his unwavering commitment to please her—unconditionally.  Without allowing her to know who or why, her admirer had succeeded in making Isabel
feel
his desire to satisfy her with every flick of his tongue and every stroke of his fingers.  And yet, it wasn’t just about the sex; it was about his promise of fulfillment—a fulfillment he had only just begun to offer her.

Isabel gazed down at the classic red Cartier gift box, its two doors sealed by a fitted button.  She unsnapped the button and flipped open the doors like a miniature treasure chest.  Two diamond and sapphire studded earrings sparkled back at her.

Complements to her necklace
, she thought as she touched her neckline. Her diamond and sapphire necklace was the only thing he hadn’t removed from her body last night, and she noted how quickly she had grown used to the conspicuous weight of its extravagance. 
Like a queen
.  For one night, he had worshipped her like a queen, and now, it was as if he wanted her to know that she had deserved every bit of it.  She unclasped them from the white velvet palette and brushed back the sheer curtains of the bay windows to view her reflection.  Isabel rarely wore earrings.  She was always rushing to get out the door in the morning, so stopping to change out a fresh pair of chandelier or tear-drop earrings was something she hardly had time to do.  Studded earrings, on the other hand, could more easily be worn day after day.  And his gift to her—Cartier diamond sapphire gemstone studded earrings—were breathtakingly worthy of being worn day after day. 

Isabel fastened the earrings within her ear lobes and gazed at her own ghosted reflection like she was staring at an unfamiliar image of a mythical high priestess, cloaked in white and adorned in jewels.  Something had changed within her and she sensed it…something serene and divine.  She had been granted the permission to release the most authentic core of her being—her sexuality—in a safe and fulfilling way.  And she had been rewarded for it. 

She lowered the gift box in her hands and heard something hard and metallic shifting within it.  She glanced down and tilted it in her palm.  Again, she heard the subtle click of metal against the box’s edge. 
Could there possibly be more?
  She carefully pried up the white velvet earring palette.  There, beneath it, was a silver-toned key, waiting to be discovered like an alluring secret.  She slipped out the key and guarded it in her palm.  It was flat and smooth, and yet, Isabel knew from her real estate experience that it wasn’t a door key.  It was too small to fit most building entrances or interior doors.  And yet, the strangely ordinary shape of the key puzzled her
. 
She rotated its smooth side towards the window; it glinted like a precious artifact with the rising rays of the sun.  She caught sight of an engraving across its tiny handle and squinted hard to make out its letters—
TRUST
.

Isabel closed her eyes and pierced the sharpest part of the key into her heart until its penetrating sting confirmed it wasn’t all just a mythical dream.  What he had planned for her tonight, Isabel wasn’t certain.  But she was certain of one thing—he had secured her trust, and now, she was committed to finding out what he intended to do with it.

Chapter Seven

When Isabel returned back to her home, it was almost seven thirty.  Aidan was already awake, watching cartoons, and waiting for her.  It was a relief.  The idea of having to sneak back into her own house seemed ridiculous in the clarity of daylight.  She was an adult woman who had the right to spend the entire night—one private, blissful night—away from her family, away from her role as dutiful mother and daughter without apology or explanation.

But now, the sound of her son’s gleeful cheer filled her with warmth; she was home.

“Mommy!”

Aidan shuttled around the living room corner and attacked his mother’s legs with a bear hug.  She lifted him into her arms and plopped them both down into the sofa.

“Mommy, I missed you this morning.”

“I missed you, too,” she said, kissing his forehead and smoothing down his matted hair. 

“Nica and I looked for you in your bed, but you weren’t there.”

Isabel sensed her mother sliding quietly into the living room behind them and her disapproving frown settling upon her.

“Well, that’s because I was out…” Isabel consoled him with another kiss, “getting these…!”

Isabel suddenly lifted up the bag of donuts like an unexpected prize.  Aidan squealed and slapped his own cheeks. “Chocolate-glaze?”

“
And
powdered,” Isabel added.

“Powdered, too!” Aidan flopped off the couch like he had just heard the most joyous news ever.

“C’mon—”  She rose from the couch and encouraged him to follow her.  “Let’s go to the kitchen, get some milk, and see if we can stack all the donuts higher than last time.”

“Last time was a pretty high donut tower, Mommy.  Like a hundred feet high.”

“Really, a hundred feet high?” Isabel said with exaggerated thought.  “Hmmmm, well…maybe this time, we can make it
two
hundred feet high.”

Aidan slapped his face again.  “
Two
hundred feet!  That’s like…infinity plus one DONUTS!” he belted out uncontrollably before catapulting himself through the swinging kitchen door.  Isabel started to follow him but stopped when she was met her mother’s stern glare.

“No dormiste en tu cama anoche?”

Veronica Alvarez always succeeded in making Isabel feel like she was a disrespectful teenager again, especially when she interrogated Isabel in her native tongue.  Isabel brushed past her mother and intentionally avoided removing her coat.  Clearly, it was no secret that Isabel had spent the night somewhere else.  Early this morning, Mrs. Alvarez likely had discovered Isabel’s note.  Now, Mrs. Alvarez scanned Isabel’s pantyhose and high heels and confirmed her own suspicions. 

Isabel responded with silence, peering at her mother with the same challenging gaze that she had perfected as a rebellious teenager.  The difference was—this time—Isabel was not a teenager; she was a mature, professional woman who could come and go as she pleased without answering to anyone.

“Aidan is waiting for me in the kitchen,” she replied in English, attempting to disengage from her mother’s judgmental glare. “Please don’t ruin our morning, Mother.”

Mrs. Alvarez shifted her weight onto her good leg and held her hands in front of her stocky torso like she was preparing to say a prayer to save her daughter’s soul.

“I am leaving for the morning to have my hair done,” she announced in English. “I hope you will finally have a chance to spend time with your son.”

“Mommy!” Aidan cried from the kitchen. “DOOOOONUTS!” he demanded.

Their eyes locked before Mrs. Alvarez relented by turning away and silently traveling up the staircase. With calm restraint, Isabel watched her mother as she disappeared into the master bedroom, but the sting of the comment flushed her cheeks with anger.  It had been true: Isabel already had spent two evenings that week away from home—working.  But not last night; last night was different.  Last night had been an impromptu indulgence for her—and solely for her.  And allowing herself the rare, selfish pleasure of indulging in what she had experienced last night was something she knew her mother would never—
could never
—possibly condone or understand.

“Mommy!”

Isabel swung through the kitchen doors and tried to shake off her resentment.  It melted away when she saw Aidan, settled on the smooth linoleum floor, transporting powdered donuts on the bed of his tow truck.

“Are they broken?” she teased, pulling out an unopened carton of milk from the refrigerator.

“No, but they need to go get fixed at the car shop.”

“Really, why?”

“To get dusted up with more sugar.”  He smiled, knowing his mother’s next response.

“Well, I’m pretty certain they have plenty of sugar.  C’mon and drink some milk.”

She poured two glasses and set out plates for them.

“Mommy, can I have a chocolate one and a powdered one?”

“Maybe,” Isabel said, placing a chocolate-glazed donut in front of him.  “Eat one first and finish your milk.  Then we’ll have to see…”

“No, Mommy, I
need
to eat both,” he pleaded with a high-pitched insistence that boys only maintain while they were sweet and young.  “Otherwise I won’t be able to know how to fix them.”

Isabel eyed him. “I’m pretty sure they’ll be fine without more sugar.”

“Well…we’ll have to see,” he repeated her phrase and shrugged, as if he believed everything that his mommy said simply meant that she loved him.

Suddenly, Isabel heard her phone ping with a text from the pocket of her trench coat.  She pulled out her phone and read it with confusion.

Emergency meeting this morning at the office
. 
Mandatory attendance required
.

It was from Phillip, but Phillip rarely sent her texts nor had he ever called an “emergency meeting” at the office on a Saturday morning.  Sure, there had been urgent business issues that came up over the weekend, and Phillip often expected her to assist him over the weekend.  But they were never issues that required face-time in the office, and certainly never anything that couldn’t be discussed over the phone or reviewed and discussed through ongoing emails.  She glanced at the clock.  It was barely 8:00AM.  She stared at the text and hesitated.  She didn’t want to flat out text back that she had no intention of coming to the office
now
, much less later this morning, so she considered her words carefully.

With Aidan now.  Mother away.  Perhaps calling in is better?

Isabel hit send and waited.  She never used Aidan as a scapegoat for work. In the five years that she had worked for Phillip, Isabel had only missed one meeting to take her son to the ER when Aidan believed he was superman and slammed his own finger in the door jamb—just to prove it.  Every other sick-day, evening work night, dinner party, weekend gala, Isabel had always relied on her mother to watch Aidan.  And Phillip knew it.  She listened to her mother’s heavy footsteps creaking along the wooden floorboards above them. 
No, this morning; it would be impossible
.  This morning, there was absolutely no way she could ask her mother to take care of Aidan, and there was no way that Isabel could bear the disappointment in Aidan’s eyes if she told him she had to leave him—again.

Ping…

Isabel glanced down at Phillip’s response: 
Meeting at 9am.  Bring him
.

Isabel laughed aloud—the way people inappropriately laugh at funerals—before covering her mouth to collect her thoughts.  She glanced over at her son, his face and fingers smeared with chocolate-donut glaze.

“Mommy, can I have another one?” he asked earnestly, as if it was the most natural request in the world. 

Sure, Phillip…bring my four-year-old son on a sugar high to your emergency business meeting.
  Isabel exhaled and dropped her phone onto the table as she watched Aidan sneaking a second and third donut into his greedy hands.  Clearly, Phillip had barely spent any time with children.

Chapter Eight

“Mommy, can I press the button?”

Aidan squeezed his mother’s hand, as if he was hoping beyond all hope that his mother would say yes.

She looked down at him.  She had warned him that he would need to be on his best behavior.  It was their first trip to Mommy’s office in over a year and Isabel had prepared an entire tote bag of Aidan’s toys, coloring books and sticker collection—just to keep him entertained.  But she failed to consider how visiting Mommy’s office was going to be more interesting than anything in her tote bag, and the glee in his eye as they boarded the elevator was reminder enough that a four-year-old boy could be entertained with the simplest of things.

“Go ahead.” She nudged him forward. “Number sixty-five…can you reach it?”

Aidan stepped forward and pointed at the button marked ‘thirty-five’. “This one?”

“No…” Isabel guided his finger several rows higher.  “Here.”

“Whoa, up there?”  He lifted himself on his tippy-toes and pressed the proper button and watched as the elevator doors closed on command.

“Up, up, up…” she sang, raising his hand as the cab shuttled upwards with the sound of Aidan’s gasp.

“Cool,” he exhaled, overwhelmed.

The simplest of things
.  Isabel smiled down on her son with a moment of nostalgia.  Aidan’s first time coming to the office was also Isabel’s first time when she arrived for her interview with Phillip while she was six months pregnant—far enough along that it was impossible to hide it, and yet, still early enough to think that she would be able to do everything the same way she had done before. 
Naïve and inexperienced
, she thought to herself, squeezing her son’s hand as he dutifully watched the floor chimes rolling upwards in succession.
How different she felt five years later with five years of experiencing under her belt and a professional salary that had never left her—or her son—wanting for anything, except perhaps…more time together.

Phillip
.  He had taken a chance on her.  He had been the sole reason why she had survived that first year of hardship after being abandoned by Aidan’s father.  When no one else would hire her, Phillip offered her a position as the office copy clerk position, including a healthy salary and full-benefits, simply for making copies all day long. 
Copy clerk
, she smirked, realizing now that she had been first and only copy clerk ever hired.  But like everything with Phillip, it was a game—a challenge to see how she would navigate such a mundane, unglamorous position—a test through which he expected her to persevere or fail. 
One of many, many, many tests
, she thought, looking down at her son and anticipating their arrival as the elevator cab slowed to a halt.

Ping…

“Mommy, we’re here!” Aidan enthusiastically led the charge out of the elevator cab.

Isabel followed her son through the lobby to its glass doors, swiping her access card and punching in the security code into the keypad.  Whenever she entered the office after-hours, Isabel always experienced a rush of exclusivity, like it was a private space that only she was permitted to use whenever she wanted.  But she slowed her pace when she heard the voices.  She had expected Phillip to be waiting for her, but only him.  Instead, as she rounded the corner and peered into Phillip’s office, she traded glances with Jett, casually dressed in an athletic shirt and running pants.  He swiveled in his chair like an impatient school boy and seized his eyes on her.

“The duchess is here,” he announced, rotating gleefully in his chair. 

Isabel halted and glanced over to Jett. 
Duchess
, she repeated in her mind.  She suddenly thought she recognized the hint of a New England accent in his voice.  He had, after all, gone to Harvard Business School with Phillip. She scanned the executive suite.  To her surprise, everyone was already there, waiting for her—Jett, Tami, Norton, and Phillip; they all silently held her gaze to acknowledge her arrival. 

“Good morning, everyone,” she said, but her mind replayed Jett’s greeting. 
Duchess…
No, it was impossible
…
not Jett
.  She shivered off the thought, then shifted her glare at him, as if she expected it to all be her imagination.  His Cheshire smile beamed at her while his strong jaw chewed on his gum like he was savoring her discomfort.  “You’re looking dashing as always, Bella.”

Jett stood from his seat and offered to move her trench coat. 

“No, thank you,” she declined, quickly remembering she hadn’t had time to change her dress and shoes from last night.  She felt Phillip’s cool eyes, watching her as she quickly ushered Aidan to the opposite side of the office.  Her stomached churned as her mind raced through the implications of last night. 

“And who is this little guy?” Jett asked with a sharp snap of his gum.

Aidan frowned and moved behind his mother.

“Oh, leave him alone, Jett.  You’ll scare him with your bad breath,” Tami snarked.

“Impossible.  Fresh stick of gum,” he countered with pride, stringing the wad out of his mouth—just to prove it. 

Tami rolled her eyes and looked over at Isabel. 
Please God, help us both…
she conveyed with her feisty glare made more severe than ever by her rushed black eyeliner.

“Phillip,” Isabel’s gaze petitioned him, “I understand that this is an urgent meeting, but I’m concerned that my time is somewhat limited—”  She glanced down at Aidan, who was clinging to her hand, betraying his sudden shyness.

“Mommy, can we go now?”

Phillip’s eyes did not meet her own.  Instead, he gazed at the boy. “Aidan, come here, please… I have something I’d like to show you.”  He made no attempt to soften his stern English accent or smile at the child who clearly didn’t want to leave his mother’s side.

Isabel glared at Phillip, certain there was no way he was going to persuade Aidan to come to him, especially when he sat behind his glass executive desk, looking like an unforgiving school master in his white business shirt with French cuffs and classic navy blue silk tie. 

Phillip’s eyes tested Aidan’s resolve. “Come here, please,” he repeated.

The room fell silent, watching the stand-off.  Then, as if by a magical spell, Aidan slowly unhinged himself from his mother’s leg and crossed over to the opposite side of the room.

“Do you like games?”

He nodded, his eyes flashing with delight.

“Good.  Then, here…take this.” Phillip handed off his gold-plated phone. “Look here…you will have to match each alien to its proper flying saucer.”

Aidan grinned, swiping its screen and immediately understanding the game’s objective.  He turned and beamed up at his mother, but Isabel hesitated with concern.

“Phillip, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” she said, eying his expensive phone in the unpredictable hands of her four-year-old son.

Phillip dismissed her and watched Aidan settling himself into the sofa, completely consumed by the device. “You and I both know I hate that phone.  And if it he keeps him content, then we shall simply be grateful to Giselle for showing me a few new tricks on it this morning.”

“Giselle?” Isabel repeated her name without hiding the surprise in her voice.  Phillip peered at Isabel with his steady blue eyes.

“Good morning, everyone.” The cheery voice rang out behind Isabel.  She turned and tracked Giselle as she brightly bounced into the office, carrying Phillip’s favorite coffee mug and passing it off to him.

“Thank you, love.”  He nodded, accepting the mug with appreciation.

Isabel glared at Phillip. 
Thank you, love
.  It was one of his British colloquialism, something he had occasionally said to her, but only in rare, private moments when he desired to acknowledge his esteem for her—and all her hard work—after a long day.  She always silently accepting it, as if it was nothing more than an unguarded expression of his professional affection.  But in that moment, Isabel heard the words with envy.  She shifted her gaze to Giselle, dressed in her standard tight pencil shirt and flowery low-cut blouse, just like it was any other normal business day.  But it wasn’t any other normal business day.  It was only nine o’clock in the morning on a Saturday and Isabel knew that Giselle had stayed late the night before.  Isabel surveyed Phillip’s perfectly pressed shirt again and noted his strong, freshly shaved jawline that gleaned in the morning light.  Both he and Giselle were impeccably dressed, well-rested, and even united, as if something else—something deeper last night—had suddenly happened between them.

“Shall we get this meeting underway, Phillip,” Norton called out with the authority of his seniority.

“Yes, of course.” Phillip nodded, then he peered at Isabel.  “With your permission, Giselle will take Aidan into the conference room to keep watch over him.” 

But before Isabel could response, Giselle greeted Aidan with the warmth and familiarity of a regular babysitter. “Hey there, Aidan.  My name is Giselle, but my friends call me Gigi.  Wanna come with me?  I’m gonna go check to see if there’s any hot chocolate in the kitchen.”

“With marshmallows?” Aidan asked.

Giselle laughed. “Of course!  You can’t make hot chocolate without marshmallows.”

Aidan cradled Phillip’s phone in his hands and looked at Isabel for reassurance. “Can I bring this, Mommy?”

“Yes,” she reluctantly said, watching her son slipping his hand into Giselle’s before she closed the office door and disappeared with Aidan.

“Now, we may commence,” Phillip announced. “As you all know, we have decided to move forward with plans for the redevelopment of The Old Main Post Office; however, we still require the building permits from City Hall before we can break ground.”  Phillip shifted his attention to Jett. “And it has now come to our attention that we will have increased competition.”

Jett stepped in, taking his cue from Phillip. “My broker buddies have told me they’ve heard that Eliot Watercross and Symeon Colovos are forming a joint business venture to actively petition City Hall to grant them a permit for a site development along the Chicago River.”

“What kind of a site development?” Isabel asked. 

“A riverboat casino,” Jett snapped his gum, his cocky smile daring her to test him again. 

“A casino boat on the Chicago River would attract more tourism for the city while circumventing the state’s ban on gambling developments within city limits—on land,” Phillip added.  “But on water, there’s always been that possibility.”

“But Phillip,” Norton challenged him with his low, sonorous voice, “City Hall has always rejected proposals for riverboat casinos in the past.  How is this any different?”

“Because this is Eliot Watercross,” Phillip replied. “And instead of simply proposing a cruise ship or even a luxury yacht, he is proposing a permanent Las Vegas-style resort with three five-star restaurants, a luxury heated swimming pool, international upscale retailers, and a mineral spa.

“Using water from the good ol’ Chicago River?” Tami teased.

“Nope.  Imported from the melting snow caps of the Artic,” Jett corrected her—dead serious.  “And I’m hearing that the entire structure will be designed in the shape of a floating iceberg.”

“This all must be some kind of a joke,” Isabel said, incredulous.

Phillip shot her a glare; the severe glint in his eye expressed that he didn’t appreciate the insinuation.   Her eyes challenged him.  She didn’t appreciate being forced to come to the office on a Saturday morning to hear about Eliot Watercross’ floating iceberg.

“They aim to make it a top tourist destination in Chicago,” Phillip clarified with bite. “And they aim to station it along the riverfront at 400 South Wacker.” He held her glare, ensuring that she fully understood the full severity of the situation.

“Directly in front of The Old Main Post Office,” Tami exclaimed.  “What total son-of-a-bitch assholes.”

“If Watercross and Colovos secure their permit before we do,” Phillip warned, “then it’s unlikely we’ll ever be able to gain development approval for restoration of The Old Main Post Office.”

“So what does this all mean, Phillip?” Norton called out like the ghost in the room.

“It means we no longer have the luxury of time because we are now in direct competition with my ex-business partner,” Phillip stated gravely.  “Jett, I will need you and Tami to begin due diligence on securing potential tenants interested in leasing space within the remodeled Old Main Post Office.  Use the current CAD drawings of the proposed renovation to help sell the space.  We need a well-known name.”

“Like a luxury hotel chain, or an upscale spa and salon, or a luxury European retailer,” Jett rolled through the options like he was reading Phillip’s mind.  “Preferably elite and trendy, right?” he clarified for Tami, who was furiously jotting down notes.

Phillip nodded.  “Anything to bolster our own case for attracting tourists.”

“You got it, Chief,” Jett confirmed, standing from his chair and flicking his rubber band across the office, landing it directly into Phillip’s trash can.  He glanced over at Isabel and winked.

“Isabel,” Phillip said, securing her attention. “We must plan our gala as soon as possible.  Next weekend—”