Devotion - Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel (25 page)

Isabel rushed to retrieve the scattered roses off the floor—an impulsive attempt to tidy up the mess until Mario swooped in and pulled her away from the inquisitive glances of all the guests.

“You’re expected elsewhere,” he warned below his breath, nodding over to Phillip, who briefly stopped his conversation with Madame van der Meer to survey the disruption.  “Let me handle the clean-up with the catering staff.  Go…” Mario shooed her forward, encouraging her to arrive beside Phillip with a gracious smile.

“Good evening, I apologize for my delay,” Isabel greeted the group.

“Madame van der Meer, this is Isabel Alvarez,” Phillip said, offering the introduction.

No title
, Isabel noted as she formally extended her hand to Madame van der Meer. Normally, Phillip introduced her as his executive assistant, sometimes even his business manager.  But tonight he avoided offering any title with her introduction.

“It’s such an honor,” Isabel said, controlling her impulse to curtsy.  “It’s wonderful that you’re going to be showcasing your collection here permanently. And thank you so much for allowing me to wear this tonight.”

“Ahhh, yes…the Bonaparte necklace.” Madame van der Meer cast her grey eyes upon the glittering necklace. “It’s one of my favorite pieces. Napoléon commissioned it as a gift for Joséphine before they were married.” 

Isabel touched the necklace. “Well, it certainly feels historic—and heavy,” she laughed.   “I wonder if I’m really the right person to be wearing it.”

“I insisted,” Phillip said abruptly.

Isabel glanced over at Phillip, who gazed at her like a curator admiring a priceless painting.  Marlow’s bitter warning haunted her. 
Was she just a marketing tool for him?
A way to help appease Madame van der Meer and secure the lease deal?
  She challenged his gaze. 

“Phillip saw the piece in the catalogue and said there was only one woman in the world who could possibly wear it,” Madame van der Meer clarified. “Even despite its controversial history.”

“That sounds exactly like Phillip,” Isabel replied.  “He’s certainly never one to shy away from controversy.”

“Joséphine was ultimately unfaithful in their marriage,” Phillip slung back. “Some historians question whether or not Joséphine married Bonaparte for love, or simply to secure her status within society after her dramatic divorce.”

“What do you believe?” Isabel asked Madame van der Meer, attempting to ignore Phillip’s searing gaze upon her. 

“I believe it’s one of the many reasons why I never married,” Madame van der Meer offered with a knowing smile. “To love a man of ambition is a lesson in humility, Miss Alvarez. And for many of us women, humility is too high of a price to pay.”  Madame van der Meer flipped opened her stunning fan, hand-painted and bejeweled with gemstones.  Isabel remembered Tami mentioning it was from the estate of Marie Antoinette.

“Perhaps Joséphine’s betrayal wasn’t calculated,” Isabel suddenly offered. “Perhaps she felt driven away by the painful realization that she would never be as important to him as conquering all of France.”

“Bonaparte loved Joséphine more than any other women in his life.” Phillip stated, as if the conversation had grown tedious to him. “And he wrote her the most expressive love letters—just to prove it.”

“But he also loved to hold a grudge,” Madame van der Meer eyed him. “And he never wrote her another love letter after her betrayal.”

“Perhaps he was too wounded.” Phillip adjusted his diamond cufflinks.

“Or too proud,” Isabel simply added.

“Or too much of both,” he intentionally challenged her.

She endured his gaze. “Sometimes loving a woman is more about vulnerability than it is about conquest.”

The lights slowly faded with the rhythmic jive of the band and Jett emerged from the crowd with a microphone in his hand.  Everyone redirected their attention onto the open lobby as the spotlights twirled lyrical patterns of Caribbean blue across the pearly marble floor like waves in the sea.

“We’re about to make the official announcement…Please excuse us, Madame.”

“My pleasure,” she nodded in return.

Phillip secured Isabel’s reluctant hand and pulled her through the natural aisle of the parting crowd.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Jett’s confident voice boomed through the microphone.  “On behalf of all of Spears & Associates, thank you so much for attending the grand opening gala of The Old Main Post Office.”

The crowd clapped in acknowledgement.  Jett paused as the applause faded into a polite simmer. “Ladies and gentlemen…there is only one man in Chicago who could possibly view an abandoned government building as something potentially glamorous, and of course, that one man
has
to be British.”

The crowd tittered and shifted their attention onto Phillip and Isabel.  She felt the strength of his hand, tightening his possession over her.  He knew she hated public speaking, and the grip of his hand signaled he had no plans of allowing her to escape. 

“But that one man,” Jett continued, “has a reputation in Chicago of being more than just a profiteering Brit—he has a reputation of being a loyal benefactor of this city’s rich cultural history and architectural heritage. And so, without further ado, I present to you the man of the hour, Mr. Phillip Spears.” 

Like thunder, a second wave of applause rolled throughout the echoing lobby as Jett beckoned Phillip and Isabel out from the crowd and into the spotlight. 

Phillip’s released his possessive grip of Isabel’s hand as Jett passed off the microphone to him.  She shielded her eyes and squinted out into the crowd; she could see nothing beyond their shadowed faces. She closed her eyes, unnerved that she was being watching by all of her guests, including Eliot Watercross.  Instead, she settled her gaze onto Phillip.  Mario was right; as always, he did look elegant in his classic black tuxedo, its lapels accented with a pink rose boutonniere.  The spotlights reflected off his slick black hair as his Roman profile surveyed the crowd.  Even in front of a crowd of one hundred guests, Phillip was poised and self-assured.

“Good evening, everyone…” he said with a deliberate pause. “Thank you for coming this evening to witness the unveiling of a labor of love.”

He scanned the lobby’s soaring ceilings and white glacier floors, as if for a moment, he believed he was the only person in the room able to admire it. “As many of you know, I am a man of few words…but still, I would like to take this opportunity to say something about this project—and all it represents.”  He paused again, taking full command over his own thoughts and the attention of his guests.

“There is value…value in caring for sacred things—things that cannot easily be reproduced or replaced. There is honor in celebrating them to ensure that they will be properly preserved and restored.  And there is an urgency to protect them when they are threatened with disrepair or destruction. Tonight, I am pleased to see so many of our friends and colleagues supporting our efforts to restore the incomparable beauty within this building—a reminder that beauty exists even in the most unexpected of places.”

Suddenly, a voice heckled Phillip from out of the dark crowd.  “Especially places where you’re willing to spend over three hundred million dollars.”

The crowd stirred before growing quiet.  Beyond the piercing lights and obscurity of darkness, Isabel searched out the faces; but it didn’t matter.  She recognized his mocking tone—
Eliot Watercross
.

“No,” Phillip casually replied, barely turning his head in acknowledgement towards the direction of the heckler.  “Four hundred.” 

Phillip stated it like a challenge, as if he was raising the stakes at a poker table.  The crowd murmured with a hush and waited for the heckler to respond.  Everyone, including Isabel, listened to see if the banter between the two men would escalate.  But Eliot Watercross uncharacteristically fell silent.

“Four hundred million dollars makes this party look like the cheapest part of the renovation’s budget,” Jett called out from the edge of the crowd like a pandering clown.

“Yes…unless we account for the priceless historic jewelry,” Phillip added, turning towards Isabel to draw attention to her sapphire and diamond necklace. “We are, indeed, most fortunate that we have arrived at an agreement with Madame van der Meer to permanently display her collection here in the grand lobby for years to come. Thank you, Madame van der Meer.”

The crowd quickly applauded.  It was a flawless segue—one that redirected everyone’s attention back onto the celebratory grandeur of the night.  Eliot’s tall silhouette shifted deeper into the shadows of the huddled guests.  Isabel watched him disappear with heavy disappointment in her heart.  Then, as if it was a cruel punishment, Phillip settled his gaze upon her and ended his time in the spotlight with a nod in her honor.

“At this time, I would like to thank my business manager and our incomparable staff for making tonight a reality.  And thank you all for joining us.  I wish you a lovely rest of your evening.”

The spotlight lifted and morphed into pale celestial swirls across the lobby floor as the jazz band picked up its cue.  Persuaded by the swaying ragtime beat and the festive atmosphere of ballroom dancing, the guests crowded into the center of the room, encircling Phillip and Isabel and blocking their exit.

“Shall we?” he said, holding out his hand to her, as if she had no other choice.

She reluctantly accepted, allowing him to draw her into his arms.  But the sting of their recent exchange prevented her from relaxing into his lead, and Marlow’s resentful words echoed through her mind.
You really have no idea how much he’s played us both…

“The necklace was a brilliant marketing tool,” she said, holding back her weight.

He eyed her resistance to his lead and gazed into her dark eyes. “Simply celebrating beauty within beauty,” he said with his cool unemotional tone.

Isabel stared at him, her heart coursing with suppressed resentment and fear.

“Phillip…why didn’t tell me about the van der Meer deal?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your personal interest in Eliot Watercross?”  It wasn’t a question.  It was an accusation.

“Because there’s nothing to tell.” It was a lie and they both knew it.

“Isabel, I wish we could be more open with each other.”

“I have never lied to you, Phillip.”

“And yet, you have lied to yourself—about us.”

She stared at him, unable to endure his relentless gaze searing into her heart, unleashing every fear and insecurity she had tried so hard to contain.

“Lady, I will touch you with my mind,” he whispered, obscuring his strong Oxford behind the mysterious cadence she had come to know so intimately, “touch you and touch and touch
,
until you give me suddenly a smile, shyly obscene.”

But Isabel did not smile.  The blood drained from her cheeks as she processed all that had transpired between them. “You…” The accusation escaped from her lips with faint regret.

He anticipated her protest and locked her body into his embrace. She immediately recognized the strong, athletic contours of his chest.  He molded her hips into his own pelvis, dominating every part of her body the same way he had controlled every emotion within her vulnerable heart.  The physical intimacy between them bled into her soul, so natural and familiar, and yet, she peered at him as if he was a stranger, a man who had inspired her most thrilling yearnings of desire without daring to openly acknowledge his quest to dominate her.

“But why?”

He broke his gaze and drifted his lips into her ear. “Do you really need me to answer that?”

She attempted to pull back from him, unnerved by the hint of sarcasm in his reply. “Yes.” she nodded with conviction. 
Yes, she did
.  She fixed her swimming eyes onto him like a challenge.  In the five years that she had worked for Phillip Spears, she had never seen him hesitate more than he was hesitating to answer her now.  She waited, uncertain what she expected as an answer; perhaps she needed him to openly express in words what she had imagined had been conveyed during their passionate nights together—the most intimate and vulnerable moments of her life.  But instead, she was only greeted with his disdainful glare of silence, forcing to acknowledge the insecure hush within her own subconscious, asserting her own answer as the one and only truth.

“You used me.” She pushed out the words like painful breaths.  “You used me, like you’re using me now.  For your own gain—on your own terms.”

“They were our
mutual
terms,” he shot back, defensiveness creeping into his stern voice.  “And there was never a moment when I thought that you weren’t fully complicit in our…arrangement. Never a moment until…last night, when I saw that you were accepting the advances of another man.  And not just any man, but my direct rival.”

Their eyes locked.  Phillip’s jaw flinched, holding back a flood of his own scorn and pain, as if he hated the fact that she was forcing him to confront her allegiance with evidence of her own betrayal.

No—
Isabel swallowed hard, searching out the ember of truth flaming within her own heart.  “I never betrayed you,” she replied, unable to accept that he believed otherwise.  “But I was also never certain…”  Her voice trailed off, struggling against the sound of her own desperate denial.  Had she deceived herself—even in the smallest of ways—in order to lessen the shame of willfully allowing herself to be sexually dominated by her boss?  Or had he been the one who deceived her so completely?