Devotion - Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel (24 page)

“Spears isn’t lacking in either, and he’d be the first one to admit it.” Gary countered in Phillip’s defense.

“Yes, he would, wouldn’t he?” Eliot slyly glanced over at Isabel for confirmation. “Gary, you’ve forgotten your manners, by the way. Our breathtaking hostess is missing a drink.”

“You both forget it’s a work night for me,” Isabel cut in, attempting to diffuse the mounting tension between the men.

“One drink, Isabel,” Eliot insisted. “It’s a gala, after all.  Not a funeral.  Although it does feel like a mausoleum in here, doesn’t it?  Still, the woman deserves to enjoy her own party.”

Pressing the point, he narrowed his eyes onto Gary and threw back more ice with a calculated crunch.

“White wine, Isabel?” Gary interjected, cupping Isabel’s elbow and preparing to lead her to the open bar.  But she unexpectedly resisted his lead.

“Go ahead, Gary.  I’ll come in a minute and you can introduce me to Madame van der Meer.”

Gary’s face grew serious. “I think it would be a better idea if you accompany me.”

“Why don’t you go get us
both
drinks,” Eilot asserted, brushing Gary aside by handing off his empty tumbler.  “Then you can come back and rescue our fair maiden from the Big Bad Wolf.  Two minutes isn’t enough time to corrupt her too much. Just enough to make things interesting.”

Eliot challenged Gary with his masculine height and build.  Both men were tall and imposing, but Eliot Watercross seemed more willing to use it as a threat.

Again, Isabel slipped between them, dismissing Gary’s concern with her calming eyes. 
It’s all games and showmanship
. “White wine would be fine.”

But underneath her silent communication was the cold hard fact that she was making a conscious decision to stay with Eliot rather than accompany Gary—a fact that Gary acknowledged with a reluctance before turning away and striding towards the open bar.

“Apparently Phillip thinks you need a babysitter,” Eliot said, tracking Gary’s departure.

“They think you’re intentionally trying to derail our redevelopment of The Old Main.”

He smirked in delight. “What do you think?”

“I think men love competing for the sake of competing.”

He reached out his hand and followed the pleasing curve of her bare shoulder with his fingertip. “Except, in this case, the prize isn’t just a gold-plated trophy.  There’s much more at stake.”

She gazed into his eyes, and for a moment, she lost herself in her own reflection. “What do you think of the restoration?”  She consciously shifted away from his touch, redirecting his attention.

“I think it’s very Phillip.”

“Yes, it’s true.  Classic and refined, almost disarming in its strength.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of old-fashioned and outdated.”

Isabel censured him with her glance.  He smirked like a mischievous child, as if he had gotten what he wanted—her attention.

“I have to admit that I was skeptical, too.  He first took me here years ago, when the ceiling paint was peeling and the window panes were so obscured by city pollution that they barely let in the sunlight.  He even restored the original chandeliers.  When I saw them, they were aged, seemingly cracked beyond repair.  Even then, it was Phillip’s vision to bring it back from disrepair.  No matter what you think about vintage architecture versus modern construction, you have to admit that he succeeded.”

“He’s succeeded in restoring a flashy Art Deco lobby.  The rest of The Old Main is three million square feet of factory warehouse space that still needs to be leased
and
renovated. And there’s a lot more interesting alternatives available for potential tenants than a blighted architectural albatross.”

“You mean alternatives like your floating iceberg casino directly across the river at 400 South Wacker?”

“Well, I wouldn’t be very compelling rival without offering competition.” He pushed forward and grasped her hand. “You’re not wearing my bracelet,” he said, drawing up her wrist and feathering its inner fold with a presumptuous kiss.

“I’m not wearing any jewelry.” Isabel attempted to pull away, then surrendered when she felt the familiarity of his strength towing her back. 

“Did you like my flowers?” he said, closing the space between them.

“I generally prefer pink ones.”

“But they persuaded you just the same…”  His hand snaked up her arm and caressed it in a way that felt forbidden.

“I’m not sure I’ve been persuaded into anything.”

“Does that mean you’re no longer considering my offer?”

Cautiously, Isabel tested him. “Perhaps it simply means I’m still trying to decide on whether or not I prefer sapphires over pearls.”

“She prefers sapphires,” the stern voice asserted behind them as Isabel unexpectedly felt the sensation of a heavy gemstone choker draping around her neck.

“Phillip…” Isabel’s voice wavered with surprise.

“My apologies for being late,” he whispered into her ear and clasped the necklace with finality. 

She outlined the oversized gemstones with her fingertips; they felt like cold heavy ice cubes against her skin.

“It’s the sapphire and diamond necklace that Napoléon Bonaparte commissioned for his mistress, Joséphine, who eventually became the Empress of France. It’s a loan from Madame van der Meer for the night,” Phillip explained.  “She’s waiting for us.” 

Eliot narrowed his eyes onto the necklace, then at Phillip. “Good evening, Spears. Glad to see you finally found time for your guests.”

Isabel gazed at both men—equal in their confidence and prowess, but neither could be more different in their personalities and their professional ambitions.  Phillip—stern, reserved, with his unflinching porcelain complex, flawlessly manicured black hair, and classic black Armani tuxedo.  Eliot Watercross—tanned and glowing, the perfect symmetry of his face and body, relaxing her inhibitions.  With the confidence of a movie star, he vainly wore his starched white tuxedo and black tie through the sea of dark winter gowns and evening suits.

“My guests are here to see the grand opening of the restoration.  I am the least exciting part of the evening, I assure you.”  To prove his point, Phillip shifted his eyes back onto Isabel, taking in the full view of her crimson sequin dress paired with the scintillating sapphire necklace.  “You look lovely tonight,” he said, encircling her hand with his own and drawing her back from Eliot like a stolen possession.

“I’m afraid I haven’t had much of a chance to work the room,” she admitted.

“I’ve already spoken with Jett,” Phillip confirmed. “He’s spoken with Alderman Chase and Alderman Fitzpatrick and received their assurances that we’ll be granted the proper zoning entitlements.”

“That’s an impressive accomplishment,” Eliot cut in. “That must have cost a fortune.”

Phillip shot a glare at Eliot; it was an insulting insinuation of bribery and they all knew it.

“It cost nothing more than my integrity and my word.  Empty promises, on the other hand, are expensive, especially when they’re backed by unsecured loans and shadow investors.”

Isabel quickly jumped in, attempting to diffuse their silent stalemate.

“Phillip, I think Madame van der Meer is waiting for us.” She nodded to a small group of guests who had settled underneath the glittering gold canopy that billowed through the towering ceilings like celestial arcs denoting royalty. With her hawkish eyes and peacock face, the elderly matriarch of the group was watching Phillip and Isabel from afar.

“Yes,” he acknowledged, his voice low and severe.  “Shall we?” He swept Isabel towards the center of the grand lobby, its white marble floors glazed with winter crystal lighting like a serene wonderland.  But his glare zeroed back onto Eliot Watercross—a warning not to follow them.

“I’m glad you had a chance to make it.”

“Were you worried?” he asked, barely turning to face her.

“No, just uncertain.”

“Yes…spending time alone with Eliot Watercross seems to produce those kinds of feelings in you.”

Isabel recognized his trademark sarcasm.  She suddenly stopped and faced him. “I’m not certain Eliot Watercross is the one to blame for my uncertainty.”

“Interesting.  Because I’m fairly certain he is to blame for mine.”  Phillip’s cold blue eyes challenged her.

“Isabel!” Mario rushed up to them. “You’re finally here and looking spectaculious.”

Mario greeted her with double-cheek faux air kisses, but Isabel was still replaying Phillip’s enigmatic reprimand in her head until Mario forced her back into the present moment

“Whoa…I’ve just been blinded by the most ridiculous bling-bling ever!” He shielded his eyes and backed away from her. “Where on earth did you get
that
?!”

Isabel glanced at Phillip and touched the sapphire necklace.  He avoided her gaze.  Its heavy weight suddenly felt like a punishing lease, inspiring nothing in her except the desire to detract attention from it.  “You’ve done a brilliant job, Mario, with everything. I barely recognize the lobby from this afternoon.”

Mario dialed down his enthusiasm in front of Phillip. “Good evening, Mr. Spears.  Dashing in Armani, as always.  I hope you like what we’ve done with the menu and the décor…”

“I defer to Isabel.  I know she trusts you implicitly.”

“Wonderful!” Mario clapped his hands and donned a sugary smile.

Phillip suddenly released Isabel’s hand.  “Excuse me, I must go ahead now. You’ll meet us shortly.” He nodded to Mario, then drifted off to greet Madame van der Meer. 

Mario tracked his departure, murmuring through his frozen smile. “He’s impossible, you know.  I don’t think I’ve ever received a direct compliment from him. And trust me, I’ve
fished
for it.”

“And you won’t,” Isabel exhaled, releasing the tension from her body. “Try not to take it too personally.  It’s just Phillip’s way. Impossibly impossible.” 

Mario sighed, fanning himself. “Honestly, if that disciplining British accent of his wasn’t so very sexy, I
would
be insulted. But those stern, hot, punish-me-now Mr. Darcy eyes get me every time. 
Whewwwww
.  Okay, meet me near the seafood pyramid after the publicity announcement.  We’ll compare notes about the hors d’oeuvres and play,
which-guest-is-too-drunk-to-drive-home-alone
.”

Mario blew her a kiss before disappearing through the crowd.  She turned and started towards Phillip, but stopped when a cold thin hand intercepted her wrist.

“Don’t rush away just yet.” Marlow slurred, then suddenly swayed sideways.

Isabel reached out to steady her. “I’m glad to see you’re enjoying the gala, Marlow.”  She caught Marlow’s empty cocktail glass, slipping from her fingers. “Where’s Symeon?”

“With Eliot, discussing all the ways they intend to lure away Madame van der Meer from signing the deal with Phillip.”

Isabel peered at Marlow. 
Was she simply drunk or dead serious?
  From across the lobby, Isabel spotted Eliot with Symeon as both men approached Noah Spiegel, one of Phillip’s most prominent business investors and ushered him towards the opposite end of the corridor.

The heavy sensation of guilt constricted Isabel’s chest.  That would be
her
courting Phillip’s investors if she dared to accept Eliot’s offer to become one of his business partners.  She would have to play the role of rainmaker, doing exactly what Symeon and Eliot were doing—capitalizing on Phillip’s investment connections and attempting to influence them to invest in Eliot’s newest real estate venture over Phillip’s redevelopment of The Old Main Post Office.

“It all bores me to tears,” Marlow drawled. “I much prefer dancing and drinking.  That was something that Phillip was always good at when we were together—making me feel like a proper woman.” She zeroed in on Isabel and her sapphire and diamond necklace. “How does it feel to be his favorite pet?”

“I’m not anyone’s pet, Marlow,” Isabel replied, guarding her anger.  When Marlow was Phillip’s fiancée, Isabel was forced to silently endure her snotty elitism and catty remarks.  But now, even without the duty of diplomacy hanging over her, Isabel didn’t feel the need to zing sarcasm back at Marlow. She just felt the need to abandon her in her own haze of self-pity and dejection.  “Excuse me, my guests are waiting for me.”

Isabel attempted to brush past her, but Marlow seized her arm again and dug her fingernails into the tender part of Isabel’s wrist.

“The hair, the eyes, the same height…” Marlow hissed through her smeared lipstick. “I’m a bit thinner, but still, I should have known all along that I was just a pitiful substitute. 

  Isabel stared at Marlow, attempting to discern the meaning behind her intoxicated words. “You’re drunk, Marlow.”

“No, I simply am disposable,” she seethed, her shiny red smile slowly drooping like the frown of a sad clown. “You really have no idea how much he’s played us both.”

The searing pain of Marlow’s nails finally forced Isabel to twist away.  Marlow hiccupped with a scoff before stumbling away, dragging off the tablecloth from the nearest table with her.  The crystal centerpiece reeled off its edge with an explosive crash.