Devotion - Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel (16 page)

There was a soft knock on the door.  She whisked towards it waiting for him to enter the suite. 

“Miss Alvarez?” the voice pushed through the locked door.

“Yes?” She started forward before halting with hesitation. The sound of his voice was polite and official, but unfamiliar.

“We’re docking now.  I’ve been instructed to accompany you ashore where a driver is waiting to escort you home.”

Chapter Ten

Isabel strolled through the office on Monday morning like a new woman.  It was a fresh crisp autumn morning and everything about her felt different.  Without knocking, she passed through Phillip’s executive office and strode across its gleaming hardwood floors. 

“Good morning,” she offered brightly, approaching the silver-toned blinds and filtering the golden morning rays through the expansive panoramic windows.  In his tailored Royal Oxford white shirt and glacial blue silk tie, Phillip sat at his glass desk like a man who had both endless amounts of money and time.  He stroked his chin and contemplated the positions of the miniature pieces along his marble chessboard.

“Lovely day,” she asserted with confidence.

“Yes, it is,” he replied, studying the chirper edge in her tone.  Isabel passed behind his desk in order to adjust the second set of blinds. 
Phillip, always shrouded in darkness
.  When she circled in front of his desk, she sensed his gaze tracking her—the same way his eyes always tracked her in the morning—silently anticipating the content of the conversation she intended to present to him. 

“You’ll be very pleased,” she said with a broad smile.  “I’ve got great news. I’ve already received thirty-five RSVPs to Saturday’s gala and more than half of them are city officials.”

Phillip crossed his hands and shifted his weight back into his swivel chair.  Isabel watched the light in his eyes changed from guarded grey to muted blue.

“Alderman Orsollini?”

“Confirmed.”

“Alderman Donovan?”

“Confirmed.”

“Fitzpatrick and Ginozi?”

“Yes and yes.”

Isabel sat down onto the leather sofa with an exhale—a long, deliberate sigh signaling victory.  Phillip smirked and toyed with his black rook, as if the heavy sound of her relaxation amused him.

“Well, of course I cannot say that I expected anything less from you,” he finally said, overtaking a white horse from his imaginary opponent.

“Of course not,” Isabel tossed back.

Phillip stroked his chin and watched her, watching him.  There was a casual air of comfort between them—a connection of trust and cooperation—and one that was notable because it had been absent in recent days; now, they both seemed to be indulging in its return.

“We’re going to get your permits, Phillip.  You’ll be able to start the redevelopment before the end of the month.”

“Let’s hope so,” he said, lowering his eyes and guarding his emotions.

“Coffee?”  Isabel asked.  It was a rare offer and they both knew it.

Phillip nodded.  “Please…”

Isabel turned and left his office with the same confident stride she had when she entered it.  She headed through the open hallway and greeted the other office staffers—Elisa, Marcy, Jenna, Grace—with enthusiasm before rounding the corner of the kitchen and bumping into Tami and her super-sized homemade iced latte.

“Good morning, and wow…tell me that’s not your second breakfast?” Isabel asked, watching Tami slurping down her creamy concoction through her straw. 

“Third,” Tami admitted, her voice saddled with Monday morning depression. “It’s the only way I’ve been able to function all weekend.  Jett has been on my ass non-stop since Phillip’s meeting on Saturday.  He even made me go to a hockey game with him on Saturday night, so he could dictate messages to every single one of his commercial broker buddies who hadn’t return his call from the morning.  After three straight hours of texting, I finally decided that I couldn’t be held responsible for making typos like ‘thongs’ instead of ‘things’.”

“Don’t worry…that probably made Jett’s texts sound more authentic.”

“Totally,” Tami emphasized with a noisy slurp.  “Jett will probably promote me to executive sexting assistant.  Anyway, how was your weekend?  I bet you had it even worse than me.  Phillip was literally calling Jett every hour to see if we had secured any viable tenant leads for him.”

But Isabel didn’t hear her question.  She was busy riffling through the cabinets for Phillip’s favorite mug while humming the theme song of one of Aidan’s favorite cartoons.

Tami narrowed her eyes at her—and her inappropriately misplaced chipper Monday morning attitude. “You little slattern whore.  You didn’t work all weekend like me.  You got laid.”

Isabel whirled towards her, horrified.  “Tami!”

“Don’t –Tami – me, Isabel.  I can recognize the afterglow of an awesome fuck when I see one, and you definitely are glowing like a freaking Christmas tree.”

Isabel stared at Tami, who crossed her arms and pitched her heels while staring back at her.  It was a stand-off. 

“It wasn’t sex…exactly,” Isabel finally conceded, turning away and pouring coffee into Phillip’s mug.  “It was more like…liberation.”

“I knew it!” Tami exclaimed like she had won a game show. “You whore, you frickin’ skanky whore…so it
is
true!”

Isabel rushed to the kitchen doorway and peeked out into the office; she lowered her voice, attempting to minimize Tami’s expectations.  “It’s not what you think.”

“So enlighten me!” Tami sucked down her iced latte with anticipation.

“It was more like…a forbidden affair.”

“An affair?  You mean he’s married?”

“God, I hope not,” Isabel sighed and placed the mug on the counter to collect her thoughts.  “No, I mean…I don’t know what it was exactly,” she finally confessed.

“What do you mean ‘you don’t know’?” Tami replied, adjusting her glasses.

“I mean… I don’t know because it was dark and we never really…we just sort of...”

“Snogged?” Tami offered, seeing Isabel struggle for the right terminology.

“More,” Isabel said, leading her like a charades partner.

“Lewinskied?”

“No, the opposite.”

“Tangoed in Paris?”

“Well, not exactly that
scandalous
, but sort it certainly felt that fabulously scandalous.”

“Holy hell-ooooo,” Tami exhaled, absorbing Isabel’s confession with a long incredulous slurp.  “Totally in the dark?”

Isabel nodded. “
And
on his yacht.”

Tami wavered like she might faint. “And you never even saw him?”

“No, not really… ” Isabel paused, her mind suddenly replaying the shadows and sensations of the night. “He was behind me the whole time.”

“That is ri-DUNK-ulous, Isabel.  You know that, right?”

“I know,” Isabel said, fidgeting with the sapphire ring on her finger—
his
gift to her.  “But somehow, it was exactly what felt right.”

“Damn straight!” Tami cried out, pawing at Isabel’s stunning new jewelry piece for a better look.  “Especially if he gave you that…holy mother fucker.”

Isabel fell silent.  There was nothing more about the night that she wanted to disparage or betray.  Tami tossed down Isabel’s hand in disbelief.  “Seriously, Isabel…someone is either out to marry you or out to totally ruin you.” Tami suddenly shifted her attention out into the office.  “Holy hell…”

“Hello, ladies!” Symeon Colovos hollered out with his Greek bravado.  “Did you miss me?”

Tami and Isabel watched as Phillip’s ex-business partner glided through the office corridor in his flaring trench coat and black pinstriped suit.  He carried an oversized black umbrella, slung over one shoulder, despite the fact that it was a sunny autumn morning.  With his shaved head and fierce Mediterranean features, Symeon looked like a Spartan warrior preparing for battle.  It was the same disruptive way he used to greet the office staff every morning when he worked there while carrying in pastries from the nearby Greek bakery.  But now, his grandiose enthusiasm was only met with awkward confusion.  All the girls stared at him in silence, as if they were replaying in their heads the day he left Spears & Associates and never returned.  It was a day that none of them would ever forget because it was the only day they had ever heard Phillip raise his voice beyond the walls of his executive suite to a threatening level of rage.

“Holy moly hell,” Tami repeated, shifting her gaze onto Symeon’s handsome companion strolling behind him with a Cheshire smile.  Isabel’s eyes settled upon him, too.
Silver grey vested suit.  Lavender shirt with white scalloped collar.  Midnight purple tie
.   With his playboy insouciance, tanned complexion and commanding stride, Eliot Watercross never failed to make an entrance without attracting everyone’s attention—especially of all the women in the room.  But in that moment, his tiger green eyes seized Isabel’s gaze, and conveyed it was her attention—and only her attention—that was the prize he aimed to claim.

Without warning, the men entered Phillip’s executive suite and closed the door behind them. 

“What the hell is that meeting about?” Tami turned to Isabel.

“I have no idea,” she replied, fumbling to check her phone and Phillip’s calendar for the day.  “It’s not on the calendar and they never cleared it with me.  They’ve come completely unannounced.” 

Isabel quickly whisked out of the kitchen.  She clenched Phillip’s coffee hot coffee mug, hoping the searing burn against her skin would calm her trembling hands as the implications of Eliot’s lingering stare weighed heavy on her heart.

Tami heeled behind her.  “I wonder if Jett knows about this?”

Suddenly, Phillip’s British accent filtered through the speaker on Isabel’s desk phone.

“I’d like you in this meeting, Isabel,” he said with stern expectation, then ended the call without waiting for her reply.

The girls all stared at Isabel who glanced at Tami.  Tami read her mind.

“Just try to keep them from mortally wounding each other until I can text Jett and see how fast he can get back here. Go—”

Isabel nodded, rushing to open Phillip’s office door before shutting it behind her. 

Phillip sitting at his desk.  Symeon circling the room.  Eliot perched on the arm of the sofa
.  Isabel noted the position of each man in the room as she strode across the office, overwhelmed by the heavy sensation of masculine glares on every part of her body.

“Good morning, Bella,” Eliot was the first to greet her.

Phillip shot him a glare. It was a deliberate use of Isabel’s nickname in front of Phillip, and she knew it was only the beginning of trouble for her. 

Symeon twirled his folded umbrella over his shoulder and eyed Isabel as she handed off the coffee mug to Phillip. “Well, well, well…how things have changed.  I’ve only been gone for four weeks, and already Phillip has trained you to bring him his morning coffee.”

“I would have brought
all
of you
coffee,” Isabel replied, “if you had bothered to contact me about scheduling a meeting with Phillip rather than showing up unexpectedly.”

“I’m Greek, Isabel,” Symeon countered with a snarl.  “I do everything unexpectedly.”

“Which is exactly what we’ve come to expect from you, Symeon,” Isabel sassed back, sitting down in front of Phillip’s glass desk. She chose her position strategically—turning her back on Eliot Watercross while maintaining direct eye contact with Phillip.  And yet, she could feel Eliot’s searing eyes, watching her.

Isabel glanced up at Phillip. 
They were both watching her.
 

She smoothed down her skirt and straightened herself in her seat.  Phillip’s expression hardened as he addressed the room without vigor.

“You have arrived unannounced, but not without a purpose.”

“To discuss business, of course,” Symeon said with glib enthusiasm.

“Of course,” Phillip repeated.

“We’ve heard you’re moving forward on redevelopment of The Old Main Post Office,” Symeon prodded.

“And I’ve heard that you have already confirmed your attendance at our opening gala this Saturday.”  Phillip lifted his voice, signaling he was addressing Eliot Watercross rather than Symeon.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Eliot confirmed, rising from the edge of the sofa’s armrest, as if he intended to assert his physical dominance.  Eliot Watercross was tall, taller than most men, but it was the way he carried his rugged physique under his trendy modern suits and fashionable silk ties that made him seem bold and brash beyond comparison. “Especially since half the real estate investors in Chicago are likely to be there.”

“Unlikely. Capital has already been raised,” Phillip replied. “It’s simply a matter of gaining the city’s approval.”

“Really?  No investors?”  Eliot pressed the point.

“No investors.” Phillip peered at him with conviction.  “I’m funding it myself.”

“Ahhh, that’s right, Eliot...” Symeon circled the room like a ringmaster announcing the next attraction. “We’re forgetting that Spears is selling The Peoria to Harvey Zale—at a
discount
.”

Isabel watched Symeon relish the genius of his own slight against Phillip, but she heard Eliot’s steady voice dismiss it.

“Whisper number is three hundred million dollars,” Eliot noted, his brow arching with skepticism. “Discount or not, that’s a lot of cash, even for you, Spears.”