Devotion - Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel (9 page)

Phillip let out a soft laugh.  Isabel knew Phillip secretly liked the fact that Norton was the only one in the office willing to challenge him at every turn.  “Your expertise is not to appraise the current value of the building, Norton.  Your expertise is to evaluate the budget for its redevelopment in relation to the investment risk.”

Norton lifted one piercing eye at Phillip before shutting it again with resentment. “Extremely high,” he punctuated.  “A three million dollar budget is sufficient, but grossly imprudent. And you’ve already spent fifty million dollars restoring its grand marble lobby.”

“The building is a one-of-a-kind historical landmark,” Phillip cut in. “Which arguably makes its restoration value…priceless.” 

Norton conceded Phillip’s point.  “It’s true.  It’s structural wooden beams are sawn lumber—solid prairie oak timber of a grade that would cost one hundred times current market rates for lumber if an exact replica was built today because trees of that size and density simply no longer exist.  In addition, trains no longer deliver the mail the way they did when The Old Main Post Office was the major continental hub of postal transportation.  But its railroad tracks beneath the belly of the building are still fully accessible and connect to the existing modern commuter rail system, allowing for instant accessibility by hundreds of thousands of residents and tourists.”

“And retrofitting for current safety codes?” Phillip prodded him.

“My estimation is that regulators would have minimal additional requirements upon inspection of the restoration,” Norton replied, as if it pained him.  “If a fire broke out today, it would smolder out on its own because The Old Main Post Office was constructed to withstand infernos like the Great Chicago Fire.  In short—the building is a perfectly preserved historic fortress, and your budget for its restoration accounts for every single aspect of preserving its vintage integrity.  Whether or not spending three hundred million dollars to make it useful to modern-day society is worth the risk is another matter entirely.  I still contend that it is not.”

Phillip rubbed his jaw, absorbing Norton’s negativity with displeasure.

“There’s still the question of the bureaucratic red tape, Phillip,” Isabel jumped in. “Our zoning application and redevelopment plans still need to be approved by the city.”

“Then we shall host a grand gala at The Old Main Post Office and invite all the city officials we need in order to expedite zoning approval.”

Norton snorted. “An old-fashioned Chicago ball to grease the palms of our old-fashioned Chicago bosses?”

“Precisely.”  Phillip nodded.  “It’s a federal landmark.  We’ll appeal to their sense of patriotism as well as their affinity for campaign contributions.”

“That, my dear boy, is a hornet’s nest beyond my expertise.” Norton rose from his seat and nodded to Isabel. “And unfortunately for you, young lady, I sense that Phillip is about to delegate a new project onto your plate.  Be sure, my dear, to ask for a raise.”

Isabel hid her smile and waited until Norton hobbled out of Phillip’s office before confirming its truth. “A grand gala at The Old Main Post Office?” 

He lifted up his gold-plated pen and flipped it across his knuckles.  “An ambitious project for an equally ambitious woman.”

Isabel brushed off his compliment. “And I suppose you have an equally ambitious timeline to pull off this sort of thing?”

“The faster, the better.  We’ll hire whoever you want to assist with the event coordination.”

“Of course.” She nodded, trying not to think about all of the long evenings she was going to spend orchestrating a grand gala. “And a guest list beyond city officials?  It’s our opportunity to showcase the property to the community, you know.”

“You mean showboat it—the same way as Eliot Watercross?”

Isabel heard the spite in his voice.  “I simply mean that Eliot has a way of gaining media exposure for his properties that garners him significant notoriety.”

“Yes, notoriety,” he repeated as if he was drawing out the oxygen from the room. “I shall leave it to you to do whatever you deem best.”

Their intimate connection from the previous evening was completely gone.  Now, Phillip seemed like nothing more than a callous real estate tycoon who expected his priorities to be received and executed—regardless of the cost.  She stood up and turned away, realizing his eyes were pushing her out of his office.

“Oh, and Isabel…” his stern voice stopped in her tracks. “Did you find the gift bag that was delivered to you this morning?”

Confused, Isabel glanced back at him. “Yes…” she heard herself whisper.

“Good.  I was the first one to the office this morning, and so I was the one who signed for it from the messenger.” He glared at her, distrust shadowing his face. “Another gift from an old friend?”

Their eyes locked.  She knew what he was thinking; exactly what she had tried to avoid thinking herself—that it was a gift from Eliot Watercross.  She quickly replayed the physical details of the gift bag in her mind.  How much did Phillip see?  The card?  No, it was sealed when she opened it.  Had he seen the Cartier box below the white tufts of tissue paper?  Perhaps—if he had dared to allow himself the indiscretion to investigate inside it.

“Yes, something like that,” she finally answered.  It was a cold mechanical response, one intended to convey that it was none of Phillip’s business because it was nothing—truly nothing at all.

Chapter Five

For the rest of the day, Isabel remained at her desk, placing phones calls, drafting emails, and preparing a game plan for organizing a grand gala at The Old Main Post Office in the shortest amount of time possible.  She knew Phillip would expect her to have answers for him by the end of the day—a full invitation list, a tentative date, an estimated budget, and even a theme for the ball. 

Elisa, the office coordinator, breezed up to Isabel and handed off the mail.  “Phillip seems kinda grumpy today,” she whispered.  “Everything okay?”

“Phillip is English,” Isabel replied under her breath while typing out an email. “The more interesting question is when is he
not
grumpy.”

“Gotcha,” Elisa sympathized.  “Are you staying late tonight?  Since it’s Friday, most of the girls are doing happy hour up at the bars in River North.”

Isabel stopped typing and sighed.  “God, I’d love a cocktail right now, you have no idea.  But I can’t.  I’ve been out late for the past two nights, and Aidan needs me home at a decent hour.”

“Totally get it.  So that means you’re not allowed to stay past five tonight.”

Elisa glanced up at the wall clock. 

Almost four-thirty
.  Isabel sighed. “How does that happen?” The whole day had escaped her and she had barely made any progress at all. 

“It happens because you spend too much time at your desk—actually working.” Elisa giggled.  “You need to lower your standards and waste more time with the rest of us, gossiping in the bathroom and making homemade Frappuccinos in the kitchen.”

Isabel glanced towards Phillip’s office door.  “Not even a possibility.”

“It’s true.  You are a slave to the master.  And you protect the rest of us.”

“For better or worse…” Isabel quipped and resumed typing. 

“For better
and
worse,” Elisa corrected her. 

Suddenly, the women silenced themselves as Phillip exited his executive suite, wearing his formal black overcoat and carrying his leather brief case.

“Leaving early today,” he said curtly to Isabel.  “We’ll touch base over email this weekend about the gala.”

Phillip did not make eye contact and there was no formal goodbye.  He simply turned and strode down the long office corridor.

Isabel fumbled in confusion.  She quickly glanced at her smartphone at their shared calendar—no happy hour drink or early dinner meetings had been scheduled with his colleagues or investment partners.

“Good night, Mr. Spears,” Elisa called after him.  “Happy Friday.”

Phillip nodded, but he did not glance back.  Like a phantom, he disappeared through the double glass doors and out of sight.

“Someday, I’ll get him to say goodbye to me,” Elisa asserted, like it was her own personal challenge.  Do you think he’d fire me if I openly addressed him as Mr. Grumpy Pants?”

“Yes.” Isabel tried not to smile—too freely.  Her official title within the company was “senior executive assistant,” and everyone knew she was ultimately responsible for overseeing the office conduct of all of Phillip’s staff. “Go tell the girls to get out of here a bit early and enjoy your drinks.  It’s been a long week for everyone, including Phillip.  Happy Friday.”

“Awesomesauce,” Elisa exclaimed.  “Thanks, Isabel.  We’ll drink a cocktail for you in your honor.  Oh, I almost forgot…” she said, doubling back to Isabel’s desk. “This just came for you.”

Elisa placed a glossy white box onto Isabel’s desk.

Isabel peered at it, then at Elisa. “From who?”

“I don’t know…I saw the bike messenger waiting at the reception desk for Lucy.  But she was away from her desk, using the bathroom, so I signed for it.  He said it was for you.”

Isabel studied the box. It was larger than shoe box, but light as air.  There was no marking or brand on its exterior, and no card. 

“Quitting time ladies,” Tami suddenly hollered, flicking off her computer monitor, and jumping up from her seat. “Last one to the bar has zero chance at sleeping with Raul, the hot Peruvian bartender!” 

Tami whisked up her coat and purse and raced down the corridor and through the double glass doors while Marcy, Jenna, and Grace all rushed to follow her.  “Lucy, hold the elevator,” Tami shouted. “We’re free at last!”

Elisa quickly distributed the last pieces of mail on the remaining desks before rushing after them. “Gotta go, Isabel.  But if you change your mind, come down and find us.  Something tells me we’re gonna need help keeping Tami from sexually harassing every eligible bachelor in the joint.”

She disappeared through the glass doors.  Isabel stopped and listened to the eerie emptiness.  Phillip and Jett had both left for the day.  All the assistants had cleared out with Tami.  And now, she only heard the subtle click of typing in the far corner office. 
Likely
Norton
. 

She stared down at the glossy white box.  Then, she rose from her desk and whisked herself into Phillip’s office.  She closed the door and sat down on the mid-century leather couch.  She could feel herself trembling although she didn’t know why.  She had done nothing wrong.  She had made no inappropriate gestures or remarks that would ever lead any of Phillip’s business colleagues to assume that she was interested in anything more than a professional relationship. 
Except, perhaps, last night’s dance with Eliot Watercross
. 

Isabel settled her hands across the box’s sleek surface and slid open its lid.  Folds of shell pink tissue paper were sealed shut with a golden heart sticker.  Tucked along its crease was a white calling card; the same strong, but elegant black penmanship swept along its surface.

The Peninsula Hotel.  Ten o’clock.  The Duchess Suite
. 

Isabel held her breath and lightly tore through the golden heart sticker to reveal the mysterious gift.  But she sensed what it was before she saw it.  There, presented like a silent invitation, was a black bustier with garter straps and matching French cut thong, both embellished with fuchsia lace as well as a pair of sheer black Cuban heel seamed stockings.

Suddenly, the office door swept open and Phillip strode through it.  He stopped when he saw Isabel.  Startled, she rose from the couch.  His fierce eyes fell down onto the box in her hands.  She had covered it with its lid—just barely.  Their eyes locked and Isabel paused with hesitation before she spoke.

“I’m sorry to be an intruder within your office. I simply needed a quiet place for…a moment to myself.” His blue eyes flash at her like gemstones, reflecting the streaming rays of twilight.

Phillip stared at her with uncertainty before pushing past her towards the windows.  He adjusted their blinds, cutting off the unforgiving light and focusing the dark contrasting patterns onto Isabel’s flushed face.

“Yes, of course,” he said softly, attempting to refrain from distressing her more.  “Anything that is mine…is yours.”

He peered at her with quiet conviction.  “I simply came back to retrieve a file that I had forgotten.” 

But Phillip did not move towards his desk.  Instead, his eyes searched out the unmarked white box in her hands.  “I shall leave you now.”  He nodded and passed through the door, closing it behind him with a gentle tug.

With a heavy sigh, Isabel dropped onto the couch and tossed the lingerie box onto the coffee table.   The sharp shadows from the blinds cut across the box and she rose from the couch to gaze out at the city’s skyline. 
Watercross Tower
, she thought, studying its neon blue antennas, beaming up into the hazy stratosphere like a launching spacecraft.  She pressed herself against the cold glass of the window and peered up to its top floor.  Flickers of strobe lights flashed through the panoramic windows of the casino.  Eliot Watercross had built the tower as if it was a reflection of himself—garish, domineering and impossible to ignore.  He had successfully cajoled city officials into granting him unprecedented landfill rights along the Chicago River to the build the foundation for his behemoth tower, and he had garnered the sole permit to operate a casino within the downtown city limits.  There seemed to be nothing that he couldn’t obtain through sheer persuasion and charm, and as a result, he always got exactly what he wanted—whenever he wanted it.  As Isabel stared out at the jagged skyline, owned by a handful of powerful men who she could name on both her hands, she wondered if any of them besides Eliot Watercross was bold enough to send her roses, luxury jewelry, and lingerie to her office.  Were any of them bold enough to send them without revealing his mysterious identity while
still
expecting her to accept his seductive overtures by agreeing to meet him tonight at the Duchess Suite of the Peninsula Hotel?

No one was bold enough except one man—Eliot Watercross. 

Isabel glanced back at the lingerie box.  She needed to put an end to this.  Whatever
this
was, it had to stop.  She could no longer sit back and silently endure the romantic advances of one of Phillip’s competitors.  She had to make it very clear to her admirer that any expectation of a sexual relationship between them was both unprofessional and unrequited.  Her sole commitment was to Phillip.
There was no other choice—absolutely none
.

Fueled by renewed commitment and conviction, she left Phillip’s office, shut off her desk lamp and computer monitor, and slipped the lingerie and Cartier necklace into her purse.  She retrieved her coat from the office closet and flicked off the general lights, but stopped when she heard the soft flutter of typing down the hallway. Isabel slowly approached the doorway of Norton’s corner office and peered inside.

“Giselle?” Isabel said, surprised. “What are you still doing here so late?”

Beaming with enthusiasm, Giselle looked up across the wide screen monitor. “Hello Miss Alvarez.  I hope it’s okay.  I’m working here late on a project for Mr. Spears.  He asked me to create a social media campaign for a gala that he’s hosting at The Old Main Post Office.  Have you heard about it? ”

Isabel stared at Giselle, unable to comprehend her words.  “Yes, of course.”

“Well, I just got so excited about it,” Giselle gushed, “that I started working on it right away and I haven’t been able to stop.”

Isabel stared at her.  Isabel was Phillip’s most trusted employee; he rarely delegated anything off her plate unless it was with her consent.  Plus, the orchestration of The Old Main Post Office gala was Isabel’s official project.  She assumed every detail would be entrusted into her care—until now.

“I have a meeting with him first thing Monday morning about my progress.  I don’t want to disappoint him.”  Giselle settled her hands back onto the computer’s keyboard and typed furiously.

Isabel peered at Giselle.  Phillip despised social media.  It was modern society’s way of valuing instant gratification over strategic calculation.  Isabel noted Giselle’s flowing blonde hair, fresh powdered skin, penciled eyeliner and shiny lip gloss. Even from the doorway, Isabel could almost see down her low-cut blouse, something she regularly dismissed.  But now, she realized how many times all the men in the office—including Phillip—had taken the opportunity to indulge in the view the way Isabel was doing now.  And Giselle was young. 
So very young and inexperienced
, thought Isabel.  And yet, not much younger than when Isabel first started working for Phillip, and certainly not too young to be professionally groomed and mentored the way Phillip had groomed and mentored her.  Suddenly, a pang of jealousy swept through Isabel’s heart.  It was a ridiculous swell of envy, of course.  Giselle was an intern.  Isabel was Phillip’s senior executive assistant.  But the news that Phillip had reached out to her without Isabel’s consent suggested Phillip was driven to accomplish his goals and priorities at whatever cost necessary—and without Isabel’s exclusive assistance. 

Isabel forced a smile. “Well, try not to stay too late.  Phillip could let you work all weekend long on his projects if you’re willing to...”

Her own advice echoed in her ears.  How many times had she given up her weekends or nights to draft last-minute proposals or attend late-night dinner parties?  So many times that Isabel had lost count. 

“Don’t worry.  I don’t have much else to do anyway this weekend.  I’ll be sure to lock up and set the alarm. Lucy taught me how since I’m usually the first one in every morning.  Good night, Miss Alvarez.”

Isabel glanced back at Giselle, who resumed her concentration on the screen and clicked away as if Isabel had already left the room. 
Not much else to do on a Friday night?
 
No boyfriend?  No college parties?  No girls’ night out with friends and roommates?
  There was only conviction and determination within the fury of Giselle’s typing.  Isabel gazed at her as if she was staring at a former image of herself.

“Good night, Giselle,” she said slowly and exited Norton’s office, striding through the main glass doors into the reception lobby.  As she waited for the elevators and listened to the dull hum of the elevator cab ascending to the top floor of the building—Phillip’s building—she wondered if all these years she had actually been as naïve and submissive as Giselle seemed to her now.  It was a sobering realization—one that lurked within the deepest part of heart—because she no longer felt the privilege of being irreplaceable and indispensable.  Instead, she felt the sharp reality of sacrificing too much of herself—too much of her entire life—than perhaps was truly necessary.