Isabella - Book One

by Thompson, Jamie Brook

  CHAPTER THREE

  I tap my foot on the tile floor. A limo ride. Really? Followed by a private jet flight. What the hell are you thinking X? She knows I don’t do motion. This has to be some sort of punishment because I’ve had so much time off lately.

  I glance down at my watch. I wish she would’ve got a tentative time. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so nervous. What if he’s as nasty as the last guy? The actor that refuses to brush his teeth. I’m not sure I can put up with an entire weekend of bad breath. The idea makes me scrunch my face.

  “Isabella, let me get a good look at you.” Madame X spins me around as I clutch my purse filled with every motion sickness pill I could find at 7-Eleven on my way here. “Did you pack all your low cut shirts like I asked?” She pulls at the front of my white tank, exposing as much of my cleavage she can possibly get.

  “I did.” I step back and lift the neckline of my shirt.

  “I’m afraid this one isn’t going to work like that, my beautiful little Ice Queen.” X readjusts my tank.

  I wrap my burnt-orange cover-up around me to hide what she’s trying to expose.

  She tugs at the bright fabric and frowns. “This might be the largest account I’ve had since I first opened years ago. I can’t have you messing this up. I need you to lead with your chest and think with your mind. Don’t lose your power. The body controls a man’s passions and desires. That’s what makes him weak. Do you understand me? It doesn’t control your mind. I chose you because you have the best head on your shoulders. I need you for this one.”

  I nod.

  “Oh, my dear, sweet Isabella, I have trained you since you were so young for an account like this. Nothing has ever been this big of a deal in our agency.” She kisses my forehead, but barely touches the skin. I’m sure it’s to avoid leaving a lipstick mark. “Don’t let me down.”

  “I haven’t yet.” I shift my weight and stare out the dark tinted glass doors to see my ride pulling up. “A super stretch limo?”

  She smiles.

  “Is he planning a party?” I already start to feel nausea from being stuck in the back of that thing. Why something this long? A sedan style would’ve been fine. It’s shorter and makes for an easier ride if I look out the side window.

  “There is no party. The man is planning on you.” Madame X scoots me out the door. “Very wealthy men only drive full luxury. I’m sure he doesn’t own anything smaller.”

  “Hola, ladies.” A short man steps out of the driver’s side and wanders around the long body of the car. “Are you ready to have some fun in beautiful Cabo San Lucas?”

  “We’re going to Cabo?” I relax and watch him gently place my luggage in the trunk.

  “I believe that’s what the boss said. He’s is waiting at the airport.” The man barely takes his eyes off the front section of the limo, as he opens the door for me to crawl inside.

  I hesitate.

  Madame X pokes her head in first. “Oh, it’s lovely back here.”

  Then why don’t you climb back there and enjoy the blinded front window view. My neck tightens just thinking about the half an hour ride to the airport. The only good part is that it’s mid-morning and there won’t be much traffic on the freeway.

  “We should probably get going.” The man stares at his watch, and glances back to the front section of the limo as though he’s anxiously bouncing on the tip of his toes to get behind that driver’s seat again.

  I hold out my hand. “I’m Isabella. But my friends call me Issi.”

  “Nice to meet you, Isabella.” He shakes my hand.

  “Please, call me Issi.”

  He smiles and nods his head.

  “Well, I guess this is it.” I inhale a big breath of seventy-five degree weather, and turn back to Madame X with a half-flat smile. “I appreciate you for giving me this appointment.” And I actually do. I need the money. The mortgage to my father’s ranch is due so the extra tip is going to help more than Madame X will ever understand. I reach into the pocket of my skinny jeans just to make sure the folded bills are still there.

  “Well, señorita, Issi, I believe we must get you inside and head out to make our flight,” the driver says still staring at the front of the shiny, black limo.

  I nod and climb in. The second I’m inside, my face drops. Ivory. Really? Could there be a better color that contrasts with the cherry Slurpee rolling around in the bottom of my belly. I sigh as I sit down on the soft leather seat next to the passenger door window, and buckle my seat belt.

  “These control the temperature.” The driver leans inside and shows me a plethora of gadgets on the ceiling above me. “And next to your seat there is a switch to warm or cool the seat.”

  I drop my gaze and flip the switch to cool.

  “Thank you,” I say before he closes the door and rushes to the front.

  Once the wheels begin to turn, I grip the seat. I open my purse and swallow a couple of pills. It’s a little over two hours to fly from San Diego to Cabo, I remind myself. Yeah, but it takes thirty minutes to get to the airport in this jungle ride.

  I begin to sweat.

  My throat swells and it’s hard to swallow as we pass a few cars.

  Why couldn’t I drive myself?

  I stare out the window. We’re not on the freeway yet. Have him pull over.

  I rip off my seat belt and crawl forward to the black window.

  I tap against the glass.

  It takes a few seconds, but the driver unrolls it a crack.

  “Is something wrong, señorita Issi?” he asks, but doesn’t slow the car.

  I lift my lips to the small crack. “I need you to pull over. I don’t feel well.”

  He quickly pulls to the side of the road next to the freeway entrance.

  I jump out and rest the back of my hand against my forehead, holding my waist with my other hand. Don’t slip on the rocks. I think as I glance down to the small pebbles threatening the smooth soles of my nude pumps.

  “Are you okay señorita Issi?” He pulls my hair back as I lean forward.

  I stand up and take a deep breath, grateful it’s a clear day with no pollution.

  “I can’t ride back there,” I gasp. “I’ll be sick before we get to the airport. I want to ride up there with you.”

  He glances to the front and hesitates.

  “Señorita, I could lose my job—”

  “I won’t tell anyone,” I interrupt and race to the passenger side door, pulling it open before he can argue. I drop to the seat and bump my arm against a backward-facing car seat. “Hello, there,” I coo and reach over to touch the soft black hair of a baby girl sucking on her binky. Her skin is as olive as mine, but her hair is darker. I somehow ended up with reddish, clay-brown. Who knows? Maybe the mailman.

  “Señorita Issi, if my boss—Mr. Vanguard, finds out I brought her to work I will lose my job,” the driver apologizes.

  “I won’t tell anyone.” I look over at him. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” his voice praises the compliment while he pulls back onto the road.

  The little baby grabs her bare feet and tugs them to her belly.

  I make a face at her.

  She giggles.

  “What’s her name?” I ask completely forgetting we’re driving down the freeway.

  “Sophia, after her mother.” The driver doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

  I’m just now realizing I haven’t asked his name. “Forgive me for being so rude. I forgot to ask yours.”

  “Hector,” he proudly states dropping the h, and pulls a small picture from the dash and hands it to me. “My son is Hector Junior. We call him Junior. He’s at school right now. He’s in the first grade now so my wife can get some rest.”

  “I bet she has her hands full.” I hold the picture and marvel at his sparkling brown eyes.

  “She’s not well.” His shoulders round. A heavy, deep sort of painful slope. “She’s got the cancer, you know.”

  “Cancer?” I
blurt. My eyes widen as they drift back to little Sophia in her car seat. “Is she going to be okay?”

  He reaches at another picture of a beautiful woman with thinning hair. “We can’t afford the treatments, you know, so I’m trying to work a few more jobs to pay the hospital so they can give her more of the medicine. They tell me her kind of cancer is curable and easy to treat. I just don’t have the money for the medicine. And I have no insurance, you know.”

  I nod and my throat swells again. Not from the motion of the car, but from the pain I see on this man’s face.

  If only there were something I could do.

  I sit there and think.

  And then I reach down in my pocket.

  “Here, I want you to have this,” I say, extending my arm over Sophia and drop the folded bills in Hector’s lap.

  He glances down. “Oh, no, señorita. I cannot accept this.”

  “Look, you need it more than I do.” I glance up as he flips on the blinker and notice we’re already pulling into the parking lot of the airport. He swings around a road that I’ve never seen and stops in front of a gate.

  “I need some identification,” The attendant says after Hector rolls down his window.

  He flashes her a card hanging around his neck.

  The attendant nods and the gate opens.

  Hector turns to me as the car crawls at the five miles per hour speed limit. “Señorita Issi, I can’t accept this kind of cash.” He scoops the bills with his fingers and tries to hand them back to me.

  I hold up my hand. “That’s my tip.”

  “This is much too large,” he argues.

  I won’t have it. “Hector, don’t make me tell Mr. Vanguard you’ve offended me by not taking my tip. We’re both in the business of gratuity. Please, accept my gratitude for your kind services.” I wink.

  His eyes fill with tears, but he holds them back. “Thank you, señorita. God is good today.”

  I smile and squeeze little Sophia.

  She giggles and kicks her legs, and then as quick as she started, she settles down allowing silence to fill the space between us as Hector drives around blocked off barricades that lead to a road where a small jet is sitting with a red carpet rolled out over the asphalt. Normally this should impress someone like me, but knowing what Hector is going through I don’t think much can excite anything inside of me. You own a jet, yet one of your employee’s has a wife that’s dying of a disease that could be cured with enough money to buy the medicine.

  “Please, allow me to help you board the plane.” Hector puts the limo into park. “She will be fine for a few minutes. Nobody can get back here without a badge.”

  I kiss her little forehead and squeeze her again as though we have a bond of some sort. “You be strong, Little Miss.”

  The sun warms my skin as I step out of the air-conditioned limo, and I shrug my shoulders. I let them drop, trying to get the tension to leave my body as Hector grabs my luggage. He totes it in his arms and follows behind as I climb the stairs to step inside one of the most elegant jets I’ve ever seen. Ivory. Go figure. I’m beginning to think this man must be colorblind. That, or boring. What is his deal with all the clean, ivory surfaces? Even the carpet is a smooth ivory knit.

  Hector stops once he gets through the small door. He sets down my luggage and grabs a pair of white booties to slip over his shoes before he steps on the carpet, like I’ve already done wearing my shoes.

  “Oops, was I supposed to put those on?” I giggle.

  “No, just the help.” He sets my luggage in a cupboard that’s so clean and shiny it reflects like glass the color of ivory. “Can I get you some cool towels?” He reaches into another cupboard and pulls out a bucket of small white towels that have been refrigerated.

  “Thank you,” I say and reach for the frosted bucket before sitting in a cushioned leather seat.

  “The seat belt is tucked behind the chair.” Hector unclicks the buckle and hands me the straps.

  I curl my lip. “I’m awful at flying.”

  “You’ll get used to it with Mr. Vanguard,” he reassures not knowing I can’t take another appointment from his boss after this weekend. Rules are rules.

  “Well, we’ll have to see about that.” I laugh.

  Hector reaches for a towel and lifts my long hair before setting the cool cloth behind my neck, making me shiver. “You are a very kind woman with a big heart. I believe Mr. Vanguard would be loco not to see that.”

  The jet engines begin to roar.

  “I must go now. You take care, señorita Issi.” Hector rushes to get out the door and I watch him from the small window, as he pulls the stairs away from the jet.

  I close my eyes and try to relax as the cool towel drips down my neck. I pull it away and set it back in the bucket before I reach up to twist the vent open and suck in the cool air blowing out full blast.

  “I’m going to lock down the cabin and we’ll be on the runway in about seven minutes.” A man steps out from behind a wall near the front. He’s wearing a captain’s uniform so I assume he’s the pilot.

  Where is Mr. Vanguard? I begin to question. Maybe he’s meeting me in Cabo? The secretive nature in which Madame X has kept this appointment is unlike any I’ve had in the past. I’m not sure I like the way this feels. Does she even know this guy? I question. He could be a serial murderer for all I know. No, it doesn’t work like that. I shake my head.

  The captain finishes locking the door and checking the inside before he wanders back up front. I scan the area and panic once the jet begins to slowly back up. I whip my head around, wondering if we’re leaving Mr. Vanguard by accident. Oh, boy. Don’t do that. I regret moving my head so fast. My hair presses into the headrest and I try to relax again. It’s better to do this alone. At least then, I don’t have to apologize to a perfect stranger for vomiting cherry red puke onto his little lamb carpet.

  The engines roar and the jet engines pick up speed.

  I clench my fingers around the armrests of the seat.

  “Are you going to be okay?” A deep voice speaks from behind my seat.

  I don’t bother to look back.

  “I’m great,” I say with as much positive enthusiasm I can muster, and then he strides next to me, pressing against the force.

  Reef? Are you flipping kidding me? He isn’t wearing a man bun today. His sandy blond hair shines off the interior lights as it hangs just over his shoulders. I stare at his ring finger and shake my head.

  “It’s a good thing I can’t open the door and jump out right now,” I growl. He has no idea the crazy mood I feel coming on.

  “Why do you think I waited until we were taking off to introduce myself?” His handsome chuckle only irritates the mood that’s festering.

  “You’re married,” I snap.

  He holds up his left finger and twists his hand around staring at the ring from every angle.

  “Do you realize it doesn’t work like this in our agency? Didn’t Madame X tell you that?”

  He shakes his head, flexing the muscles in his beautiful face.

  Stop that. He’s a total jerk. That face may as well belong on a donkey.

  “Well, I’m flying back home as soon as we land. There are fines for this type of thing. We have rules.”

  Reef begins to chuckle again.

  “You think this is funny?” I snap. I’m so angry I could explode. “I don’t entertain married men.”

  The plane straightens out and suddenly the force isn’t as bad as the pressure. I keep my seat belt buckled, but lift my hands to run my fingers through my hair, pulling it into a ponytail with the elastic band I have hidden under my watch.

  “Your fingernails look nice today.” He flashes a crooked little grin, exposing a deep pair of dimples in his rustic cheeks that I hadn’t noticed before.

  Scruff. Ugh. I hate that I like the looks of it so much on him.

  He slowly moves closer and kneels on the carpet in front of me. He reaches down to remove my shoes.
<
br />   “Excuse me.” I try to tuck my feet under the seat.

  “Take it easy. I’m not going to hurt you.” His hands lightly touch my bare skin as he pulls off the thin nylon bootie that had been previously suctioned to my foot.

  “Does your wife approve of you touching other women?” I hate to think of what she has to put up with.

  “I’m not married,” he gently answers, and begins to massage my feet.

  Yeah, right. I curse him a thousand times in my head, but I’m so sick to my stomach I can’t pull away from his grasp. Nothing is worse than puking acid cherries. I stare down at his perfectly blond hair and wonder if he even understands how many rules this is breaking?

  “The pressure points right here will take away the nausea.” He presses firmly against my foot.

  It actually helps.

  I try to pull away, but his grip tightens.

  “Just hold still and try to relax.” He presses his fingers deeper into my foot. “Madame X told me you weren’t a frequent flyer.”

  I don’t oblige him. The air pressure in the cabin is too intense to waste my energy on arguing. Especially with a man that’s probably flown a million times in his life.

  “Thank you,” I finally say.

  “You’re welcome,” he replies, but doesn’t lift his head to meet my gaze. He’s staring at my lower leg, or maybe my ankle. “You have beautiful feet.”

  My body clenches. “Oh, and that’s not supposed to make me feel weird.” I try to pull my foot away, but he won’t allow it. “It’s not every day I have total strangers telling me I have nice feet.”

  “I don’t pride myself on false compliments.” His shoulders straighten, making the muscles bulge under his thin white t-shirt. It’s a sculpted image of art that narrows at the low waistline of his faded jeans, finished off by a rugged pair of flip-flops.

  “Well, I don’t pride myself on being alone with men that lie about being married.” I turn my head to stare out the window, and try to yawn so my ears will pop.

  “It keeps me safe.” He lifts his ring finger. “Women leave me alone when I’m wearing this. And the ones that don’t, I ignore.”