One Month with the Magnate (5 page)

She had this look, like she wanted to say something snotty or sarcastic, but she restrained herself. “I'll try to keep the noise down.”

“See that you do. And I hope you're planning to clean the kitchen. It's a mess.”

He could tell she was exasperated but struggling to suppress it. “It's on my list.”

He wondered what it would take to make her explode. How far he would have to push. In all the time they were together, he'd never once seen her lose her temper. Whenever they came close to having a disagreement she would just…shut down. He'd always wondered what it would be like to get her good and riled up.

It was an intriguing idea, but tonight he just didn't have the energy.

He turned to leave and she said, “Emilio?”

He looked back.

“I'm really sorry about dinner.”

This was his chance to twist the knife, to put her in her place, but she looked so damned humble he didn't have the heart. She really was trying, holding up her end of the bargain. And he…well, hell, he was obviously going soft or something. He'd lost his killer instinct.

“Maybe tomorrow you could try something a little less complicated,” he said.

“I will.”

As he walked away the vacuum switched back on.
Despite a few screwups, her first day had been less of a disaster than he'd anticipated.

Emilio settled at his desk and booted his computer, and after a few minutes the vacuum went silent. About forty-five minutes later he heard her banging around in the kitchen. That continued for a good hour, then there was silence.

At eleven he shut down his computer, turned off the lights in his office and walked to the kitchen. It was back to its previous, clean state, and his travel cup was washed and sitting beside the coffeemaker. He dumped what was left of his drink down the drain, set his glass in the sink and was about to head upstairs when he noticed she'd left the laundry room light on. He walked back to switch it off and saw that Isabelle's door was open a crack and the desk lamp was on.

Maybe he should remind her to set her alarm, so he didn't have to get breakfast in the coffee shop at work again tomorrow.

He knocked lightly on her door. When she didn't answer, he eased it open. Isabelle was lying face down, spread-eagle on her bed, still dressed in her uniform, sound asleep. She hadn't even taken off her shoes. She must have dropped down and gone out like a light. At least this time she'd made it to the bed. And on the bright side, she seemed in no condition to be smothering him in his sleep.

The hem of her uniform had pulled up, giving him a nice view of the backs of her thighs. They were smooth and creamy and he couldn't help but imagine how it would feel to touch her. To lay a hand on her thigh and slide it upward, under her dress.

The sudden flash of heat in his blood, the intense pull of arousal in his groin, caught him off guard.

Despite all that had happened, he still desired her.
Maybe his body remembered what his brain had struggled to suppress. How good they had been together.

Though they had never made love, they had touched each other intimately, given each other pleasure. Isabelle hadn't done much more than kiss a boy before they began dating. She had been the most inexperienced eighteen-year-old he'd ever met, but eager to learn, and more than willing to experiment, so long as they didn't go all the way. He had respected her decision to wait until marriage to make love and admired her principles, so he hadn't pushed. Besides, it hadn't stopped them from finding other ways to satisfy their sexual urges.

One thing he never understood though was why she had been so shy about letting him see her body. Despite what he had told her yesterday, he'd never believed it had anything to do with vanity. Quite the opposite. For reasons he'd never been able to understand, she'd had a dismally low opinion of herself.

After she left him, he began to wonder if it had all been an act to manipulate him. Maybe she hadn't been so innocent after all. To this day he wasn't sure, and he would probably never know the truth. He was long past caring either way.

He shut off the light and stepped out of her room, closing the door behind him. The lack of sleep was catching up to him. He was exhausted. What he needed was a good night's rest.

Everything would be clearer in the morning.

I
sabelle hated lying. Especially to her mother, but in this case she didn't have much choice. There was no way she could admit the truth.

They sat at the small kitchen table in her mother's apartment, having tea. Isabelle had been avoiding her calls for three days now, since she moved into Emilio's house, but in her mother's last message her voice had been laced with concern.

“I went by the motel but they told me you checked out. Where are you, Isabelle?”

Isabelle had no choice but to stop by her mother's apartment on her way home from the grocery store Thursday morning. Besides, she'd picked up a few things for her.

“So, your new job is a live-in position?” her mother asked.

“Room and board,” Isabelle told her. “And she lets me use her car for running errands.”

“What a perfect position for you.” She rubbed Isabelle's arm affectionately. “You've always loved helping people.”

“She still gets around well for her age, but her memory isn't great. Her kids are afraid she'll leave the stove on and burn the house down. Plus she can't drive anymore. She needs me to take her to doctor appointments.”

“Well, I think it's wonderful that you're moving on with your life. I know the last few months have been difficult for you.”

“They haven't been easy for you, either.” And all because of Isabelle's stupidity. Not that her mother ever blamed her. She'd been duped by Lenny, too, and held him one hundred percent responsible.

“It's really not so bad. I've made a few new friends in the building and I like my job at the boutique.”

Though her mother would never admit it, it had to be humiliating selling designer fashions to women she used to socialize with. But considering she had never worked a day in her life, not to mention the indictment, she had been lucky to find a job at all. Even if her salary was barely enough to get by on. It pained Isabelle that her mother had to leave the luxury of her condo to live in this dumpy little apartment. She'd endured so much pain and heartache in her life, she deserved better than this.

“This woman you work for…what did you say her name is?” her mother asked.

She hadn't. That was one part of the lie she'd forgotten about. “Mrs. Smith,” she said, cringing at her lack of originality. “Mary Smith.”

Why hadn't she gone with something really unique, like Jane Doe?

“Where does Mrs. Smith live?”

“Not too far from our old house.”

Her brow crinkled. “Hmm, the name isn't familiar. I thought I knew everyone in that area.”

“She's a very nice woman. I think you would like her.”

“I'd like to meet her. Maybe I'll come by for a visit.”

Crap. Wouldn't she be shocked to learn that Mrs. Smith was actually Mr. Suarez.

“I'll talk to her children and see if it's okay,” Isabelle told her. She would just have to stall for the next month.

“Have you been keeping up with the news about Western Oil?” her mother asked, and Isabelle's heart stalled. Did she suspect something? Why would she bring Emilio up out of the blue like that?

“Not really,” she lied. “I don't watch television.”

“They showed a clip of Emilio and his partners at a press conference on the news the other day. He looks good. He's obviously done well for himself.”

“I guess he has.”

“Maybe you should…talk to him.”

“Why?”

“I thought that maybe he would talk to his brother on your behalf.”

“He wouldn't. And it wouldn't matter if he did. I'm going to prison. Nothing is going to stop that now.”

“You don't know that.”

“Yes, I do.”

She shook her head. “Lenny would never let that happen. He may have been a thief, but he loved you.”

“Lenny is dead.” Even if he had intended to absolve her of guilt, he couldn't do it from the grave. It was too late.

“Something will come up. Some new evidence. Everything will be okay.”

She looked so sad. Isabelle wished she could tell her
mother the truth, so at least she wouldn't have to worry about her own freedom. But she'd promised Emilio.

Isabelle glanced at her watch. “I really have to get back to work.”

“Of course. Thank you for the groceries. You didn't have to do that.”

“My living expenses are practically nonexistent now, and as you said, I like helping people.”

She walked Isabelle to the door.

“That's a nice car,” she said, gesturing to the black Saab parked in the lot.

It was, and it stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the vehicles beside it. “I'll drop by again as soon as I can.”

Her mother hugged her hard and said, “I'm very proud of you, sweetheart.”

The weight of Isabelle's guilt was suffocating. But she hugged her back and said, “Thanks, Mom.”

Her mother waved as she drove away, and Isabelle felt a deep sense of sadness. Hardly a week passed when they didn't speak on the phone, or drop by for visits. They were all the other had anymore. What would her mother do when Isabelle went to prison? She would be all alone. And she was fooling herself if she really believed Isabelle could avoid prison. It was inevitable. Even if Emilio wanted to help her—which he obviously didn't—there was nothing he could do. According to her lawyer, the evidence against her was overwhelming.

Isabelle couldn't worry herself with that right now. If she did the dread and the fear would overwhelm her. She had a household to run. Which was going more smoothly than she had anticipated. Her latest attempts in the kitchen must not have been too awful, either, because Emilio hadn't accused her of trying to poison him since Monday,
though he'd found fault with practically everything else she did.

Okay, maybe not
everything.
But when it came to his home, he was a perfectionist. Everything had its place, and God help her if she moved something, or put it away in the wrong spot. Yesterday she'd set the milk on the refrigerator shelf instead of the door and he'd blown a gasket. And yeah, a couple of times she had moved things deliberately, just for the satisfaction of annoying him. He did make it awfully easy.

Other than a few minor snafus, the housekeeping itself was getting much easier. She had settled into a routine, and some of her chores were taking half the time they had when she started. Yesterday she'd even had time to sit down with a cup of tea, put her feet up and read the paper for twenty minutes.

In fact, it was becoming almost
too
easy. And she couldn't help but wonder if the other shoe was about to drop.

 

Emilio stood by the window in Adam's office, listening to his colleagues discuss the accident at the refinery. OSHA had released its official report and Western Oil was being cited for negligence. According to the investigation, the explosion was triggered by a faulty gauge. Which everyone in the room knew was impossible.

That section had just come back online after several days of mandatory safety checks and equipment upgrades. It had been inspected and reinspected. It wasn't negligence, or an accident. Someone
wanted
that equipment to fail.

The question was why?

“This is ridiculous,” Jordan said, slapping the report down on Adam's desk. “Those are good men. They would never let something like this happen.”

“Someone is responsible,” Nathan said from his seat opposite Adam's desk, which earned him a sharp look from his brother.

Somber, Adam said, “I know you trust and respect every man there, Jordan, but I think we have to come to terms with the fact that it was sabotage.”

Thankfully the explosion had occurred while that section was in maintenance mode, and less than half the men who usually worked that shift were on the line. Only a dozen were hurt. But one injured man was too many as far as Emilio was concerned. Between lawsuits and OSHA fines, financially they would take a hit. Even worse was the mark on their good name. Until now they'd had a flawless safety record. Cassandra Benson, Western Oil's public relations director, had been working feverishly to put a positive spin on the situation. But their direct competitor, Birch Energy, owned by Walter Birch, had already taken advantage of the situation. Within days of the incident they released a flood of television ads, and though they didn't directly target Western Oil, the implication was clear— Birch was safe and valued their employees. Western Oil was a death trap.

Western Oil was firing back with ads boasting their innovative techniques and new alternative, environmentally friendly practices.

“I don't suppose you'll tell me how the investigation is going,” Jordan said.

Adam and Nathan exchanged a look. When they agreed to launch a private investigation, it was decided that Jordan wouldn't be involved. As Chief Operations Officer he was the one closest to the workers in the refinery. They trusted him, so he needed a certain degree of deniability. A fact Jordan was clearly not happy about.

They had promised to keep him in the loop, but
privately Adam had confided in Emilio that he worried Jordan wouldn't be impartial. That he might ignore key evidence out of loyalty to the workers.

Jordan would be downright furious to know that two of the new men hired to take the place of injured workers were in reality undercover investigators. But the real thorn in Jordan's side was that Nathan was placed in charge of the investigation. That, on top of the competition for the CEO position, had thrust their occasional sibling rivalry into overdrive. Which didn't bode well for either of them. And though Emilio considered both men his friends, there had been tension since Adam announced his intention to retire.

“All I can say is that it's going slowly,” Nathan told Jordan. “How is morale?”

“Tom Butler, my foreman, says the men are nervous. They know the line was thoroughly checked before the accident. Rumor is someone in the refinery is to blame for the explosion. They're not sure who to trust.”

“A little suspicion could work to our advantage,” Nathan said. “If the men are paying attention to one another, another act of sabotage won't be so easy.”

Jordan glared at his older sibling. “Yeah, genius. Or the men will be so busy watching their coworkers they won't be paying attention to their own duties and it could cause an accident. A real one this time.”

Emilio stifled a smile. Normally Jordan was the most even-tempered of the four, but this situation was turning him into a bona fide hothead.

“Does anyone have anything
constructive
to add?” Adam asked, looking over at Emilio.

“Yeah, Emilio,” Jordan said. “You've been awfully quiet. What's your take on this?”

Emilio turned from the window. “You feel betrayed,
Jordan. I get that. But we
will
get to the bottom of this. It's just going to take some time.”

After several more minutes of heated debate between Nathan and Jordan that ultimately got them nowhere, Adam ended the meeting and Emilio headed out for the day. He let himself in the house at six-thirty, expecting to find Izzie in the kitchen making what he hoped would be an edible meal. She'd taken his advice to heart and was trying out simpler recipes. The last two nights, dinner hadn't been gourmet by any stretch of the imagination. To call it appetizing had been an even wider stretch, but he'd choked it down.

Tonight he found two pots boiling over on the stove—one with spaghetti sauce and the other noodles—and a cutting board with partially chopped vegetables on the counter. Izzie was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she didn't grasp the concept that food could not cook itself. It required supervision.

Grumbling to himself, he jerked the burner knobs into the Off position, noting the sauce splattered all over the stove. Shedding his suit jacket, he checked her room and the laundry room, but she wasn't there, either. Then he heard a sound from upstairs and headed up.

As soon as he reached the top and saw that his bedroom door was open, his hackles rose. She knew damned well his room was off-limits.

He charged toward the door, just as she emerged. Her eyes flew open wide when she saw him. He started to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing, when he noticed the blood-soaked paper towel she was holding on her left hand.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to invade your privacy. I was looking for a first-aid kit. I thought it might be in your bathroom.”

“What happened?”

“I slipped with the knife. It's not a big deal. I just need a bandage.”

A cut that bled enough to soak through a paper towel would require more than a bandage. He reached for her hand. “Let me see.”

She pulled out of his reach. “I told you, it's not a big deal. It's a small cut.”

“Then it won't hurt to let me look at it.” Before she could move away again, he grabbed her arm.

He lifted away the paper towels and blood oozed from a wound in the fleshy part between the second and third knuckle of her index finger. He wiped it away to get a better look. The cut may have been small, but it was deep.

So much for a relaxing night at home. He sighed and said, “Get your jacket. I'll drive you to the E.R.”

She jerked her hand free. “No! I just need a bandage.”

“A bandage is not going to stop the bleeding. You need stitches.”

“I'll butterfly it.”

“Even if that did work, you still should see a doctor. You could get an infection.”

She shook her head. “I'll wash it out and use antibiotic ointment. It'll be fine.”

He didn't get why she was making such a big deal about this. “This is ridiculous. I'm taking you to the hospital.”

“
No,
you're not.”

“Izzie, for God sakes, you need to see a doctor.”

“I can't.”

“Why?”