Devotion - Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel (32 page)

Phillip swallowed hard and turned to the doorway.  “Ada, come quickly please,” he called out into the hallway before turning back into the room.  Flooded with emotion, he watched from afar as Aidan continued to tickle Ellison’s feet.

Ada pushed through the door.  Phillip directed her to the scene; she stopped to watch—as Phillip and Isabel watched—and waited to see if there would be another spasm of movement.

Without warning, Phillip’s cell phone rang from within the pocket of his trench coat.  He ignored the call, hearing only Ada’s soft gasp as they all witnessed Ellison gurgle with glee.

“Look Mommy, he’s laughing.”

Ada rushed to clear the hissing sound from the oxygen tube.  But the source wasn’t a blockage; it was Ellison’s own amusement behind the mask’s plastic.

Phillip’s phone rang with persistence; he ignored it.  His attention seized on Aidan, who giggled and spontaneously reached out for Ellison’s hands, forcing them to clap.

Unexpectedly, Isabel felt the vibration of her own cell phone within her purse.  She glanced down at the text message from Jett: 
Need to find Phillip.  Big problem with Old Main
.

She hesitated, watching Phillip and Ada taking in the scene of Aidan and Ellison’s childish interaction.  Then, she heard Phillip’s cell phone ringing again.  He continued to ignore it until it fell silent.  Her own phone buzzed again with another message: 
Isabel, any idea how I can reach Phillip ASAP?

She finally caved in and texted back: 
I’m with him now.  I will tell him to call you
.

She waited until Phillip circled towards her like a caged tiger, pacing in anticipation for Ada’s assessment.

“I don’t know what to think, Mr. Spears…maybe he’s just been in need of someone his own age.”

Phillip glanced over at Aidan, who had started spinning himself in circles along the Persian carpet.  He paused and gazed back at Ellison, noting how he had fallen into silence without Aidan’s prodding. “Yes, indeed.”

“Phillip,” Isabel gently called to him. His attention shifted onto her.  She lifted out her phone and encouraged him to scan the messages.

He reluctantly took her phone, dialed Jett’s number, and spoke sparingly into its receiver.  “Yes, it’s Phillip. What is it?”

Isabel waited.  The expression of cautious optimism generated by Ellison and Aidan’s interaction dissolved from Phillip’s face.

“Yes, I understand…we will be there.”  Phillip ended the call and handed back the phone to Isabel. 

“What is it?” she asked.

“The city has sent us an official summons.  They’re invoking eminent domain through condemnation of The Old Main Post Office.  They’re attempting to take it back into their possession as a government property and reassigning their own developer to the renovation project.”

“What?” Isabel cried out. “Who?”

Phillip peered at her, guarding his emotions. “Watercross Capital.”

Chapter Nineteen

Isabel followed Phillip’s long strides down the office corridor towards his executive suite, towing Aidan along with her like a flailing kite.  Giselle caught sight of them from the kitchen.

“Well, hello there, handsome,” Giselle greeted Aidan with a tickle. “Long time, no see.”

“Giselle, please,” Isabel exhaled, exasperated. “Would you mind taking Aidan into the kitchen and making him some hot chocolate?”

Both Isabel and Giselle glanced ahead at Phillip, who had stopped in the corridor, impatiently waiting for her to meet up with him.

“Aidan, go with Gigi.  I’ll be back in ten minutes and then we can go the aquarium.”

“C’mon,” Giselle said, coaxing him to trade his mother’s hand for her own. “Let’s see if there’s any dry erase markers in the storage closet.  We can go into the conference room and draw on the walls.”

It was a proposition that Aidan could hardly refuse.  “Cool!”

Isabel watched Aidan skipping away with Giselle with relief.  She turned back towards Phillip, preparing to reunite with him until Tami unexpectedly bounded up to them.

“Oh, thank God, thank God, thank God, you’re back.” Tami feigned a sugar-coated smile and switched into her best
merrily-she-rolls-along
tone. “Good morning, Phillip.”

“Good morning,” he replied. “I trust that Jett is already here?”

“Just getting off the phone with Alderman Fitzpatrick now,” she confirmed—all business.

“Good.  Send him in as soon as possible,” he started forward into his office, fully expecting Isabel to follow him.

“Isabel…” Tami grabbed her elbow, halting her by her desk.

Isabel peered at Tami.  Clearly, there was something weighing heavy on her heart.

“I’ll be right in, Phillip,” she reassured him. 

In the past, his stern eyes would warn her not to take too long; he needed her.  But now, the severe lines softened across his forehead as he accepted her delay with understanding.  His eyes relaxed with calm trust, which filled her with an unexpected rush of comfort.  Perhaps things
could
be different between them.

Tami waited until Phillip completely shut his office door.  “Ohmygod…don’t
ever
scare me like that again.”

Isabel felt Tami’s fingernails digging into her arm.

“Calm down, what’s going on?”

“You tell me what the hell is going on?  Jett gave me Monday morning off because I was still recovering from gala overload, but I heard from all the girls that you stormed out of Phillip’s office.  They all thought you quit.  I tried calling and texting you, but you never answered me.”

Isabel pulled out her phone from her purse, suddenly realizing she hadn’t checked her messages since yesterday evening.  Every moment since then, she had been with Phillip—re-discovering themselves and their relationship without the constrictions of their business lives impeding on them.  Now, they were back at the office, falling into their same roles and routines, preparing to reclaim their professional personas as if nothing had ever happened.

“Phillip’s here?” Jett rushed out of his office, pen in his mouth, phone in his hand, and his suit coat hanging off his long arms.

“Yes, he’s waiting for us in his office,” Isabel confirmed.

“Good.” He nodded. “Tami, hold all my calls, except from Ron Johnson, the city commissioner or his assistant, Rochelle.”

“Your coffee.” Tami passed off his mug.  “Cream, sugar, and a pinch of salt.  Just how you like it.”

“Thanks.  Wish us luck.”

“Luck,” Tami offered with sincerity as Jett disappeared through Phillip’s office door.

“Wow…that was the most civil interaction I think I’ve seen you two have in years.”

“We had sex,” Tami whispered, like she had just seen a ghost.

“You what?  When?” 

“After the gala,” she moaned, drawing her eye sockets down past her plump cheeks. “And then, again…this morning…in his office…on his desk.”

Incredulous, Isabel shifted past her to peer into Jett’s office at his desk.  “Really?  Well…good for you.  I guess that means you can stop complaining to me about growing old and undesirable.”

“Isabel, I can’t believe it.  I mean…it’s totally changed me.  It’s like I actually want to do my job better now—or at least, do it better until I can find a way to lure Jett into the storage closet.”

“Oh, God.” Isabel held up her hand to silence her. “Please don’t tell me that. Giselle just took Aidan in there to find the dry erase markers.”

“Okay, you’re right,” Tami pinched herself. “Horrible idea.  Totally irresponsible.  And completely unprofessional in every way.” Slowly, a smile spread across her lips. “But Isabel…I’m telling you, the sex is so awesome that I totally—don’t—care.  Jett could fire me tomorrow, and the only thing that matters to me is that he called me baby while he was banging my brains out. And I’m pretty sure he meant it.”

Isabel shut her eyes.

Tami scrunched up her face. “TMI?”

“Just a tad.”

“Understood.  What about you?  Did you ever confirm that Eliot Watercross was Mr. Billionaire Mystery Man?”

Isabel felt her cheeks flush as she considered everything that had transpired since the last time she saw Tami.

“No.”  She smiled and headed towards Phillip’s office door. “I confirmed it was someone even better.  Gotta go now.”

Isabel whisked into Phillip’s office and saw him standing behind his desk, scanning a single leaflet of paper in his hands.  Jett was on his cell phone.  Norton rested on the couch, looking more grave than normal.

“Good morning, Norton.”

“Good morning, Isabel,” he replied, his pale face brightening with her entrance. “So nice to see you back here.  Perhaps things aren’t destined to be doomed and gloomy after all.”

“How bad is it?” she asked him.

Norton eyed Jett, pacing vigorously in circles.

“I dare say, not good.”

“Isabel,” Phillip finally said, tossing the leaflet down onto his desk.  She shifted towards it and skimmed its contents:
Official Summons from the City of Chicago
. 
Notice of Condemnation of the Property Located at 433 West Van Buren Street
…

“Check—mate,” he punctuated, peering out through the windows at the vast skyline of the city that had turned against him like a traitor.  “The right of the government to expropriate private property for public use.  It’s the perfect strategic maneuver, claiming their right to seize the building for their own political interest.  The building spans four thousand feet of Chicago River frontage and sits directly above six lines of federal railway. 

Jett ended his call and exhaled with disgust. “That was my contact down at City Hall. He’s the head of the City’s Planning & Urban Development department.  He said once the City has moved to reclaim a property through eminent domain, it’s almost impossible to reverse the decision. And we can forget about getting any approval on any of our outstanding redevelopment permits.  It’s just a monumental circle jerk.”

Jett ran his hands through his hair, then tossed his phone onto the couch beside Norton.

“And there’s even worse news—Madame van der Meer’s lawyers called this morning. Watercross Capital sent them a copy of the official summons, and now her lawyers have called off the tenant lease negotiations.  And it’s going to be the same with Fifi Litzker.  Nobody is going to pursue lease deals with us without our renovation permits in place.  And there’s no way we’re going to get permits when nobody knows for sure who owns the building.”

“I own it,” Phillip shot back with malice. 

Isabel stared at him, absorbing his silent fury.

“Yeah, of course you do, Phillip,” Jett conceded. 

Realizing he had just assaulted one of his own, Phillip circled away to the far corner of his office. “Bollocks,” he cursed, his accent growing brutally thick. 

Isabel glanced at Norton, who encouraged her toward Phillip with a toss of his chin.

Carefully, she approached him, touching only the seam of his suit jacket.

“Phillip, we can fight this…let’s attempt to fight this—together,” she whispered.

“No,” he sighed, his eyes gazing far out past the frigid panes of glass. “I’m tired of fighting.  Let them fight—all of them.”  He barely shifted his profile away from the window.  She glanced down, feeling the inconspicuous touch of his hand against her own. “I have other priorities now, and there are very few things worth distracting me from them.”

“Phillip,” she urged him. “This is your property, no one else’s.  We can’t just allow them to take it from you.”  Isabel searched out hints of the man she had come to know and trust last night.  The touch of his hand confirmed he was still there, buried beneath a stone wall of repressed anger and guarded emotions. 

“Jett, call Gary… Tell him that I do not intend to challenge them.  Let the courts settle the amount of compensation.  It will take years, and my interests are occupied elsewhere.”

“Phillip, are you sure?” Isabel pressed him.

“Phillip, c’mon,” Jett insisted. “We can’t just give up.  We have to at least appeal.”

“No.  Let it go, mate,” Phillip warned him. “You’ve never been fond of the building anyway, and I’ll compensate you out of my own pocket for the loss of the van der Meer commission.  There will be other projects.  You always find us something.”

“Let me call Gary then,” Isabel insisted.  “Let me investigate all of our options.”

Phillip eyed her, amused.  “Isabel, I’m fairly certain you officially resigned yesterday,” he said with mockery in his voice.

She smiled.  He was right; he was always right. “Well, perhaps this morning I realized how much I missed my job because it encompasses everything that I love.”

Their eyes locked.  Then, like an act of resolution, he fully turned to her and touched her cheek, as if he had forgotten where he was and who was in the room, or perhaps he simply no longer cared.

“Phillip,” Norton’s voice rose up from behind them, “to surrender so graciously to a man like Watercross is not in your blood.”

“No, Norton, it’s true.” Phillip nodded. “But perhaps I am willing to lose this time because I’ve won something even more precious.”

His eyes lingered upon her.  How everything had changed, and yet remained completely the same.  They were there in his office, working together like they had always done with a mutual allegiance that bonded them.  Only now, there was an open acknowledgement of their union beyond just their professional lives and it gave them strength.

“Call Gary, Jett.  Tell him we will not pursue an appeal.”

Jett pushed back one final time. “Phillip, are you sure?  I’ve still got a call into the city commissioner—” 

But Phillip silenced him with his eyes. “It’s over, Jett. Let them have it. They just saved me four hundred million dollars in renovation costs.  We’ll send them a Christmas ham as a thank-you gift.”

“Butt end?” Jett quipped.

“Butt end.” Phillip smirked.

“Ten-four, Chief.”  Jett saluted and backed away towards the door and whisked it open, calling out into the hallway before disappearing into it. “Tami…get Gary on the line, and hold all the rest of my calls.”

Isabel felt the security of Phillip’s hand smoothing her heartbreak and bitterness over the injustice that they were being forced to endure. 
Let it go
, he was telling her. 
Just let it go
.
We are not giving up, we are simply moving on
…

She squeezed it back, an acknowledgement of understanding.  She indulged in the serenity between them, as if together they could conquer anything.  Only when her phone rang from inside her trench coat pocket did she reluctantly pull away.  She lifted it up and glanced down at its screen: WATERCROSS CAPITAL.

“Phillip,” she whispered, showing him her phone.

His eyes hardened and his jawline flinched.  “Do as you must,” he said, offering her nothing but his unconditional trust.

She gazed down again at her phone, ringing like a threat before she surrendered to its persistence. “Yes…?”

“Bella,” Eliot’s smooth voice purred through the phone. “So glad to finally hear your voice.  I’ve been missing you all weekend since you left me so abruptly after the gala.”

The gala
. Isabel rubbed her forehead and turned away from Phillip.

It had only been three days since the night of the gala, when she had left with Eliot Watercross.  He had driven her home in his Porsche Spyder, but only after she declined his offer to return to his penthouse at the top of the Watercross Tower.  Within the speeding darkness of his sports car, whirling like a silent bullet down Lake Shore Drive, she had hidden the quiver within her voice and the tears within her eyes while piercing her own skin with her fingernails and counting down the minutes when they would arrive to her house where she could escape from him.  When she was finally alone, in the solitude of her bedroom, she completely undressed and cried herself to sleep—long, bitter sobs that mourned for everything she knew she had lost—not only the stability of her job and the integrity of her professional career, but also her own self-respect, and her respect for the man who she believed had turned against her.