by Cora Bell
But Isabelle didn’t want to be here at all.
Which was why she was the perfect woman to be my wife.
Chapter 3
The moment I stepped into Mr. Holden’s office, I pulled free of his grip. My skin tingled where he’d touched me, which just infuriated me more. I was about to start a rant on harassment until I saw the view.
My jaw dropped open. Windows. That was all I saw on two sides of me. Huge, beautiful windows that showed me a fabulous view of the city I’d always loved. The city I was precariously close to leaving if I couldn’t make ends meet.
At least I had my regular cleaning gig tonight. Maybe I could leave another card for her in case she wanted to refer me to one of her friends.
Or all of them.
Someone else stood from the desk in the corner, startling me. I glanced at Nick, suddenly feeling like I was standing in the principal’s office after doing something very, very bad.
Which wasn’t like me at all. I always did the right thing. And I never had to go to the principal’s office when I was in school.
“This is Chase,” Nick said. “My lawyer.”
I grimaced. Shit. Was he here the whole time? Or had he come in because I’d done something wrong? I mean, sure I was sitting in the lobby with everyone else for the interview even though I had no desire to be here, but that didn’t hurt anyone. I was just trying to support Becca.
“I know I wasn’t here for the interview,” I began. “But—"
Nick shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
I frowned. “It seems like something matters. Otherwise you wouldn’t have dragged me in here.”
A small smile skimmed his lips—that same smile I saw in pictures of him whenever he was in the paper. Or on television. Or anywhere else where he was trying to charm the city—or the women of the city.
Which he did with effortless grace. That must be it—why I disliked him so much.
No one was that put together. Even rich men who had it all.
Well, almost all. I supposed he didn’t have a wife, which was why I was here to begin with. Dammit. I should have just stayed with my mom and done crossword puzzles. Or tried to find yet another job.
“Please have a seat,” Nick said, gesturing to the large meeting table that sat in front of the windows. “Let’s discuss a few things.”
I glanced at Chase, nervous again. “Really, there’s nothing to discuss. I was here to help—support—my friend. Who came for the interview. I wasn’t here for the interview and I’m happy to leave like everyone else. So if you’ll excuse me—”
“Sit,” Nick said.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “That might work on your employees—or your potential wife—but I don’t work for you. And I’m definitely not your wife.”
He gave a full smile this time as his eyes locked on mine. “Let’s see if we can do something about that.”
For the second time since I’d walked into the room, my mouth dropped open. Seriously? Was this all a joke to him?
Chase stepped forward, holding out a soothing hand. “Miss…”
“Davis. Isabelle Davis.”
His smile wasn’t coated in anything but sincerity. “Miss Davis. We’d love for you to sit down if you have time. I think we have a proposition you might want to hear.”
I mulled this over for a moment, then finally gave in and sat down. I was pretty damn sure I didn’t want to hear any proposition they had to offer, but I was nothing if not loyal and this was a great chance to talk Becca up. I still thought it was insane that she wanted to marry Nick Holden, but she was a marvelous businesswoman and if this got her a job in his company, then I could understand that.
We all had to do things we normally wouldn’t do to get what we wanted—or needed. I knew that better than most.
I adjusted my chair to face both men on the opposite side of the table and tried not to feel self-conscious in my simple dress. There was no way I was going to let Nick Holden of all people make me feel less than. I’d already done that in the elevator on the way up here, and it was just another reminder that I had to be strong in my own convictions. I liked who I was, and I didn’t need frills or fancy clothes to make others believe it.
“Miss Davis,” Nick began, “it doesn’t appear you like me very much.”
I swallowed a laugh. “I’m sorry I gave you that impression.”
“But you’re not denying it.”
I bit my cheek. “No, I’m not. But I typically try not to judge people out loud.”
“Just in your head, then.”
Yep. Or, I had with Nicholas Holden. I didn’t need to meet him to know what kind of person he was. And I didn’t respect a lot of what he did.
Chase shook his head slightly, as though discouraging Nick.
I smiled at him. “No, it’s fine. I admit it, I judged you before I met you—something I try hard not to do in most instances. But I know the kind of man you are and the kind of business you do. I don’t respect it and therefore I don’t respect you. Now, if that’s all—”
“Isabelle,” Nick snapped as I stood.
I froze halfway up from my seat, blinking my eyes in surprise.
His face smoothed into its neutral expression again. “If you don’t mind, I need just one more minute of your time.”
I frowned.
“One minute. I swear.”
I sighed and lowered myself into my seat again. “One minute.”
“Chase,” Nick said, holding out his hand.
Chase slid over a thick folder with a gold logo stamped on the front. Nick opened it and pushed it in front of me.
“I want you for this position,” Nick said.
“Me—what—what position?”
“The position of my wife.”
It felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “Why?”
“Because you’re poised and able to see this as a business deal, which is precisely what I need.”
But…I thought I’d just made it very clear how much I don’t like him. Why in the world would he want a wife who didn’t like him?
I looked down at the folder, my eyes racing over the print on the first page. It had all sorts of legal jargon I wasn’t familiar with—stuff that Becca would probably understand. Stuff she was supposed to be sitting here reading.
“It’s all pretty straightforward, but we can discuss it line by line if you have any concerns,” Nick said. “And, of course, you should have your lawyer take a look.”
I snorted softly, then immediately covered my mouth when both men’s eyes locked on mine. My lawyer? Ha. I didn’t have the luxury of retaining a lawyer like the rich and famous. Or even the sort of rich. I’d never even had to talk to a lawyer except for when my dad died—and that was only to be informed that he’d left my mother with all his debts. Lucky her.
Lawyers didn’t exactly make me jump for joy.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, dropping my gaze to the pages again.
Nick reached out, surprising me, and pulled the next pages of paper from the pile. “I think this might make it clearer. It’s a simple breakdown of what will be expected from you…” He pointed to the next line on the page… “And how you’ll be compensated.”
Cliché as it sounded, my mouth dropped open for a third time. I’d never seen that many zeroes before. At least not since math in school. And definitely not in any realistic situation. He was offering me that much money to pretend to be his wife?
That…that couldn’t be right.
As if reading my mind, Nick met my eyes and said, “That’s correct. You agree to be my wife and I’ll deposit that sum into your bank account for you to do whatever you wish.”
Whatever I wished? I wished my mom could have her surgery. And that she could live in a house that was bigger than a mobile home. With a housekeeper, so she could rest and recover. I wished so many things and…
I swallowed and closed the folder, placing my hand on top. “I don’t—I mean, I can’t—”
My skin started tingling again, as though it was responding to his words and his touch. As though it was asking for more. It wasn’t just that he was offering me money, it was protection from that cruel world that wouldn’t seem to go my way. It was a ruse, sure, but it was someone who could call me his. Someone I could call mine.
I stood abruptly, knowing just how far down a rabbit hole I could go—and had gone in the past. My mother had done the same thing. She’d fallen for charm, and then been left with debt.
I was too smart (and maybe a little too proud) to be put in a situation that even remotely resembled that.
But what I was I supposed to say? No? Right to their faces?
I gathered the folder in my arms and nodded, nervously backing up. “Sure. I’ll—I’ll take a look.” More like throw it in the trash. “And—and get back to you.” With a text—or not.
“Thanks,” I added before turning to the door and practically running out.
I didn’t stop until I saw Becca standing at the desk where Nick’s assistant sat. They were chatting and laughing. But when they saw me, they stopped.
“I have to go—we have to go,” I told Becca. “Right now.”
“Isabelle? Wait—”
She said something to the woman at the desk, then rushed after me, catching me at the elevator where I was furiously jamming my finger on the button over and over.
“Isa—”
The elevator dinged and I practically jumped inside, waving Becca after me. “Come on.”
“What happened?” she asked with wide eyes.
“It’s so ridiculous,” I told her, feeling guilty and upset at the same time.
“What did he say?”
I held the folder close to my body, suddenly afraid that she’d be upset that I was offered the position she wanted. “It’s—it’s—”
She folded her arms. “Isabelle Davis. We always tell each other the truth. So tell me.” When I still hesitated, she asked, “Did he offer you the job?”
I blinked and then laughed miserably. “Yes, and it’s so stupid and here—” I shoved the folder at her. “You take this. This is why you came. I’m not—I mean—I wouldn’t dream of taking it—”
“Wait, hold on.” Becca took the folder but didn’t open it. “He obviously saw something in you. Let’s talk this through.”
I shook my head. “I can’t. I have to check on my mom and go to work and—”
“And what? You should consider this.”
“Consider what? Marrying a stranger? No, worse, a man I don’t respect. Wow, dream come true. And…”
God, the money. There was that. So much money.
“Izzy,” Becca said, voice low. “There’s something you’re not telling me. What is it? Do you think I’ll be mad at you?”
“You should be,” I told her seriously. “I’m a thief! I’m trying to steal your job.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you? Because it sounds like you’re saying you’re not going to take the job.”
I swallowed, then turned to face her, coming to the easy—no, the right—decision. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. I’m not going to take the job. And that’s final.”
I gave a firm nod for emphasis and did what I could to put Nick Holden and his millions out of my mind.
Chapter 4
It had been two days. Two days since I saw the woman I was supposed to marry, and I hadn’t heard a thing.
It was really getting old checking my phone every ten minutes to see if she’d called or texted just to find work emails and texts from family or friends and absolutely nothing from Isabelle Davis.
I’d done some research on her. In fact, I’d scoured every corner of the internet and then employed someone from outside my team to do more. To find out as much as they could. And what I’d seen…made me embarrassed that I’d assumed her answer to my proposal would be yes.
Or that she’d answer yes right away.
Isabelle Davis was the kind of woman who tried to make the right choices—which meant she was probably going to take her time. She only had one parent, who’d been in and out of the hospital several times over the last year, one small apartment that she shared with her mother—probably to take care of her, and a dozen jobs. Literally. She’d had many of those jobs for many years but as far as I could tell, she just kept adding more.
Bored? Unable to settle?
I had questions. I had a lot of questions.
She had a bachelor’s in business, but she worked as a cleaning lady to half a dozen people in the pack of condos I’d purchased several months back and planned on gutting and renovating. She also walked dogs, served coffee, worked at sporting events and concerts whenever they came to town. And the list went on.
Who was Isabelle Davis?
By Friday afternoon, after nearly a full day of hardly getting any work done, I decided I needed to find out. I couldn’t get her face out of my head, the softness of her hand when I touched her, the smooth honey of her voice.
The more she seemed to dislike me, the more I liked her. The more I wanted her.
This had gone beyond business. I needed someone to be my wife, and now I couldn’t think about anyone else but Isabelle. She would be perfect, and I had to make sure that happened.
I strode from my office to Mrs. Claybourne’s desk. “Any messages?”
She looked up with one eyebrow arched. “Mr. Holden, as you’re aware, I forward any messages to you as soon as they come in.”
“I thought maybe you might have missed one.”
She gave a smile. “Which one?”
“One from Isabelle Davis.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “Of course.”
“You have one? Mrs. Claybourne—”
“I do not have any messages from Isabelle Davis.” She paused, then angled her head. “Might I make a suggestion?”
I lifted my eyebrows. A suggestion? The only time I asked her for a suggestion was when I needed to know what to get my mother for her birthday, or what color flowers might be best to send to my sister (typically after she’d had a baby, which she’d done three times).
“Go ahead,” I told her.
“Women like to be pursued. Perhaps speaking to her outside the office in a less…professional setting might work.” She smiled gently. “Bring her flowers or ask her on a date. There’s something to be said for good, old-fashioned courting.”
I barked out a laugh. “Courting? That is old-fashioned.”
“Worked for me,” she said.
I frowned. This was supposed to be a business transaction. But then, I reminded myself, Isabelle didn’t do this kind of business. She hadn’t even been here for the job. I had to think more like she was thinking—and right now, she probably wasn’t thinking she’d like to take a job (especially one of this nature) with someone she didn’t like.
But how in the hell did I court her? She hadn’t even left her information, just rushed out of here, long legs flashing from under her dress as she left my office. I swallowed hard. Fuck. I needed to see her.
“Do you still have the resumes from the women who came for the interview?” I asked her.
“Of course.”
Perfect. It was easy since Mrs. Claybourne had talked to her friend. I took the resume for Rebecca Morris back to my office and sat to look it over. Then I stood and paced. Hmm. Decent. She’d graduated from the same school as Isabelle. But her resume only had three positions on it—one with a rival company. She was as focused as Isabelle was erratic—at least in business.
Instead of using the business phone, I pulled out my cell and dialed the number on the top of the paper. She answered immediately.
“Rebecca Morris?” I asked.
“That’s me.”
“This is Nick Hold
en.”
There was silence for long enough, I cleared my throat. “Are you still there?”
“Yes. Yes, I am. Sorry. My phone must have cut out.”
I gave a small smile. Sure. “I need to ask you a favor.”
“Excuse me?”
“I need to speak with Isabelle Davis.”
“Can’t you just…find her number? Hire a private investigator or something?”
“I thought a direct approach might be simpler,” I said. Besides, I’d already invaded her privacy and now I felt rude using that information to get what I wanted.
“I haven’t heard from her in two days,” I continued. “I wanted to finish our discussion. And I wanted to make sure she was okay.”
Which was true. I was irritated she hadn’t gotten back to me but also concerned. She worked lots of jobs, long hours, nights sometimes. It made my gut clench thinking of her out alone on the city streets, walking from job to job, or returning late at night after a long day of work.
“Her mom’s sick again. She was brought to the hospital the night after the interview and hasn’t left since—”
“Fuck,” I hissed under my breath. “What hospital?”
“Mr. Holden—”
“Dammit, I need information. I should be there.”
I broke off before I could say anything else. It was ridiculous. I didn’t even know this woman—except for the research I’d done. That was enough, though. Enough to make me feel closer to her. Besides, I wanted this woman as my wife. Which meant I was supposed to be there for her, especially when she was dealing with something like this.
“I’m not going to bother her,” I assured Rebecca. “I just want to make sure she and her mom are taken care of.”
“So you’re not going to talk to her about the job? Because I don’t think she can handle that right now.”
“No,” I said, though I didn’t want to make that promise. After I made sure she was okay, that was the first thing I wanted to talk about with Isabelle.
“You promise?”
“Promise?” I asked. I hadn’t promised anything since I was a kid.