Devotion - Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel

DEVOTION

A Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel

By Aria Hawthorne

Copyright © 2015 by Aria Hawthorne

Kindle edition

ISBN: 978-0-9890858-7-8

Published by French Kiss Press LLC

Website:
frenchkisspress.com

Twitter:
@frenchkisspress

Facebook:
facebook.com/AuthorAriaHawthorne

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
:

Please be sure to check out my other full-length erotic romance novel,
PRICELESS
. 

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All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. 

Copyediting services provided by
Jennifer López/Here to There Transcripts

Chapter One

“Okay, who put the flowers on the wrong desk?”

Isabel announced the question into the air, fully expecting to hear an immediate answer, but no one responded.  She had arrived late to the office while everyone was already in the full swing of their work morning and no one looked up to acknowledge her question. She gazed at the gorgeous bouquet of three dozen long-stemmed, blush pink roses, freshly cut and perfectly arranged.

Pink—her favorite color
.  Then, the brief whisper of romantic hope faded from her imagination.
Giselle
, she thought with an impatient sigh, searching for the card. 
Clearly, they were for Giselle
.  All the men—bike messengers, delivery men, business colleagues—who came to the office were smitten with her, and why shouldn’t they be?  Giselle was tall, thin, blonde, and beautiful, a spritely eager woman of twenty who liked to wear tight Victoria’s Secret skirts and fuchsia bras that showed through her low-cut ivory silk blouses. 

“Go-o-o-o-od m-o-o-orning, hot stuff,” Tami sang out while striding up to Isabel with an iced Frappuccino in hand. “You’re late and incredibly desired by your British boss in the War Room.”

“The War Room?  Already?” Isabel sighed, mentally rolling through Phillip’s morning schedule from memory.  “But it’s not even nine o’clock yet.”

“Yeah, must be something B-I-G and extremely hush-hush.  Phillip told me to stay out and send you in when you arrived.  Jett’s already in there as well as Phillip’s hotter-than-hell lawyer.  What’s his name again?”

“Gary.”

“See, you’ve noticed, too.  How can you go to dinner with him all the time and not end up being his dessert?”

“Because I don’t want to lose my job,” Isabel replied, removing her coat and smoothing down her cashmere sweater and black skirt.  She had spent the whole night caring for her son who was sick with a fever, and barely had a chance this morning to consider her clothing options, much less grab a shower or even style her hair.  Just lots of perfume and a French twist with a hair barrette.  She definitely felt like she was one notch above struggling single mom, but a dozen notches below powerful executive assistant.  She knew her black hose had a run along her ankle, and Aidan’s virus was already making her congested.  And now, she was needed in the “War Room”.

“So what’s the deal with the flowers?” Tami suddenly asked.

“They’re certainly not for me,” Isabel replied with disinterest, picking through her scattered desk for her pen and notepad. “Did you ask Giselle?  I’m sure they’re for her.”

“You mean… Giselle?”  Tami pretended to flip back her imaginary long hair over her shoulders and smacked her gum with an overextended cheerleader smile.

Isabel eyed her. “Tami… let’s try to be nice.  Giselle is helpful—on occasion.”

“Only when she’s bent over at the copy machine, entertaining Jett with her backside so I can steal a few minutes to post a status update on my Facebook account.  So are they from Giselle’s boyfriend, or just from somebody she bangs on the side?”

Isabel frowned. “Come on, now… don’t be so mean.”

“Mean?  Of course I will be mean.  That’s what I’m here for…” Tami adjusted her librarian glasses.  “I’m the office’s honorary sexless spinster secretary.
You’re
the senior executive assistant peacekeeper.  Phillip pays you more than anyone to take care of everyone, including our clueless interns.  The only things Jett pays me to take care of are his phone calls, emails, and dirty laundry.  And trust me, Isabel, half my salary is just to stomach Jett’s dirty laundry.”  Tami shivered and slurped to the bottom of her Frappuccino.

Isabel spotted a white envelope buried deeply within the thorny stems of the rose bouquet.  She carefully reached out to retrieve it from its plastic card holder stake.  “Tami, can you at least tell Giselle to pick up her flowers from my desk while I’m in Phillip’s office?”

Isabel glanced down, expecting to see Giselle’s name addressed on the envelope, but instead, she felt a shot through her heart when she read her own name:
Ms. Isabel Alvarez
.

“I’m fairly certain she’s in the bathroom, applying more neon blue mascara.”

But Isabel barely heard Tami. A hush passed through her chest as she gazed at the blush pink roses, absorbing the surreal fact that they were actually meant for her.  All thirty-six of them.  She reached out to touch one of their velvet petals.
But from who?

Isabel glanced around the office—as if she thought she might receive some inspiration.  But it was just the girls—the regular office assistants seated at their desks, lost in their own insular worlds of typing out emails, fielding phone calls, sipping their coffee and pecking at their phones, engaged in their personal social media
du jour
while
they still had the chance. 

Isabel retrieved the card from its envelope and scanned the inscription:

This is only the beginning…

Crisp white card stock with commanding masculine cursive, confident with a flair of artistry.  Isabel studied the enigmatic message, disarmed by the thought of what it could possibly mean.

“I have an idea,” Tami offered. “Why don’t we just lie and say they’re for me?”

“Never mind,” Isabel lowered her voice and stuffed the card back into its envelope.  “They’re for me.”

Tami sneered at her through her glasses.  “Bi-a-tch.  Don’t steal my idea…” She swiped the envelope away from Isabel, and then returned it when she saw her name typed across it. “Wow, you’re serious.  They are for you.  From who?” 

Isabel protectively cradled the card in her palm and feigned indifference. “Just a ‘thank you’ from a client.”

Tami whistled.  “That’s some ‘thank you’.  What did you do?  Help convince Phillip to give the guy a million dollars?” 

“A million dollars wouldn’t even pay for light fixtures in most of these development deals,” Isabel replied, feeling her hands tremble as an unnatural flutter rose up from her voice
.
  “And usually, it’s the other way around.  They’re trying to impress Phillip and me with their wealth so they can invest in one of Phillip’s real estate deals.”

“Like how?  Telling you all about their yachts and gold-plated urinals?”

Isabel paused, considering last night’s business dinner.  She had dined with Phillip and one of his business suitors, Stu Lofton, who wanted Phillip to partner with him on a mixed residential and commercial development deal on the Northside.  Isabel had received gifts from Phillip’s business colleagues in the past, but never luscious long-stemmed roses and never with an unsigned card.  And if there was one truism that Isabel had learned from her five years of working for Spears & Associates, it was that wealthy businessmen never did anything without receiving credit for it.

“Last night’s dinner was all about Stu’s adventures in Africa, hunting big game animals.”

Tami rolled her eyes like she was being stabbed.  “Gag me.”  Tami was a vegan, after all. “I never thought I’d say this—but thank God I work for Jett rather than Phillip.” Tami glanced back at Phillip’s office door and eyed Isabel’s boss, swiveling back and forth in his seat, looking displeased with life and everyone around him. “Especially when Phillip has his stern frown permanently etched on his face.”

Isabel glanced into his office, and rushed to gather her belongings.  “It’s harder than you think, Tami…being in Phillip’s position.”  She tried to sound diplomatic. 

“Harder work for
you
.  You’re the one being forced to schmooze with African safari killers and dealing with four surly men in the War Room.”

“It’s just part of my job.” Isabel shrugged. “Especially the surly part.”

Both women giggled before Isabel noticed Tami’s concerned gaze and followed it through Phillip’s office door, ajar with a direct view of Isabel’s desk.  Phillip’s marble blue eyes seized upon them.  Isabel acknowledged his gaze with a subtle nod; she knew it well.  It seared into her heart with its stark reprimand, summoning her into his office—immediately. 

“I’ll be in Jett’s office, if you need me later,” Tami said before darting away. “You know…to detox from testosterone overload.”

“Thank you,” Isabel mouthed in appreciation, whisking up the card and envelope from her desk and hiding it snugly into her skirt pocket.  She didn’t want anyone in the office to discover the card, and assume she had somehow been inappropriate with one of Phillip’s colleagues.  Plus, keeping it physically close was a way to extend the sensation of excitement, tingling throughout her body.  It was, after all, an enchanting surprise—the idea that someone, someone who knew her well enough to know her favorite color, was courting her with flowers, and perhaps, courting her for reasons not related to business at all. 

Isabel entered Phillip’s spacious executive corner office and shut the door behind her.  The morning light cascaded through the high rise windows and bathed her boss in its beautiful beams of gold.  Phillip looked immaculate in his favorite Valentino suits—sharkskin grey with an iceberg blue shirt and tie that complemented his winter complexion and glacial blue eyes. 
He always looked immaculate in the morning
. 
Showered and freshly shaved
,
which meant he had already been to the gym
.
Fencing
…
good.
  Isabel knew Phillip was always in a better mood whenever he had the chance to attack an opponent with a sword before arriving at the office. 

“There’s no way to get out of it now…It’s already in motion, and you can’t change horses in the middle of a race, Phil,” Gary said.

Isabel waited to see if Phillip’s eyes lifted up to meet her own, but he did not look up.  Instead, he looked grim, concentrating on whatever bad news Gary was doling out to him.  Everyone’s attention was squarely focused on Gary, Phillip’s lawyer, who was circling the office like he was holding court.  Jett, Phillip’s commercial broker, sat in front of Phillip’s desk, and Norton Harrington, Phillip’s actuary, leisurely reclined across the full length of the black leather mid-century sofa. 

“Well, thank you, Bella, for joining the party,” Gary announced.  His eyes tracked her as she crossed in front of him.  Isabel dismissed his flirtatious use of her nickname, trying not to notice how handsome he looked in his tan suit and silky buttermilk tie. 
Confident and commanding.
  No one enjoyed being the center of attention more than Gary.

“If I have to repeat myself one more time, I’m going to slit my own throat,” he quipped.  “Would you please convince your boss that breach of contract is
not
the way out here, and I’ll happily take you out to dinner tonight to the only six-star restaurant in Chicago.  Best chocolate lava cake in town.”

With a routine flick of the cord, Isabel adjusted the sleek silver blinds, muting the flood of light sweeping across Phillip’s aristocratic profile.  Phillip preferred subtle shadows over the bold morning light, and she knew it. 

“Well, at least you remember how much I love chocolate, Gary,” Isabel sassed back. 

“Dark chocolate,” Gary added.

Their eyes locked.  She had done both drinks and business dinners with Gary and Phillip more times than she could remember, usually whenever they were on the brink of closing a major real estate deal.  At the end of the dinner, Phillip always declined dessert, but Isabel and Gary always shared each other’s
crème brûlée
or chocolate
soufflé
.  Gary was a serial bachelor—even a self-professed womanizer—but he definitely knew how to treat a woman to fine dining.  And maybe even long-stemmed roses.

“Then, there’s no other choice,” Phillip interjected like an intentional interruption of their camaraderie. “Kill the Amway deal.”

Isabel stared at Phillip.  He never bluffed about pulling out of a deal.  When he decided to cut the cord, he meant it.

“Phillip, we can’t go blowing up the deal now,” Gary countered. “If we pull out today, they’ll sue us.”

The sharp angles of Phillip’s face darkened as he glanced away, toying with his gold pen in cold, unpleasant silence. 

“Screw ’em,” Jett pushed back. “Cut off their balls, and let them whine about it in court. I’ll personally countersue them for my broker’s commission.”

Phillip raised his eyebrow at Jett. Gary was the litigation expert and they all knew it.  But Jett’s crass bravado and affinity for confrontation was something that Isabel knew amused Phillip.

Phillip shifted his gaze out of the window at the sweeping panoramic view of downtown Chicago—lost in a moment of private thought.  “We can’t move forward under the current lease terms, Gary.  I’ll never agree to sell the Amway building to Zale, knowing he plans to reassign the deal to my ex-business partner.”

“They’ve got you by the balls, Phil,” Gary countered.  “According to the contract, the current owner can reassign the deal to whoever the fuck they want unless you pull out now, and pulling out now is going to get you nowhere except a litigation blood bath.”

Isabel watched Phillip’s silent disapproval harden his expression like stone.  She knew Phillip’s old-fashioned sense of propriety made him despise it when Gary dropped the F-bomb in front of her, but he hated it even more that he was being told that he was trapped.