by Shandi Boyes
“Isaac believes exclusivity comes with an invisible clause of loyalty attached to it.” Hugo takes a seat in one of the many hard plastic chairs lining the corridor before leaning his elbows on his knees. “If one person was your only source of bread and butter, would you bite the hand that feeds?”
“No, but not everyone is that smart. People get greedy.”
He nods, his smile picking up. “Yes, they do, but that’s why Isaac rewards his staff for their dedication and loyalty.”
I shoot him a confused look. “You can buy loyalty?”
“No, you can’t, but Isaac has a knack for reading people. Add that to his business ethics and bucket-loads of cash, and you have a formula for a very successful empire. When his staff gains his trust, they’re awarded for it. If they lose it, they lose everything.”
My heart drops into my stomach as moisture burns my eyes. “I lost his trust.”
“You don’t count,” Hugo assures with a chuckle. “For one, you’re not a member of his staff, and two, you didn’t lose his trust. It was just misplaced for a few days.”
Any reply my muddled mind has yet to conjure is halted by a soft voice calling my name. When I pivot toward the greeter, I discover a slender brunette in a red A-line skirt and white blouse. Her dark hair is pulled back in a side-swept French braid, and her lips are shimmering with a fresh layer of lip gloss she must have applied before greeting me. I can’t see the color of her eyes as thick-rimmed glasses hide them.
When her brow arches, announcing she spotted my prolonged gawk, I quickly span the distance between us. “Yes. Hello, I’m Isabelle.”
“Avery Clarke.” After accepting my handshake, she gestures for me to her office. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Isabelle.”
Avery’s office is as outdated as the rest of the building, but she has a unique sense of style. Vibrant- colored scatter cushions give an illusion of flare. However, the potted orchids sitting under the large bay window that spans one entire wall gives it a rustic, homey feel. It’s odd for two contrasting elements to come together so well, but Avery pulls it off.
As Dr. Avery Clarke moves around her desk positioned near the far wall, I finish drinking in the rest of her features. She’s quite short, even with altitude-defying stilettos, the top of her head only reaches my eyes. Since her hazel eyes only have the slightest amount of crow’s feet, I’d guess her age to be in the early to mid-thirties. She’s attractive but is happy to downplay it with a lack of makeup and figure-hugging clothes.
After snagging a pencil and a yellow lined notepad out of the top drawer of her desk, Avery gestures for me to sit in the chair opposite her. “Unless you’d prefer to lie down?”
When her hand strays to a clinical-looking leather chaise, I plop onto the closest seat. I thought those types of shrink chairs were only movie props.
Avery gathers the tablet from her desk before sitting across from me. When her eyes lift to mine, the butterflies in my stomach vanish. Her eyes are warm and inviting, no doubt an asset for a therapist. They appear so trustworthy, I bet her patients spill their deepest secrets without a thought of the consequences. That, in itself, is a terrifying notion.
“Before we start, I want to ensure you’re aware that nothing you say within this office will be disclosed to anyone.” The way she emphasizes anyone reveals who she’s referring to—Isaac. “The sole reason I refused to work exclusively with Isaac’s team is because I didn’t want them believing I’d report anything they shared with me back to him. Any reports I take are solely for my patients’ benefit.” Her glistening, bright eyes stare firmly into mine. “The same courtesy applies to you, Isabelle. Anything you tell me, no matter how personal, will never be shared with anyone. Do you understand?”
I nod, trusting the honesty in her eyes.
“Great,” she says with a grin. “So, let’s get started. What brought you into my office today?”
My appointment with Dr. Avery went very well. Although she explained nightmares in adults generally occur in two to eight percent of the population, it’s not a rare occurrence for someone who experienced what I did on the weekend. She also advised that sleep deprivation increases the risk of nightmares occurring, so I need to ensure I get an adequate amount of sleep per night.
She gave me sleeping medication to test for the next week. If it lowers the incidence of nightmares, she’ll write a full prescription at my next appointment. I also have a set of imagery rehearsal techniques I’m to perform each night before going to sleep. They will help my brain rehearse how the nightmares will transpire if I have one. Although the efficacy of the treatment hasn’t been demonstrated clearly, Dr. Avery said there’s no harm in testing the theory in cases like mine.
I have three main tasks to focus on before our next appointment—practicing good sleeping hygiene by ensuring I’m not sleep deprived, maintaining regular exercise and eating something healthy before going to bed, and remembering that my bedroom is supposed to be a relaxing, tranquil place, reserved for sleep and sex, not stressful activities. I didn’t have the heart to tell her Isaac and I have been banned from seeing each other, so the sex part won’t be happening for a few weeks, if not months.
Ignoring my childish pout, I shove my keys into the lock of my apartment door before swinging it open. “Do you need to pick anything up while we are here?” I ask Hugo while bending down to collect the mail scattered on the floor.
He strolls into my living room like he owns the place. “Nope.”
“All right, give me five minutes to pack a few items, then we’ll be on our way. There’s beer in the fridge if you’re thirsty.”
After flashing me a grateful wink, he strolls toward my compact kitchen as I dart into my room. My focus is to rummage through my limited clothing choices in the walk-in closet with the hope I’ll find something suitable to wear to the gala tomorrow night. I don’t like my choices, but with time limited, I’ll have to work with what I have.
By the time Hugo joins me ten minutes later, I’ve narrowed my choices down to three different selections with starkly contradicting hemline lengths.
“Do you have to wear a ball gown to a gala, or can you wear any old dress?”
A mortified expression slips over Hugo’s face before he shrugs. “You’re asking the wrong guy about fashion choices.” His deep drawl overemphasizes the words ‘wrong guy.’
Certain a floral printed dress isn’t the look I’m going for, I dump it next to Hugo’s backside, which is planted on my bed, before giving the remaining two dresses a final once over. One has a black tulle skirt that will show a scandalous amount of legs, whereas the other silk skirt will drag along the ground no matter how high my heels are. It seems the less risqué of the two until you spin it around. The back gapes so dangerously low, it sits half an inch below the two dimples in my lower back.
When three minutes of deliberation doesn’t get me any closer to picking, I float my eyes back to Hugo before giving him my best pleading face. “I can’t pick. I need help.”
“I don’t remember waking up with a vagina,” he mumbles under his breath before darting his eyes between the dresses I’m holding out in front of him. “Both will give Isaac a heart attack when he discovers you’re wearing it while not in his presence.”
I grin, loving the mirth in his tone.
“But if I had to pick, I’d go with that one.” He points to the mini dress that will show a heap of leg.
“Are you sure? I was more leaning toward this one.” I wiggle the mermaid tail dress with a teardrop back. When Hugo’s lips thin into a stern line, I roll my eyes. “All right. Scandalous leg dress it is.”
I dump the rejected dresses into my closet before shadowing Hugo out of my apartment. Although my time here was short, it still feels like home to me. I can’t wait for all the drama to end, so I can return to my normal dull existence. Although, I doubt my life will ever be classified as boring with Isaac in it. He’s anything but ordinary.
I groan when our exit
of the elevator has us stumbling upon a late afternoon storm. The downpour lowers the already cool temperatures, making me wish I had packed a waterproof, fur-lined coat.
“Wait under the awning, and I’ll bring the car around.”
Not waiting for me to answer, Hugo hands me my dress bag and satchel before tugging off his business jacket so he can use it as an umbrella. After giving me a wicked smirk, he weaves in and out of the heavy foot traffic blocking him from his car, which is parked one block down. When the rain starts coming in sideways, I step back to ensure my dress for the gala doesn’t get wet.
In my eagerness to avoid the torrential downpour, I accidentally bump into someone. I’m about to offer an apology, but their snarky voice stops me. “When it rains, it pours.”
My stomach churns when the voice registers as familiar. Stupidly, I turn to face Theresa, who’s standing just out of the revolving doors of my apartment building. She has a cocky smile plastered on her face, and her arms folded under her breasts. Unlike every other time I’ve seen her, today she’s casually dressed in black slacks and a pink striped poplin shirt that’s paired with a black suede jacket. Since her gun and badge aren’t holstered on her hip, I’m going to assume she’s off duty.
I muster out a weak smirk before returning my gaze to the roadside. The tenseness of my stomach amplifies when Theresa moves to stand next to me. Her overly rich floral perfume adds to the gymnastics routine the butterflies in my gut are doing.
“Are you going somewhere?” Her thinly slit eyes drop to the dress bag I’m clutching for dear life. “I hope you informed your parole officer that you’re leaving town.”
I keep my focus on the road, praying Hugo’s car will miraculously appear. The judge didn’t put any restrictions on my bail or request for me to hand in my passport, but out of courtesy, I did inform my bail officer that I was leaving town for the weekend yesterday afternoon. He advised he wasn’t required to track my movements, but he appreciated me reaching out.
My teeth gnash together when Theresa steps into my peripheral vision, but other than that, my outward appearance doesn’t give any indication to my annoyance of her harsh glare.
“Don’t feel bad.” She keeps her tone low and aloof to ensure the other people using the awning for shelter don’t hear her. “You should be proud of your achievement.” My skin crawls when she glides her hand down my arm as she tries to falsely convey her concern. “Excluding Ophelia, the longest relationship Isaac has had was six weeks. You astonishingly lasted nearly that same length of time.”
I roll my eyes before pacing to the curb. I should’ve known she was still tunneling the Isaac-is-a- terrible-man trench she’s been digging for the past two weeks. Relief blasts through me when I spot Hugo’s cherry red Chevelle rolling down the road, and the bucketing rain has simmered to a drizzle, so I won’t get drenched while fleeing from Theresa’s obnoxious rants.
Theresa’s snarky question is barely heard over the earthy rumble of Hugo’s engine, but it still harnesses my wish to leave. “Did he at least have the decency to break it off with you before he started sleeping with other women?”
A rock settles in my stomach. She asked her question as if she’s a scorned woman—most likely a scored woman of Isaac’s.
My theory is proven when she says, “Because he didn’t with me. After six weeks, I was thrown out like a piece of trash.”
My lungs clench, winded by the brutal blow her comment inflicted on my heart. I’d been wondering if her relationship with Isaac was more profound than initially perceived. It wasn’t just what Ryan said in the holding cell that had my curiosity piqued. It was the fact her eyes clouded with bitterness every time she asked me about my sexual involvement with Isaac. Her jealousy is as apparent as the stars in the midnight black night.
“I’m sorry for the way you were treated, no one deserves to be disrespected like that, but people change.” My voice relays both my sympathy for what she went through and the truthfulness behind my statement that a leopard can change its spots. It just has to find the right person to change for.
Isaac has never hidden the fact that before me, he had no interest in a relationship. He also made sure anyone associating with him was aware of his intentions. Heck, he even told me the day we met that he didn’t have time for a relationship, that there’d be no calls in the morning, and no dates next week. It was a one-time-only deal, so I can’t fault him when other women don’t understand the message he’s relaying.
Any sympathy I’m feeling for Theresa blows away as quickly as the storm clouds above our heads when her evil, conniving laugh breaks the silence teeming between us. “You’re a naïve imbecile if you believe he changed for you.” She spits out her last word like venom. “When you stop living with your head in the clouds, and you want to learn about the real Isaac Holt, call me.” She shoves a business card into my hand before pivoting on her heels and sauntering down the sidewalk that’s once again populated with foot traffic.
Her sneer is so vicious when people see her coming, they step aside, giving her a clear path to her dark blue sedan parked on the corner. Even the brawliest-looking men scamper away like cowards. Once she slips into her car, I slide through the door Hugo is holding open for me.
“What did she want?” Hugo jerks his head to Theresa, ensuring I can’t mistake who he’s referencing. “Regan said the IA’s case has been dropped.”
“It has been.” When he pulls away from the curb, my gaze strays to Theresa sitting in the driver’s seat of her car. She’s jotting something down into a notepad like our conversation wasn’t memorable enough for her to recall without notes. “Our conversation had nothing to do with their squashed investigation.”
“So, she just wanted to… chat?” Hugo’s words could only be grittier if he rolled them in dirt before articulating them.
“Yep.” The ‘p’ pops from my mouth. “A good one-on-one chat—woman to woman.”
Hugo pulls a face that mimics the slug sitting in the bottom of my stomach to perfection but remains quiet. It’s for the best because by the time we arrive at Regan’s apartment, my mood is pitiful. I’m not surprised by Theresa’s testimony, but it stings knowing Isaac had any association with her. I’m not stupid. I know he bedded plenty of women before me, but pain still gnaws at my chest when I think about him with anyone but me. When it comes to stuff like that, I’d prefer to live with my head in the clouds. Reining in jealousy will never be a strong point of mine.
After dumping my satchel and dress onto the bed, I dig out a pair of running shorts and a loose shirt before returning to the living room. Hugo eyes me peculiarly when he spots the running shoes I’m in the process of tugging on.
“I need to run off this funk.” I pop down to tie the laces on my bright white shoes before doing a quick set of warm-ups to prepare my muscles for the rigorous activity they’re about to undertake. “Avery said exercise would minimize the risk of a nightmare, so why not kill two birds with one stone.”
Hugo leaps up from the sofa he’s sprawled on. “All right. Give me a minute to get changed, then I’ll come with you.”
Not waiting for my response, he sprints toward his room.
Not even thirty seconds later, “Holy shit,” is murmured in a breathless moan.
Regan is standing next to me. Her jaw is on the floor, and a vein is working overtime in her neck. Once I finish stretching my triceps, I follow her gaze. My jaw joins hers on the floor when I realize what she’s gawking at. For someone with not enough hours in the day to do all the tasks he must get done, Hugo clearly schedules in a workout session or three per day. His body is so ripped not even the vast collection of tattoos covering his torso, arms, and thighs can’t hide the dips, bulges, and planes carved in his large frame. His body is mindboggling.
When Hugo senses our gawking, he freezes halfway between his bedroom and the living area. He finishes tying the drawstrings in his black Nike running shorts—yep! That’s the only article of clothing he’s wearing—his
brows draw together as his eyes bounce between Regan and me.
It takes him all of two seconds to realize we’re a bunch of dirty, old pervs. “You’ve got that itch now, don’t you?” His question isn’t for me. It’s for Regan who’s still drooling like a baby cutting its first tooth.
Taking Regan’s silence as an answer, Hugo winks before shifting his ignited gaze to me. “Ready?”
I swallow, praying it will return my jaw to its rightful spot before nodding. “Uh-huh.”
Chapter 20
Isaac
“Confidentiality is an integral part of a patient-doctor relationship, let alone the fact I’m bound by a stringent code of ethics,” Avery’s voice grows sterner as our conversation continues. “If you want to know about my session today, you’ll need to ask Isabelle because as far as you’re aware, I don’t even have a patient by that name.”
“I’m not asking you to divulge her deep, dark secrets. I’m merely requesting you to help me help her through this.”
Avery huffs as the creak of her leather chair sounds through the phone. Even though it’s a little after eleven in the evening back home, I’m not surprised she’s still in her office. She works as tirelessly as I do.
“If you want me to help you, Isaac, you’ll need to be a patient of mine.”
My groan tells her precisely what I think about her insinuation I need help. She’s tried many times the past five years to get me to lie on her shrink chair so she can unravel the mysteries in my head. Her endeavors have not yet reached fruition—they’ll never reach fruition.
“Hypothetically speaking—” Avery’s huff cuts me off, but nothing slows me down. “If my friend was suffering terrible nightmares, what would another friend do to assist him or her through their crisis?”
“Hypothetically, that friend did the right thing by making sure his friend sought professional help.” She ignores my angry growl as effectively as I did her huff. “This is one of the reasons I denied your initial request to work with Isabelle, Isaac. You agreeing not to pry me for information is the only reason I had a consultation with her today.” I attempt a reply, but she continues talking, stealing my chance. “I know you’re trying to help her, but I promised her that our sessions would remain confidential. I intend to keep my promise, so if you want to know what happened today, you’re asking the wrong person.”