Devotion - Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel (5 page)

Phillip, always the gentleman.

She felt the confidence of his touch, guiding her hands through the silk lining of the sleeves.  The firmness of his chest brushed against her back as she leaned back to accept the coat’s plush collar over her shoulders.  The heavy weight of its authenticity always disarmed her whenever she wore it.  She sensed Phillip’s chiseled profile passing behind her ear.  She had decided at the last moment to wear perfume, something she rarely wore while working at the office.  Now, she wondered if Phillip had caught its scent. 
Was too overpowering
?  Isabel perspired beneath her dress as he lingered behind her—a brief moment longer than necessary—before pulling away from her.

“Thank you.” She lifted her beaded purse from the hall tree.  When she turned, she saw Phillip peering at her.  She noticed his black tuxedo tie, imperfectly formed and canted to the right. 
Phillip never quite got his ties right
.  She reached out to adjust it.  His body stiffened and his jaw flinched as she worked closely against his body.

“Better,” she said with a tender smile.  It was a familiar routine and they both knew it.

“Much,” he agreed, eyeing her proximity.

An uncomfortable silence parted them.  Phillip turned and whisked open the front door, allowing her to pass through it while following her steady gait to his midnight blue Bentley parked in her driveway.  Phillip’s driver, Param, exited the car and assisted Isabel with the door.

“Miss Alvarez,” he greeted her.

“Thank you, Param,” she said, taking in his warm reassuring smile while slipping into the sleek vanilla cream seats.  She never took for granted how the sensation of luxury always relaxed her—the smooth Italian leather against her thighs, the regal glints of gold-plated trim, the sensual warmth of the climate-controlled interior that immediately buffeted her from the brisk evening wind.  Phillip glided into the adjacent seat and Param closed the door for him. 

“You look lovely tonight,” he said, filling the silence while there was a moment of privacy between them.

Isabel dropped her eyes, feeling herself flush.  Phillip rarely commented on her appearance, and she wasn’t used to his attentive gaze or the way he refused to release it until they were no longer alone.  Param whisked open the driver side door and immediately started the car’s powerful engine.

“Thank you for bringing the gifts for Aidan and my mother.  My mother
is
very grateful for everything that you have done for us.  She just has a hard time expressing it.” Isabel stroked the pelt of her mink coat with preoccupation.

“Sometimes it’s hard to express our emotions,” Phillip acknowledged, lowering his tone and shifting his gaze out the car window as they merged onto Lake Shore Drive and shuttled past the black, expansive waters of the lakefront towards the twinkling lights of downtown Chicago. “Like an unbridled amorous love.” Phillip eyed Isabel, then broke into a sly smile. “For chocolate.”

Isabel laughed. “Yes, you definitely have discovered my mother’s weakness.  Although she’s way too proud to ever let you know it.”

“I understand.”  He nodded and tilted his head back against the head rest in an uncharacteristic gesture of relaxation. “There are many times when I wish I could convey my gratitude, but instead, choose to refrain from expressing it.  Perhaps it is stubbornness or pride, or perhaps it is simply a cynical belief that it is more prudent to remain silent rather than endure the consequences of betraying one’s most intimate emotions.”

“Like what, Phillip?  Like your own carnal love of chocolate?” Isabel teased him.

Phillip gazed at her, settling his head deeper against his seat, indulging in the casual moment between them.

“Yes, something like that.” He smirked.

“Well, Phillip, there are consequences for everything.  All we can do is try our best to be honest with ourselves and with those who we care about most.”

Phillip stared at her as if she had spoken a secret buried within his heart; but rather than acknowledge it, he turned and settled his eyes out the window at the dark meaningless void across the lake.

Phillip straightened in his seat; she sensed the change within him

“Is there an agenda for tonight?” she asked.

“The same agenda as usual.”  His tone was flat and filled with disinterest.  Flaring across the windows, the light from the street lamps streaked past them.  “I imagine news has already been bandied about regarding our intention to sell The Peoria.  That will likely start the sharks circling, and where there is blood, there is always a feeding frenzy.”

Isabel caught sight of Phillip’s steady gaze, peering at her in his window’s reflection. 

She nodded.  It had taken her years of experience and professional grooming to be granted the opportunity to swim in the tank with Phillip and his business colleagues, but there was also the chance of getting bitten.  And with the recent news of Symeon Colovos’ departure as well as Phillip’s recent break-up with his fiancée, Isabel knew she would have to navigate through the evening with more caution and diplomacy than usual. 

As they passed over the Chicago River and headed south towards the Loop, she glanced up at the skyscrapers, illuminated with accents of neon white, yellow, orange, green and red like cosmic rockets, preparing to shoot up through the black veil of outer space.  She counted three of Phillip’s buildings among the parade of towering skyscrapers along the riverfront, each owned by one of Phillip’s competitors—a handful of powerful men who owned seventy-percent of Chicago’s downtown real estate, and almost all of whom would be there at the gala tonight. 

Their Bentley cruised up to the curbside of the Watercross Tower, the newest addition to Chicago’s skyline and the tallest residential complex in the city.  Isabel waited for Param to exit and assist her out of the car.  With polite chivalry, he guided her to the curb and passed her off to Phillip, who enveloped her hand within the crook of his arm and led her through building’s revolving door.  She had accompanied him to functions in the past, but his physical embrace of her hand and the solid pace of their unifying gait towards the elevators told Isabel that Phillip was interested in keeping her closer to him than usual.

“There’s a private casino at the top level,” Phillip said, nodding to the tacky décor of the elevator cab’s interior, trimmed with blue neon lights reflecting off the flashy metallic panels of brushed gold.  He peered up at the conspicuous security camera, encased in tinted plastic in the corner of the cab. “Only a megalomaniac bastard like Eliot Watercross would exploit the only loop hole in the City of Chicago’s ban on downtown casinos by building it above the City’s official air space rights.” 

Phillip pressed the call button for the ninty-ninth floor.  The glittering metallic doors closed and the cab shuttled them upwards to the top of the world.  Isabel knew that Eliot Watercross was one of Phillip’s biggest competitors.  Phillip valued original and vintage—form follows function—while Watercross preferred modern and ostentatious—the tallest and most expensive building wins.  But unlike Phillip’s real estate empire, which had been built upon partnerships of investment equity and solid cash flow from commercial lease deals, Phillip had told her that he suspected Eliot Watercross had built up his entire real estate empire on pyramids schemes of leveraged debt.  And pyramid schemes—no mattered how flashy and impressive—always led to bankruptcy.

The elevator chimed and its doors slid open.  They were immediately greeted by a pair of men in black catering suits.  The younger one with an attentive boyish face approached Isabel.

“May I take your coat, Miss?”

She complied and slipped off her mink.  Phillip removed his own black trench coat and passed it off to the second attendant.  Phillip offered her his arm as they crossed the grandiose sky-level casino, its sweeping reflective ceilings and vibrant illuminated floor panels reminded Isabel of her son’s favorite carnival ride at the zoo.

Phillip turned up his nose and surveyed the surreal atmosphere of purple neon lights and bubbly inebriated cheer. “It’s a perilous pair of Jacks he’s flaunting at the poker table, and one day, someone is going to come along and call his bluff.” 

Elegant men huddled over the blackjack and roulette tables, waiting for their next capricious win between their boisterous exchanges and bursts of laughter. 

Isabel unexpectedly felt a hand slip around her waist and force her away from Phillip.

“Hello, lovely lady. You might just possibly be the most attractive thing in the room.”

Isabel relaxed in his embrace. “Good evening, Gary.”  She was relieved to see it was a familiar face rather one of Phillip’s more presumptuous business colleagues.

“Good evening” he playfully purred at her while releasing her from his grasp.  “Are we going to get some business done tonight?”  He eyed Phillip before sweeping up two champagne flutes from the tray of a server darting by them, and handed off the first flute to Isabel with flirtatious chivalry.  “My lady.”

“There’s definitely no shortage of egos here,” Phillip remarked, accepting the second champagne flute from Gary while scanning the casino.

“Yeah, I’m fairly certain every man, woman, or child who owns a building east of LaSalle Street is here tonight,” Gary confirmed.

“And Watercross?” Phillip asked.

“Negative,” Gary replied, attempting to adjust the asymmetrical cream pocket square accentuating his shimmering royal blue Brioni suit. “Watercross is the only businessman I know who waits until everyone is drunk before arriving to his own party.”

“Here…let me help you with that,” Isabel offered, passing her flute off to Phillip before moving in front of Gary to unfold and re-fold his pocket square with origami precision. “I’m glad to see it’s silk. I thought it might be just a cardboard cut-out.”

“I’m not very good with arts and crafts,” he said, peering down at her, openly admiring her face and eyes.  “But you, Miss Alvarez, you make everything seem so easy.”

“I’ve had plenty of practice,” she replied, glancing over at Phillip’s tuxedo tie while tucking the silk square perfectly into Gary’s breast pocket. 

“Cheers to you, Miss Alvarez,” Gary announced, passing back Isabel’s champagne and stealing a martini from a passing tray. “Phillip, I hope you know you’re a lucky, lucky man.”

Isabel caught the strange hint of jealousy in Gary’s voice, and glanced at Phillip who was eyeing her reaction.  She had always casually sidestepped Gary’s subtle innuendos, which often crossed the professional line between them.  But from the very beginning, Phillip had warned her about Gary’s “affection” for women—all women—and she soon learned that he loved a good challenge even more.  And Isabel certainly offered Gary a challenge.

“Where’s your date tonight, Gary?” Isabel asked, calling him out on flirting with her when they all knew that Gary never attended a party alone.

“There…” Gary sighed, sucking on his olive. “By the champagne water fountain.”

Blonde
, Isabel noted.
Gary always picked blondes
. 

“Well, at least she looks older than the last one,” Phillip remarked.

“I try to stay above the drinking age.”

“It doesn’t look like it’s helping.” Isabel observed the blonde woman’s imbalanced sway.

“She’s already had three flutes,” Gary admitted.  They all watched her stumble towards the open bar. “Looks like that’s my cue.”

He quickly downed his martini and handed it off to Phillip. “Phil, always a pleasure.  We’re going to bag that Peoria deal.  Call me in the morning—just not too early.” He winked and patted Phillip on the back before glancing at Isabel. “From now on, you’re going to redo all of them.” He tapped his pocket square. “This is only the beginning…”

He waved goodbye with a two-fingered salute and gazed at her with searing intensity, as if he intended to leave her with those haunting words. 

Feeling the color drain from her face, Isabel watched Gary stride across the expansive casino.

“Does his womanizing bother you?”

Isabel turned to Phillip, realizing she had been lost in her own private thoughts.  Gary had stopped briefly to shake hands with Carlton Weiss, a serial divorcée who married and divorced women like he bought and sold properties—over and over again. 

“Who? Gary or Weiss?”

Phillip smirked, knowing she was avoiding his question.

“I can handle myself, Phillip.  You know that.”

“Oh, yes,” he replied, finishing his champagne and handing it off to a passing waiter.  “I definitely know that.”  He smirked, taking her hand into his own.  “Come now…let’s see if I can be inspired to mimic your diplomacy.”

Phillip intentionally led them towards Carlton Weiss, the man who had attempted to punch Phillip in the face at the last gala they attended together.  Weiss had failed.  He had been drinking, and Phillip anticipated the throw.  Weiss’ fist ended up on the other side of a pane of decorative Tiffany glass.  Isabel remembered everything about that night—Phillip had Param drive Weiss—and his bloody, shredded fist—to the emergency room.

Now, Phillip led her directly towards Weiss, who had moved near the seafood appetizer tower, lined with chilled caviar and oysters on the half shell.  Phillip wasn’t the type to avoid conflict.  He was always willing to challenge it—head-on.