Devotion - Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel (19 page)

“That would make me his whore,” she punched back with resentment. “And I’m nobody’s whore, Eliot.”

The sound of his laughter ricocheted off the metallic interior of the elevator cab. “Then prove it,” he punctuated with an arching brow.

Slowly, the elevator doors rolled shut, removing Eliot Watercross from her view but not from her mind.  She exhaled and held her head. 
Had he been right
?  Had she allowed Phillip to limit the role she played within his company to just his secretary?  She gazed at the elevator doors, fighting to shake off Eliot’s snickering laughter and the nagging sense of distrust and disloyalty it inspired within her.  Then, the unnerving sensation of being watched settled into her soul.  She turned and shifted her eyes through the glass doors of the lobby.  There, she saw Phillip and Marlow stopped at the end of the hallway. Phillip’s piercing blue eyes seized upon Isabel. 
How long had he been standing there, watching her and Eliot?
  She didn’t know, but the stormy glare in Phillip’s eye warned her that perhaps he had seen more than he should have.  Isabel watched Marlow’s red lips reciting words into the air like floating bubbles. 
Long enough to watch Eliot draw her close into his body and almost kiss her lips?

Marlow clung onto Phillip’s sleeve like a forlorn lover postponing her farewell.  Again, the whispering question returned to Isabel’s mind:
had Marlow willingly abandoned Phillip, or was it he who had cast her away?
His eyes challenged Isabel—challenging him—before drawing Marlow past the doorway and out of sight. 

Isabel felt herself exhale, a deliberate release of the unspoken tension that Phillip’s confrontational gaze lanced into her heart.  Suddenly, she reflected on her own uncertain relationship with the man who had granted her the opportunity to become a professional woman, rather than just a house cleaner and a single mother.  Had she actually achieved all of her success because of Phillip’s mentoring? Or had he been the one who intentionally held her back from achieving even more?  Had he intentionally kept her in her proper place as merely his assistant in order to satisfy his own needs without considering her own?

Isabel gazed back at the elevators, fighting the urge to call the cab and chase after Eliot Watercross.  Instead, she turned and forced herself to draw back the glass doors of the lobby and pretend that she was re-entering the office exactly as she had left it.  Eliot Watercross had not successfully recruited her away from Spears & Associates, but he had successfully placed uncertainty in her heart, which seemed equally dangerous.

Chapter Eleven

It had been a long hard day before Isabel finally reached her house and settled in for the night.  She had attempted to shake off Eliot Watercross’ conversation and move forward with the final preparation for Saturday’s gala.  But his searing eyes and masculine touch looped in her mind like an unsettling revelation.  He had always been so flirtatious in his interactions with her that it seemed easy to dismiss his public advances as nothing more than a disingenuous display of power.  Eliot was Phillip’s rival and she was Phillip’s assistant.  Plus, everybody knew that Eliot Watercross was invigorated by a good challenge.  But within the inexplicable moments of magnetic attraction between them, it was hard to deny his insistence that she was worth more to him than she realized—or that she allowed herself to admit—and his assertion that she had mistakenly accepted her role as Phillip’s submissive servant rather than his equal partner weighed heavy on her heart. 

Could Eliot offer her something even more?
For the past five years, she had been given more responsibility under Phillip’s mentoring than she had ever dreamed possible…
but now, was it no longer enough
?

She shook her head and tried hard not to let her mind dwell on it during her dinnertime with Aidan.

“Mommy, did you know that police officers came to school today to talk to us during circle time?”

“No, honey, I didn’t know that.”  Isabel aimlessly picked at the peas on her dinner plate.

“They showed us their pincher things that they use to catch the bad guys.” Aidan clapped his hands, like he was squashing a bug in the air.

“Pincher things?” Isabel asked with a strained spark of curiosity. 

“These silver metal pinchers.”

“You mean, handcuffs?”

“Yeah, to catch the bad guys and throw them in jail.”

“Did the police officers tell you that?”

Aidan lowered his chin, bashful.  “No, that’s what Jeremiah said.”

“Ohhhhhh, I see…Jeremiah.” Isabel nodded to her mother, who was listening from the kitchen counter while preparing the salad.  Aidan had told both Isabel and Mrs. Alvarez on several occasions that Jeremiah knew everything because he was five. 

“The police officers just showed us their handcuffs and their big black flashlights and their
guns
,” Aidan whispered, his eyes widening.

“They. Did. Not,” Isabel punctuated. 

“Okay, it’s true.  They didn’t.” Aidan stuffed his mouth with his pizza. “But they did tell us they don’t have to shoot anything very often. Mommy?  Did you know what?  The police boss man is called the chief…”

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

Mrs. Alvarez dropped her knife onto the cutting board and wiped her hands on her apron.

“Cómo piensas que está allí…” she said to Isabel before passing out of the kitchen’s swinging door.

“Mommy, mommy…” Aidan tugged on his mother with excitement. “Maybe it’s a policeman.”

“A policeman?  Why would they be here?”

“Because they think we’re hiding the bad guys.”

“Or maybe they’re here to check to see if you’ve eaten all your dinner,” Isabel teased, nudging Aidan to take another bite of his pizza.

“Isabel—” Mrs. Alvarez suddenly called out from the living room with the same threatening tone that she used to use whenever Isabel was a disobedient child.

Isabel rose from her seat and peered out of the kitchen.  She spotted her mother, struggling near the front doorway, overwhelmed by the weight of three dozen long-stemmed red roses in a pink crystal Chihuly vase.  Isabel rushed to help her mother navigate the massive bouquet onto the nearest end table in the living room.  Aidan heeled after them, like a puppy enchanted by their perfumed scent.

“Flowers, Mommy…Flowers!”

Isabel looked at her mother for answers. 

“No lo sé.” Mrs. Alvarez shrugged.  “It was just the delivery man.”

Her mother reached out for the white envelope within the center of the bouquet and handed it off to Isabel, who slipped out the card and read it with dread.

WAITING…
~EW

Isabel re-read the card, noting the uniform typesetting of its printed inscription.  Then, she studied the Chihuly glass vase and spotted the glinting highlights of a foreign object submerged in its water like a lost treasure.  She carefully pulled up the thorny stems and fished out something painfully familiar—the triple-strand pearl bracelet. 

Damn him
, she cursed under her breath, rolling the sodden slippery pearls between her fingers.  It was so
him
in every way.  Just when she thought she had escaped him—and every lingering forbidden thought about him—he had reclaimed her attention and demanded a response.  Like a shot through her heart, the doorbell unexpectedly rang again. 

“Don’t, please…” she said to her mother, who started towards the door.  Isabel shut her eyes, fighting the urge to break down in tears.  It had been such a long emotional week, and she didn’t know if she could face him again.

Mrs. Alvarez gazed at her daughter, acknowledging the pain in her voice.  She nodded and stepped away, beckoning Aidan towards her.

Isabel exhaled and calmed her trembling hands before whisking open the door.  Immediately, she fell silent when she unexpectedly saw Phillip, pacing along the landing of her porch.

“Phillip?”

He turned to look at her, as if he had heard the echo of his name without the certainty that she had actually said anything at all.  He was dressed in his long wool trench coat, and the chilly October evening wafted his breath into the air.

“Please, I need to discuss something with you.” Without waiting for an invitation, he pushed past her through the doorway and entered the house.

“Of course,” she replied, watching him stop and peer at Mrs. Alvarez and Aidan, who stared at him like an unwelcomed intruder.

Aidan quickly broke away from his grandmother’s hand and rushed up to Isabel. “Mommy, do you have to work tonight?” He slipped behind his mother and eyed Phillip with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

“No, I don’t think so…” She turned to Phillip for an answer.  His searing blue eyes settled on the boy—weighing the consequences of his visit and actions—before finally insisting on a private moment between them.  “Please, may I speak to you—alone?”

Isabel nodded, recognizing the gravity in his face. “Aidan, go back now with Nica into the kitchen and finish your dinner.  I’ll be there shortly.”

She encouraged him with a smile, but Aidan had other plans.  He held up his hand to Phillip and shouted at him. “I’m the chief of police.  And I’m going get all the bad guys, including you.  You’re under arrest!” He laughed like he was inflicted with madness, and bursting through the swinging kitchen door with a wail.  Isabel locked eyes with her mother, who glared at Phillip, then back at the flowers before reluctantly drifting into the kitchen.

When she felt certain she had secured privacy for them, Isabel glanced back at Phillip.  “The police officers visited his school today. He’s a little bit excited by it all.”

Phillip nodded, then turned away from her, as if something about her made him uncomfortable.  Suddenly, she realized what she was wearing—bright pink yoga pants and a frayed cut off T-shirt with the slogan “Mama’s Gonna Knock You Out.”  Her hair was tossed up in a careless ponytail, and she realized that she was no longer wearing a bra.  It was her favorite “after work” routine—stripping herself of the formality of her work clothes simply to make her feel like she was truly herself again. 

But for Phillip, she sensed it was an unanticipated moment of informality between them.  He was used to addressing her in his office—where the professional boundaries of boss and assistant always were clearly defined.  Now, Isabel waited, feeling the burden of his heavy awkward silence before he forced himself to clear his throat in an attempt to address the reason behind his visit and the severity in his eyes.

“It is with great reluctance that I have forced myself here…” he started in a low apologetic tone, then paused, as if the words proved difficult to pronounce. His piercing eyes and sharp profile turned away from her before swaying back with firm resolve. “Upon many difficult hours of reflection, I have come to the conclusion that I can no longer maintain my silence, and instead, feel the most urgent need to openly express my…”

Phillip abruptly stopped his confession.  The undercurrent of suffering beneath his tone waned as his eyes caught sight of the bouquet of long-stemmed red roses in the living room. Without warning, he brushed past her, as if she was a stranger in her own house.

“Phillip—” she said his name like she intended to stop him.

He scanned the bouquet, seeking out clues for its presence before dropping his eyes onto the calling card resting on the surface of the end table.  But ultimately, it was the alarm in her voice that made him suddenly take notice of what he had failed to upon his arrival—the sleek pearl bracelet, dangling from her hand.  He stared at Isabel with cold detachment, processing the merit of its significance.

“I understand that I have come too late…in the evening.  I was hoping that perhaps you would be available for dinner tonight.  But now it is clear that I have interrupted your personal time with your family and…” he paused, stumbling through his thoughts, “with others who you may hold dear.  It is my mistake, and one I shall not commit again.  Good evening and good night.”

Phillip turned away without waiting for her reply and passed out of her house.  Isabel rushed to the threshold of her front door and watched his dark hair and black trench coat completely disappear into the cold dark night.  It was as if he had never been there, and yet, Isabel knew his assumptions—and their consequences—threatened to haunt every future word and glance between them.

“Todo está bien?”

She heard her mother emerge from the kitchen behind her.

“I’m not sure,” Isabel answered, peering down at the pearl bracelet, cradled in her palm.

Her mother’s black eyes fell upon it and arched her brow.  “Do you have to work tonight?”

Isabel slowly shut the front door and shook her head with a regretful heart.  In so many ways, it would all be so much easier if the only thing she had to worry about
was
whether or not Phillip needed her tonight for work. 
How had it all grown so complicated
? She looked down into her palm, savoring the silky elegance of the pearls.  There had been so few times in Isabel’s life when she had dared to allow herself the pleasure of believing that she was worthy of another man’s affections.  She had been so busy—simply struggling to provide for her family—that everything beyond work seemed inconsequential and unimportant.  Now, she had been introduced to the possibility of something more, which threatened to upheave everything she had worked so hard to achieve—perhaps even disrupt the entire stability of her life. 

Was it worth the risk
?  Isabel handed the pearl bracelet off to her mother like she was relinquishing a chain from around her heart.  She didn’t know, but she definitely knew she wasn’t willing to endure the burden of thinking about it any longer in exchange for spending precious dinnertime with her son.

* * * *

It was almost eleven o’clock when Isabel finally locked up the house for the night.  During the remainder of the evening, she had put everything out of her mind, consciously making the decision to dedicate herself to her role as Aidan’s mother rather than the melodramatic fantasy of being a desired woman.  Isabel hated melodrama.  It was the reason why she had enjoyed working with Phillip all these years—together, they always sought to solve problems, not create new ones.  And now, after giving her son a bath and putting him to bed, she realized the only thing that truly mattered was what she already had.  Everything else—the flowers, the jewelry, the lingerie, and yes…even the great sex—had simply been an unsustainable fantasy.  It was time to bring it all to an end and pretend that none of it had ever happened. Isabel knew her priorities, and she knew that being the object of desire was nothing more than a dangerous masquerade of courtship that had preyed on her repressed emotions and starved sexuality. The courtship had been appealing while it lasted.  But fundamentally, it was still just a forbidden fantasy—and Isabel was no longer willing to sacrifice everything for a charade.

She rounded the corner of the end table and flicked off the final light in the living room.  Everything fell into shadows, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself the indulgence to peer at the foreboding silhouette of Eliot’s roses.  Then, like an unwanted temptation, her phone vibrated from inside her purse. 

Isabel shuffled through the dark foyer to retrieve her phone, glancing down at its screen:

Waiting
… It read.

She glanced at the phone number of its sender: UNKNOWN.

She held her breath and froze, as if she felt the need to hide within the darkness. But she could not hide—not from him—and she knew it.  Her phone suddenly vibrated again.

Waiting for you
…

Isabel shook her head, defiant.