Devotion - Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel (18 page)

“Phillip, you have offered me—and my family—a level of comfort and security that would never have been possible without your willingness to allow me the chance to prove myself to you.  I do not fault you in any way for bringing me into this world.  I only fault you for believing that I can’t handle it myself.”

He peered at her, acknowledging the truth behind her words. 

“You are a smart, experienced, savvy, and dare I add, highly desirable woman, Isabel,” he confessed with a hush in his voice. “There is absolutely no reason why Eliot Watercross shouldn’t attempt to recruit you into his camp the way he successfully recruited Symeon.  There is only your own willingness not to be courted.”

The intensity within his gaze drew her closer to him, closer than she expected.

“Courtship, Phillip,” Isabel said with a smirked, “although romantic and alluring, does not guarantee a faithful heart.”

He betrayed a smile and peered at her with a vulnerability that expressed more in that moment than he had expressed in the entire five years she had worked for him.  She stared at him, taking in the elegance of his British profile, the sophistication of his propriety, and his desire to protect her from the sins and corruption of men—all around them. 

She gazed at him, disarmed by the gentle tone in his voice and the sensitivity in his crystal eyes.  She no longer felt like his employee; instead, she felt like his salvation.

“Sometimes is does all feel like a fragile façade,” she slowly betrayed, sensing his desire to close the space between them. “And the only person who knows that better than me is you.”

Phillip nodded, brushing his hand against her arm without apology. “You are the only person who reminds me—above all else—what is genuine and irreplaceable in my life.”

Isabel gazed up at Phillip, finally glimpsing the man behind his embittered pride. She thought she felt him securing her hand, seeking out her acceptance of his intimate touch; but then, it all ended when the abrupt knock on his office door erased the certainty that he had ever reached out to her at all.

“Mr. Spears?” Giselle peaked inside the office with hesitation. 

He shifted his profile without addressing her, signaling his displeasure.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Giselle quickly apologized, “but there’s a woman here, waiting to see you…”

Marlow suddenly pushed past Giselle, waltzing into the office as if she was Phillip’s wife and not his ex-
fiancée.
“And I certainly shouldn’t be kept waiting all day.”  But she halted when she saw Isabel and Phillip, standing near the window with a proximity that produced a combative flash within her feline eyes. “Especially since I know how your sense of propriety would never allow you to intentionally slight a lady.”

She held out her hand with expectation, intending to draw Phillip away from Isabel, as if she expected to be treated like royalty.  Phillip circled around the desk, took her hand and kissed it with politeness. 

She had won.  Marlow always won
. 

Marlow stroked the otter fur lapel of her turquoise bolero jacket and intentionally ignored Isabel’s presence, as if she was merely a servant in the room. 

“I’m here to meet Symeon for lunch,” Marlow sang out.  “We’re going downtown to the Russian Tea Room, but when he texted me to say he was here, I decided to stop by…we were all such good friends—once.”

She punctuated “
once
” with her pouty red lips as her long slender fingers playfully outlined Phillip’s strong jaw.  Isabel watched him accept Marlow’s touch without censure or rejection. No matter how Isabel personally felt about Marlow, it didn’t change the fact that she was Phillip’s former lover.  They had been engaged, which meant she had succeeded in capturing Phillip’s elusive heart—
once
. 

“Relationships are easily lost and discarded,” Phillip confirmed, his eyes tracking Isabel as she moved towards the door, preparing to exit. “But less easily replaced.”

“Exactly,” Marlow said, adjusting his tie like a cat playing with a ball of string.  “No need for everyone to have such hard feelings, especially when you and I always have had such a familiar way with each other.” Marlow shifted forward, brushing up against him with suggestion.  Was it her stylish flair—her fitted black secretary dress, her bolero jacket, her heeled leather boots, and her blatant disregard for boundaries—that made her so alluring?  Or was it her capricious youth and flirtatious smile? Isabel didn’t know, but she was certain that Marlow always seemed to have the ability to maneuver past Phillip’s British reserve like it was nothing more than an amusing challenge. And despite their recent separation and Marlow’s new romance with Symeon, in that moment, it was clear something was still endured between them—some kind of mutual understanding, frozen in time—something that granted Marlow the courtesy to act like Phillip’s mistress simply because they had once shared a bed.  Isabel watched Phillip entertaining Marlow’s advances like it was a social obligation. 
Had Marlow betrayed and abandoned Phillip, or had he intentionally pushed her away?

Isabel turned towards the door, but glanced back, sensing the weight of the unresolved history between them. She forced a smile, trying not to acknowledge the sting of being displaced.  “I will send you the update on the gala, Phillip.”

“Yes, the gala,” Marlow repeated.  “Symeon told me about it yesterday.  You know how much I just
adore
a grand vintage ball, especially when you always look so dashing at them, Phillip.” She traced the starch collar of his Royal Oxford shirt with the tip of her lacquered fingernail.  “I’ve already placed a rush order on the most perfect vintage designer dress.  You’re going to love it.”

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Isabel added, announcing her exit. 

“A bottle of Pelligrino would be lovely…”

Marlow’s request hung into the air like a lofty command.  Isabel stopped in the doorway without glancing back.  She considered ignoring it and continuing on, or worse, acknowledging it with a catfight glare.  But Phillip took the dagger away from her.

“Isabel,” he punctuated, lowering his voice with authority, waiting for her to turn and meet his gaze. “Please send in Giselle whenever it’s convenient.”

“Of course,” Isabel replied.  “I’m sure she would be happy to fetch whatever you might need.”

Good grief
.  Isabel closed the door and exhaled with relief, barely making it past the water cooler before Tami rushed up to meet her.

“
Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod
…” Tami hyperventilated, grabbing Isabel by her elbow and guiding her to Isabel’s desk.  “You are never going to guess who I saw putting
that
on your desk five minutes ago.”

Isabel gazed down at the powder blue bag with white satin handles and its black block trademark: TIFFANY & CO.

“Eliot Watercross,” Tami blurted out without any filter.

Isabel glanced around. Several of the other girls looked up from behind their computers but Isabel quickly hid the bag behind her purse.

“Eliot Watercross is Mr. Billionaire Mystery Man.  You totally called it.  You’re officially sleeping with the enemy.”

Isabel suddenly felt her heart constrict with dread.  She peered down into the sleek gift bag. There was no note.  No card. Nothing to confirm Tami’s claim except what Isabel sensed in her bones.  She rummaged through the folds of tissue paper and pulled out an oblong powder blue box.  She passed it off to Tami.

“Please tell me it isn’t more sapphires.”

Tami flipped open the lid, her jaw dropping as she drew out the triple-strand South Sea pearl bracelet, stunning with its silver overtones and smooth uniformity.  “It isn’t more frickin’ sapphires,” Tami repeated, wrapping it slowly around her own wrist.  “Oh. My. God.”

“This has to stop,” Isabel said, unfastening the clasp and taking back the bracelet. 

“No, please—” Tami pleaded, mourning the loss of luxury from her wrist.

“Did you see him leave?”

“I saw him head for the elevators, but seriously, Isabel…wait.”  Tami clawed at her.  “Stop and really
think
about what you’re doing.” Tami stroked the pearls like she was vicariously living out her own fantasy.

“I know what I’m doing.  I’m putting an end to the games. I’m not going to be a pawn on anyone’s chessboard.”

Isabel strode down the hallway and pushed through the lobby doors.  Eliot Watercross was waiting in front of the elevators doors.  His eyes dropped down onto the pearl bracelet, dangling from her fingers.

“I should have known you were too smart to let me get away with it for long,” he said with his trademark slyness. 

Isabel held out the bracelet to him.  “I’m sorry, but we have to end this.  Phillip is my employer and you’re his competition.  It’s really that simple.”

Eliot slowly accepted the pearls with a curious glint in his eye. “I think the only thing simple is that you look stunning wrapped up in pearls.”

He pushed forward with merciless determination and ensnared her wrist, clasping the triple strands around it.  She gazed down at the bracelet, transfixed by its silky sensation of bondage.  The elevators doors chimed open, but Eliot did not release her. 

“Eliot, what do you want from me?”

He leaned into her, deeper, like he was savoring his new possession. “Come work for me.”

“That’s impossible,” she replied, resisting his firm grasp.  But he was stronger—and more resolute—and they both knew it.

“No, it’s not impossible and you know it.” He drew her in, his jawline flinching as his lips searched out what she refused to grant him.

“As your assistant?” she scoffed, feeling her shoulder brushing against the familiar strength of his hard flexing chest beneath his vested suit.  He smelled like cedar and pine, and his tanned skin and green eyes shone down on her like they had played this game before—and he had won.

“No,” he countered, his gaze flashing with desire, “as my partner.”

“Eliot—” she said, wincing before he finally released her. “You don’t mean that.”

He stared at her before pressing the call button for the elevator.

“You’re a smart woman, Isabel.  You’ve known me long enough to know that I’m a man who says
exactly
what I mean.  My lawyers are drafting the final paperwork for our newest business venture.  I’ll grant you a ten-percent minority ownership stake in exchange for bringing in no less than forty million dollars of investment capital.  I’m a modern man with a modern vision, Isabel. I need business partners who are willing to seize upon an opportunity when they see one.” He advanced towards her and stroked her cheek like he was admiring her stubbornness. “Everything else is just an added bonus.” 

Isabel turned away from his touch, letting the haunting cadence of Eliot’s voice sink into her soul. “Phillip warned me that’s what you wanted from me.  You’re courting me because you want me to tap into his investor base.”

“No,” Eliot challenged her, closing the distance between them. “Phillip is wrong because he only uses you as his old-fashioned secretary.  That’s the difference between Phillip and me, Isabel—I don’t need you to be my Girl Friday who plans my precious parties and organizes my dry cleaning.  I need you to be by my side—as my rainmaker—and I’m willing to share my wealth with you, just to prove it.”

The truth behind his sarcasm stung more than she wanted to betray. 

“What makes you so certain I can raise forty million dollars?”

“I’m not certain.  But I’m certain it’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he said, indulging in the scent of her perfume. “Are you?”  He lowered his chin and grazed his lips across her ear and neck.

“No,” she asserted. “You’re asking me to betray someone who has professionally invested in me for years.”

“Admirable,” he countered. “Except your loyalty is misplaced because I’m offering you more now than Phillip ever has—and ever will.”

“No.” She shook her head, battling the war waging within her own heart.  “You’re wrong about that, Eliot.  Five years ago, I was a single, pregnant college dropout with almost no professional work experience.  Phillip was the only person willing to give me a chance.”

“And now, ask yourself,” he lobbed back, closing the gap between them. “Is that how Phillip still sees you?”

The chime of the elevator cab peeled out like an ominous toll.  Isabel pushed away from him—and his hurtful words—like she was resisting the fear that they might be true.

With his sly smile, Eliot turned towards the elevator and strode through its shimmering gold doors.  “It’s nice to play hard to get, Isabel.  But ultimately, that’s just a game, too.  I’ve already shown you—without question—want I want.  Now, it’s time for you to decide if it’s what you want.”

“I already have,” she replied, unclasping the pearl bracelet and liberating it from her wrist.  She stepped across the elevator threshold and handed it back to him.  For a brief moment, she saw herself in its mirrored walls, as if she was watching someone else force the finality of her decision upon them.

Eliot gazed down at the bracelet, draping it across the forearm of his silver grey suit like a surrender flag rather than a rejection.  He pressed the lobby floor button and casually leaned back against the mirrored wall of the elevator. “Phillip’s a lucky man, Isabel.  The only thing he has to do to secure your loyalty is to pay you the right price.”