Devotion - Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel (7 page)

“It was my pleasure.”  He bowed.  Isabel watched with disappointment as he disappeared through the fresh mix of couples that flowed onto the dance floor, and turned his attention towards a group of Chinese business investors who had just arrived.

Phillip gazed at her frown. “Don’t tell me you’re smitten with Watercross?”

Isabel glanced back at Phillip; she had been both foolish and careless.  The music bounced with an upbeat tempo, but Phillip did not lead her through the steps.  Instead, he guarded her in his arms as if he expected an answer.

“I’m always smitten with Eliot,” she casually tossed back.  “He dances the waltz like an expert—almost as well as you.”  She tried to nudge Phillip into the dance, but he resisted.

“I see…so you’re easily impressed.”

Isabel challenged his gaze. “Women like to be wooed, Phillip. It makes us feel like we’re
actually
women. Are you jealous?” She fully expected him to sneer at the suggestion.

Instead, his cool blue eyes stared at her with disarming conviction.  “I don’t want him recruiting away my most important business asset.” 

“He’d have to pay me double what you’re paying me,” she teased. “Plus, I like my bosses to be British and surly.  So I think you’re safe for now, Phillip.”

Isabel feigned a smile, urging him again to start his lead.  But he held her a moment longer than necessary.  Suddenly, she regretted the entire exchange.  She knew he depended on her on a daily basis, and the insinuation that she might leave his company or become romantically involved with one of his direct competition wasn’t something to joke about. 

Without warning, Phillip towed her against his chest, closer than he had ever embraced her before.  Maybe she imagined it or maybe he was simply more attached to her tonight because of her own behavior. 

“Never safe enough…” he whispered into her ear, betraying a hint of rare vulnerability.  Phillip’s unforgiving embrace rotated her body, allowing her to gaze across the casino at Symeon Colovos and Marlow Sheffield, who strode out of the elevators—together.

Phillip’s fiancée
, she noted.
How long had it been since Phillip last saw her
?  Isabel wasn’t certain.  Marlow looked stunning in her full-length evening gown and black opera gloves.  Phillip watched Marlow with his steady eyes.  Isabel watched Eliot move past the poker tables to greet them.  He bowed and embraced Marlow’s gloved hand with a flirtatious kiss.  Like a silent movie star, Marlow threw back her head with sudden animated laughter from her red painted lips.  She had always been the center of attention whenever she accompanied Phillip, and in that moment, she continued to be the center of attention because she commanded it.

The swing tune ended and the band shifted the tempo into the melancholy jazz ballad,
My Funny Valentine
.

“C’mon,” Isabel encouraged Phillip, attempting to draw his attention away from something over which neither of them had any control.  “This is one of my favorite songs, and you’re my favorite dance partner.” 

She confessed it with sincerity, hoping it would help him dismiss the distraction.  It worked.  Phillip relaxed his shoulders and drew her again against his chest.  His cheek, smooth and freshly shaved, brushed against her own.  She noted the familiar scent of his cologne—a European old-world fragrance with a hint of citrus.  Its familiarity made her settle into his arms as he led them across the ballroom floor.  She closed her eyes; the soft, brooding melody overwhelmed her senses.  She always loved dancing with Phillip.  She never had to think about anything other than where he wanted her body to flow, and it made her unconditionally trust him.  Publically in front of the office staff and his business colleagues, Phillip was always her stern demanding boss.  But on the dance floor, without anything between them except their mutual desire to unite their swaying movements, Phillip made her feel like his equal.  He led and she followed.  But together, they were always one.

“Hello, Phillip.”  The abrupt interruption of the female voice disrupted the harmony of the connection between them.  Isabel opened her eyes.  She saw Marlow, radiant in her lava red dress, in the arms of Phillip’s former ex-business partner, Symeon Colovos. 

“Marlow…” Phillip nodded.  Isabel felt his body stiffen as the conclusion of the song drew Marlow away from Symeon and closer to Phillip. 

Marlow did not acknowledge Isabel.  She never did. 

Snow White red
.  Isabel noted Marlow’s lush wet lips.  She recognized the lipstick color because she had been the one who had bought it for her when Isabel discovered that Phillip had forgotten Marlow’s birthday.  Isabel had scrambled during her lunch hour to find something suitable for him to present to Marlow over dinner.  She had chosen it because she knew Marlow could pull off the unblemished red like a fairytale princess.  But now, Isabel gazed at her lips—and the way Marlow was flaunting her new relationship with Symeon—and only saw the color of poison.

“Hello, Marlow…Symeon,” Isabel acknowledged Phillip’s ex-business partner.  It was the first time she had seen Symeon since his explosive departure from the firm.  He looked freshly tanned, back from a recent vacation to a tropical location, and his bald head reflected the lights from the stage like a Greek god.  But his dark black eyes settled on Phillip with aggression.  Uncharacteristically avoided the conflict, Phillip turned Isabel away from them.

“Running away already?” Symeon called after him, circling Marlow into his arms, flaunting his possession over her as the live band started up their lively introduction of a new dance number.  Isabel knew neither Marlow nor Symeon knew how to dance.  It was a deliberate attempt to position themselves in front of Phillip.

Phillip stopped and glared back at him. “I’m English.  I don’t dance the jive.”

Symeon snorted like it was the funniest admission in the world. “Then I should take this opportunity to let you know that we’ll soon be neighbors.  I’m buying the Amway building.”

“Yes, congratulation on successfully purchasing it through Zale’s reassignment of our deal to you,” Phillip said dryly. “Quite the masterful move of cunning and deceit.”

“Hard not to claim what’s rightfully mine, Spears.”

Phillip shifted his glance to Marlow. “You’ve always been one to take what you can get via any means possible.”

Marlow eyed the mounting tension between them, as if she enjoyed it.  She pulled away from Symeon and slid her long, feline figure between Isabel and Phillip.

“It looks like neither of you have figured out that this is a party, not a cock fight.  And we women
much
prefer parties.” 

Wrapping her ballerina arms around Phillip’s neck, she smoothed down the lapels of his suit and she asserted their former familiarity and intimacy. Then, she turned and flashed her fierce eyes at Isabel.  “Why don’t you go and get us all some drinks.”

It was a standard Marlow maneuver, reducing Isabel to the status of subservient employee whenever possible.

“I’d be happy to.”  Isabel forced a smile.  She had never enjoyed Marlow’s melodrama, and she wasn’t about to indulge in witnessing it now.

“No—” Phillip halted her. 

Marlow glanced at Isabel, then back at Phillip, who punished her with his callous glare.  She released a nervous laugh and outlined his angular cheek with her fingertip as a moment of understanding lingered between them, which even Symeon noticed was prolonged.

“Symeon, did you tell Phillip the good news?” Marlow pulled herself away from Phillip and reclaimed her status as Symeon’s possession. “Symeon is going to partner with Eliot Watercross on his next project.”

For a brief moment, Phillip’s eyes clouded with uncertainty.  It was obvious to Isabel that he hadn’t heard the news—which was rare for him.  He processed the new information with silent reserve, but deep down, Isabel wondered if he was considering all the ways a romantic relationship between Marlow and Symeon—much less a business partnership between Eliot Watercross and Symeon Colovos—made him vulnerable.

“Exactly what I expected,” Phillip finally said.  “Now, you’ll excuse us.”

He took Isabel by the hand and led her towards the elevators, initiating their premature exit.  Isabel glanced back at Marlow, watching how she draped her arms around Symeon’s neck and clung onto him like a buoy in the open sea.  What was it about her that made Isabel feel so inferior?  Was it her heiress background?  Her ability to assert Isabel’s proper place as somehow beneath her?  Or perhaps it was the constant reminder in her presence that no matter how deep Isabel believed her connection was with Phillip, it would never rival the fact that Marlow had once been his fiancée.  As they entered the elevator in silence, Isabel peered at Phillip and followed his distracted gaze, still fixed on Marlow and Symeon far across the casino.  Perhaps the answer was—she had just witnessed the reason why Phillip had invited her to accompany him to the gala, and she was unable to ignore how it made her feel like an outsider amongst them.

Chapter Three

The drive back to Isabel’s house was dark and silent.  Param cut through the moonless veil of midnight like a speeding demon.  Phillip kept his eyes fixed out the window—a conscious attempt to avoid conversation.  Isabel took his cue and reflected on the people and events of the evening.  She occasionally replayed her interaction with Eliot—flashes of his suggestive words and alluring glances.  But each time she returned to them in her thoughts, she quickly dispersed them from her mind. 
This is only the beginning
…

Tomorrow, she would throw away the flowers.  If they were from Eliot, there was no reason to keep them because she could no longer indulge in the fantasy of a romantic relationship between them.  The “beginning” of
any
sort of relationship that Eliot sought to initiate between them had to be swiftly and decisively ended before it even started.  She considered whether or not she had given him mixed signals.
She was sure she had…
But now, she reflected upon the fact that her sole priority was taking care of her family by maintaining her professional career, which meant maintaining her loyalty to Phillip.  Her emotional needs—and her needs as a woman—would simply have to be put on hold for a few more years.  It had been a wonderful night of dancing, conversation, and flirtation.  But Isabel swiftly had been reminded that she was invited to these galas as Phillip’s assistant to further his professional agenda, not to advance her own personal life by entertaining the flirtatious advances of her boss’ competitor.

She glanced over to Phillip, whose profile was shrouded in darkness.  His expression was stern and unflinching, like a marble statue of a Roman emperor.  But the accents of his wealth—his gold Rolex watch, his diamond cuff links, the shine of his polished Italian leather shoes—glinted every time they passed under the rolling lights of the street lamps.  His masculine black dress coat made him look like a man who feared nothing—other than the consequences of allowing others the privilege of coming too close to him. 

“You’re very quiet tonight, Isabel.  Have you regretted your decision to come with me tonight?”  His deep Oxford accent unexpectedly disrupted the thick atmosphere of silence. 

Isabel peered at him in surprise. “No, not at all.”

His eyes were obscured by shadows, but the tenderness in his voice betrayed he wasn’t consumed with thoughts about business; he was considering her sincerity.

“Of course, I wish sometimes I could spend more time with Aidan,” she confessed, smoothing down the folds of her dress along her legs. She felt his eyes, following her nervous preoccupation, and she raised her hand back into the slope of her lap.  “But I understand that you needed me there tonight, and I was happy to accompany you.”

He unexpectedly reached out and touched her hand—both a gesture of gratitude and affection.  “Thank you for coming.  It was above and beyond the call of duty, and I want you to know that I deeply appreciate it.”

Isabel felt herself flush.  Phillip rarely expressed affection, and she had long since grown used to his British reserve.  Even when they danced together, he led her with his expertise, not his touch—the delicate, flowing motions of master in synchronization with his muse.  Now, his hand barely lingered over hers before pulling away and Isabel suddenly realized that he was reaching out to her as a friend rather than a boss.

“Was it difficult for you to tonight?” she cautiously asked. “With Symeon and Marlow there—together?”

Phillip fully shifted his gaze towards her.  The deep shadows receded from the angles of his face and Isabel sensed the indecision within him—a rare moment of hesitation, as if he wanted to express something more to her, but refrained because he was uncertain about whether or not it was appropriate.

“I am not generally one who has many regrets,” he finally said. “But I cannot deny that recent events have persuaded me to evaluate the past choices in my life—choices that now seem conspicuously flawed and negligent.”

Isabel listened to Phillip’s bitter confession, searching out the deeper meaning beneath it.

“Are you concerned because you shared confidential details about the business with Marlow?”

Phillip winced, as if a hammer cracked through the sculpted lines of his frown.  “Good God, no.”  He snorted with amusement. “I quickly learned—early on—the only thing worthy of sharing with Marlow was my bed.  And even now, I realize my error behind that choice.” 

Isabel smiled.  She couldn’t help it.  Marlow was young, beautiful, and seductive.  But she was also rude, spoiled and capricious—completely different than Phillip in every way.  Isabel knew very little about Phillip’s childhood, but she did know that he had used his love of books and schooling to ascend the ranks of his class in England and attend Harvard Business School on scholarships; Marlow, on the other hand, was a privileged heiress who partied her way through college on Daddy’s dime, knowing she would never have to work an honest day in her life. 

Two years ago, Phillip met Marlow at a charity ball.  Isabel had always assumed Marlow had been the one who pursued Phillip because Phillip never seemed fully committed to her—or their relationship. Phillip’s abrupt announcement of their wedding engagement last year forced Isabel to admit to herself that she didn’t know her boss as well as she thought.  In fact, the only news that seemed more shocking than their sudden engagement was the news that Marlow had broken it off—just as suddenly—in order to pursue a relationship with Phillip’s ex-business partner, Symeon Colovos.

“And Symeon?”  Isabel pressed him. 

“No, Symeon Colovos wasn’t smart enough to attempt to understand the structure of the company or its financials.  You’re the only one, Isabel, who knows as much about the company as I do.”

Isabel stared at Phillip, attempting to comprehend his words.  Over the years, he had slowly entrusted her with access to all the financial documents of his investment properties as well as his firm’s balance sheet and his billionaire net worth.  But she was she was surprised to hear that she was the only one in the company—other than Phillip—who knew any of the confidential details.

“Phillip,” she said, choosing her words with precision and care.  “I want you to know that I take my job working for you very seriously.  I do not take your trust in me for granted, and regardless of anything I might have said or did tonight…” She stopped, suddenly pained by her own careless actions. “I want you to know that I am fully committed to you—always.”

Phillip looked at her, as if her words pierced through his armor of guarded emotions and lanced his most private thoughts and desires.  His eyes churned through sentiments that could not be expressed through words.

“Yes… thank you,” he acknowledged, his voice raspy with restraint before glancing away through his window as their car approached Isabel’s house.  His sudden silence told her that nothing more needed to be said, and the rare intimacy between them faded into the darkness. It had been a long, long night; now, it was time to leave everything behind them and part ways as usual.

“Good night, Phillip,” she said softly, lingering in the darkness before Param whisked open her door and towed her out by the hand.

She did not hear Phillip greet her goodbye in return.  Instead, she only heard the eerie creaking of her house, settling in its foundation as the wind rushed against its wooden siding and pushed her along the pathway up to her dimly lit porch.

“Isabel—”

Phillip’s commanding accent forced her to stop and turn back towards the Bentley.  He had called out to her through its lowered window.  She checked to see if she had left behind her purse. 
No, she had everything with her
.  She peered back at him with an uncertain pause.

“Be sure to spend tomorrow morning with Aidan.  We’ll manage at the office without you.  Your son, no doubt, needs time to show off his new helicopter to his mum.”

Without waiting for her response, the tinted window slowly rose, but not before Phillip’s blue eyes flashed at her with his trademark devilish charm.  Isabel smiled and nodded.  She unlocked the front door and pushed into the security of the foyer as the car peeled away from the curb and raced away into the distant night. 

Thank you, Phillip.  Thank you for everything
.

She navigated through her house with care, quietly bumping into a series of Aidan’s cars, trucks, and plastic jungle animals, lined along the foyer’s stairs like a barricade.

Aidan had been playing there, waiting up for her…

She saw her son’s dirty clothes, tossed haphazardly in a pile on the floor.  She lifted up the clothes and smelled Aidan’s familiar scent—a mixture of gravel dust, dirt, and boyish perspiration.  She smiled.  Everything about him was still so precious.

Ascending the staircase, she heard her mother’s nasal whistle filtering out of the master bedroom.  Isabel quietly closed her door and silenced her snoring.  She entered into her own bedroom. Kicking off her heels and peeling off the stockings from her legs, she undressed in the darkness 
God, how she hated pantyhose
.  She replaced her ivory dress with a pair of yoga pants and ragged T-shirt that made her feel like a teenager again.  She glanced over at the bouquet of roses, perched on her dresser, and admired their majestic silhouette.  She closed her eyes and inhaled. 
They made her bedroom smell like expensive perfume
.  Whoever sent them to her knew exactly what she liked and how much she would enjoy them.  Her gaze lingered on them, indulging in a final moment of fantasy before reaffirming her plan to throw them into the garbage the next morning.

She slipped out into the hallway and crept into her son’s bedroom.  Aidan stirred under the train pattern of his sheets.  She had bought a double bed for him, knowing that there would be many nights when he would ask her to sleep by his side, and she would be unable to refuse.  Now, on nights when she had been away from him the whole day and night, it was she who often sought to sleep by his side.  She peered down at him, admiring his sweet innocent face, and acknowledging to herself how little time she had spent with him over the course of the past two days.  She slipped next to him with a cuddle, vowing to him—and to herself—that tomorrow would be different.  His shallow breaths whispered against her cheek as her mind replayed a drifting collage of images from the day—the rush to the office, the sound of Gary’s brash voice, Tami’s animated expressions, Giselle’s naïve gaze, the soft shell pink color of the roses, Aidan’s joyful acceptance of his new helicopter, her mother’s disapproving glare, the flashing neon lights of the casino, Eliot Watercross’ tiger green eyes, Marlow’s Snow White red lips… but ultimately, it was the sway of being in Phillip’s confident arms and the melancholy echo of her favorite song that eventually put her fast to sleep.