The world was a twisted, unbalanced place. But they were about to adjust the scales, even if the effects spread no further than this little room.
Lizzie moved to stand beside her brother, shoulder to shoulder. She flashed Mark a smile as she leaned forward, bending over the desk—and damn if Mark didn’t lean back, practically cowering from her.
This was definitely an inappropriate moment to be turned on. But nonetheless, Isaac’s dick leapt to attention as Lizzie spoke in a voice dark and threatening.
“What you failed to anticipate, Mark,” she murmured, “is the size of our family’s brass fucking balls. And so now you will find out the hard way that no-one messes with an Olusegun-Keynes. Or,” she added, a smile in her voice, “with a Montgomery.”
“What do you want?” Mark whispered hoarsely.
“It’s very simple.” Lizzie sat down in one of the stiff-backed chairs before Mark’s desk, her posture perfect as always, her hands folded primly in her lap. “You are going to sell Spencer Publishing. To Isaac.”
Isaac frowned. What?
But he maintained his composure. They were a united front. There could be no break in the ranks. And while this was a slight deviation from their agreed plan—well. He trusted Lizzie. Completely.
“For a reduced fee, of course,” Lizzie continued. “Next to nothing, in fact. In return, my brother and I will deal with your outstanding debts, which I’m sure will be a great relief. Apparently there isn’t a dealer left in London who’ll take your empty promises. I bet you’re getting desperate. Aren’t you?
Isaac hadn’t thought it was possible, but Mark grew even paler. His hands shuffled pointlessly over the papers strewn across his desk as he muttered, “I-I don’t know about all this. I’ll have to speak with my lawyers.”
“oh, no,” Keynes said cheerfully. He produced a sheaf of papers from his briefcase. “This is for you. Don’t read. Just sign. I’ll summarise.
“I couldn’t possibly—”
Do you know what dealers do with customers who cannot pay?” Keynes interrupted, his voice bland. “I’ve heard it's dreadful. I’m sure Isaac would be happy to give you a few details.”
Mark’s eyes flicked desperately up to Isaac’s face before skittering away like dusty cockroaches. “No,” he said weakly.
“Good. Now sign. Here’s the short version: Isaac will own Spencer Publishing and all related assets, in their entirety—which includes any of those awful contracts you may have conned writers into over the past few months. We’ll be rectifying that situation immediately, I’m afraid. In return, we will deal with your outstanding debts.”
“But… How will I live?” Mark whispered.
“Your wife is a wealthy woman in her own right,” Keynes shrugged. “You’ll hardly be out on the streets.”
“You don’t understand,” Mark cried, surging up from his seat. “She’s leaving me!”
“I beg your pardon?”
Isaac blinked. That he had not seen coming.
“She found out,” Mark whimpered. “She found out…”
“About your addiction?” Keynes frowned.
Mark shook his head slowly. “About the girls’ trust funds. Bloody Audrey, plotting her move to Paris, of all places. Wanting to be like you.” He shot a venomous glare at Lizzie. “The three of them started snooping. Found out. Told their bloody mother.” He rolled his eyes—but the action was less sophisticated cynic, more panicked horse trapped in a burning barn. “I just took a little here and there, you understand, for—”
Isaac’s blood became white fire. He clenched his fists, fury singeing his nerve endings. “You stole from your children?” He growled.
Mark scowled through his tears. “It isn’t stealing. I borrowed. You sound just like Clarissa.” But then he seemed to crumple like paper. “I’ll be nothing without her,” he whispered.
For a moment, Isaac’s heart softened.
But then Mark continued: “Unless I receive a settlement in the divorce…”
Ah.
“I’m bored,” Lizzie said, her tone dry as ash. “Sign.”
Mark hesitated, his eyes wild, and for a moment he took on the frenzied panic of a cornered animal. This, Isaac knew, was the fraught moment that hung like an impending storm, the moment before a man lost his head and did something everybody would regret. In an instant, things would go south.
And he absolutely could not allow that to happen with Lizzie in the room. In a flash, Isaac stalked around the desk, grabbing Mark by the collar of his deep-blue blazer. He dragged the man up like the rat he was. And then, forcing as much menace into one word as he possibly could, Isaac said, “Sign.”
He dropped Mark back into the chair.
And Mark picked up a pen and signed.
“Initial here, please,” Keynes murmured politely. “And here.”
Mark did as he was told, scratching out the letters with barely controlled fury.
“There,” Keynes said. “Was that so bad?”
The other man didn’t respond, slumping down in his chair as though drained.
“I think that’s our cue to leave,” Lizzie smiled.
They filed out of the room peacefully, as though nothing untoward had taken place. But just before he shut the door behind them, Isaac turned back, giving Mark a slow, dangerous smile.
“Pleasure doing business with you mate,” he said. “Just so you know; if you ever contact Lizzie again, I’ll rip off your head and shove it up your arse.”
He shut the door on Mark’s strangled whimper.
Lizzie and Keynes stood in the hallway, their faces lit up with twin smiles of triumph.
“We did it,” Keynes breathed, betraying his lack of complete confidence for the first time since they’d left the city that morning. “We actually fucking did it. It’s handled. It’s over.”
“Almost,” Isaac corrected. He took Lizzie’s hand before he asked them both, “What was that?”
Lizzie blinked up at him innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He shot a look at Keynes and found the other man shifting awkwardly in his perfect suit.
“You know what,” Isaac growled at the pair. “I’m buying the company?”
“I hope you don’t mind,” Keynes said. “Only, it’s a cracking deal. And you’re the writer, after all.”
Well. That was true. I am the writer. And they were both looking at him with such calm confidence…
“I’ll need help,” he said slowly. “Someone I can trust. Like you.”
Keynes blinked. “Me?”
“Yep.”
“Well…” Isaac didn’t think he was imagining the hint of pleasure on the other man’s face. “Okay,” Keynes said finally. “It’s a deal.”
They shook hands, and Lizzie looked on like a proud mother. But then her slight smile faded, and she turned to gaze down the hallway, towards the rest of the house.
“We should find Clarissa,” she murmured. “And the girls. They must be upset.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m really not looking forward to this part.”
“It’s okay,” Isaac said softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll do it together.”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes softening as she looked up at him. “Together.”
Beside them, Keynes made a dramatic retching sound, shattering the moment. “If you two could be less in love for a minute, that would be fantastic.”
“Grow up,” Lizzie snorted, rolling her eyes. She headed down the long corridor, and Keynes followed.
“I’m older than you.”
“Clearly not in spirit.”
“Oh, please.”
Isaac stood for a moment, watching them with a smile on his face.
He’d thought family was over for him, the day his mother died. But he’d been wrong, hadn’t he?
Family was more than blood. Family was love.
Thirty-One
Two Weeks Later
He was so pale.
The co
ld had leeched away the natural warmth beneath his skin, but the tip of his nose was bright pink. It was so delightfully incongruous that Lizzie couldn’t stop herself from laughing.
“What?” Isaac whispered with a smile of his own. He held her tighter, shifting her in his lap, and the rusty garden chair they sat on squeaked dangerously.
“Your nose,” she whispered back. Dusk was so beautifully silent out here in the country. As they watched the sun stain the sky in a glorious parade of blood-orange and plum purple, Isaac and Lizzie held the silence as close as each other.
“What about my nose?”
“It’s pink.”
“Kiss it, then.”
Giggling, she pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. And then to his chin. And then to the corner of his soft lips…
He cradled the back of her head and took her mouth, his tongue sliding against hers in a raw, earthy rhythm that snatched the laughter from her chest. Lizzie felt heat unfurl, deep between her legs. She pressed her palms to his cold cheeks and kissed him back, helpless to resist. By rights, this man’s touch should be mundane. It had become a part of her routine over the last couple of weeks: wake with Isaac, come for Isaac, work with Isaac, come for Isaac, eat with Isaac, come for Isaac—
And yet, she wanted more. Always, always more.
She pulled back, their quiet evening dissolving into the mist as lust slammed into her. “Let’s go inside,” she breathed.
He stood, his strong arms lifting her, and walked back into her cottage. Though technically, it was their cottage now. Because she had to stay here to set up the dance school she was starting—with Clarissa’s support, thank God. And Isaac… Well. It turned out Isaac refused to be anywhere that Lizzie wasn’t.
So here they were.
He carried her through the house, his steps quick, his jaw set.
“Are you in a hurry?” She asked teasingly, arching one brow.
He looked down at her, and the intensity of his gaze—of his sharp, fierce features—sent a thrill of desire coursing through her. “Yes,” he said shortly. But then his phone beeped, and he pulled up short.
“What?” She asked. “What’s up?”
“Just…” He trailed off, and then he put her down. Actually set her on her feet. Lizzie blinked in astonishment. He never did that. The minute he had her, and he got that dark look on his face, there was no escaping his arms.
But there he stood, fumbling through the pockets of his coat, searching for his phone.
“What are you doing?” She asked.
“Candy,” he muttered.
“Candy?” She repeated. “Why would Candy be texting you? She’s my friend.”
He looked up at her for a moment, flashing a smile so achingly handsome she almost forgot what they were talking about. “Jealous?” He asked.
“Shut up.” She rolled her eyes.
“Yep. Jealous.” But before she could whack him, he finally found his phone. He studied the screen like it was a holy text, and then his face lit up. “It’s ready,” he murmured. “Come on.”
“What’s ready?” She demanded as he grabbed her hand, pulling her through the house. “Isaac! What’s going on?”
He led her into the dining room, where he’d left his laptop on the table earlier. Pulling out a chair, he settled her in before bending down to flip open the computer, typing in his password.
She watched as he opened an Internet browser and navigated to Candy’s website. The familiar stylised cartoon appeared, alongside a logo that read Aunt Candy. Isaac clicked on the website’s blog and then, with a flourish, he turned the laptop to face her.
She read the blog post’s title, her mind moving as though through treacle.
You Know You’re In Love When…
Her eyes flicked to the byline.
A guest post by Isaac Montgomery, author of Catching Time.
She looked up to find Isaac watching her with something in his eyes that looked like… Nerves?
“You write blog posts now?” She asked. “Are you diversifying?”
“Maybe,” he said, his voice gruff. “Read.”
“Okay…” She turned back to the screen.
Love is tricky. The more you give it and receive it, the better you become at recognising it. But for those of us who, for whatever reason, have been shut off from the world, love becomes a stranger. It can be hard to recognise love when you haven’t seen it in a while.
But I’ve recently become accustomed to the feeling, and I think I know how to spot it now. So I thought I’d share some handy tips with all of you. Just in case there’s someone else out there who’s having trouble recognising love these days.
You know you’re in love when…
5. A few minutes in their presence stirs more emotion than you’ve felt all day. Might be soft and fuzzy; might be a little more passionate. But the point is, they make you feel alive.
4. You find yourself opening up to them for no reason. As if they have the key to some locked away part of you, a part you didn’t even know was there.
3. Their happiness becomes more dear to you than your own. When watching someone else smile brings you more joy than a thousand years of laughter—that’s when you know you’ve got it bad.
2. Your dreams of the future include them. Whatever your goals, wants, wishes—this person changes everything. Your fantasies begin to shift, to make room for the one who’ll be by your side through it all.
1. And finally… You know you’re in love when you need them by your side. Always. Forever. And you don’t care about how long it’s been or how these things should go, because you already know that you can’t do this thing called life without them in it.
So, with all that in mind…
Elizabeth Adewunmi Olusegun-Keynes, I am most definitely in love. Will you marry me?
Lizzie stared at the final line, her heart pounding. This… This couldn’t be real. Could it?
She turned to find Isaac watching her, his whole body vibrating with nervous energy. He tapped a hand against his thigh compulsively, and she followed the movement, her gaze catching on the little, black box held loosely in his fist.
“Is that a ring?” She choked out.
“Can’t propose without a ring,” he said, his voice raw and scratchy, as if he hadn’t used it in days. “Want to see?”
“Yes,” she breathed. But then she caught herself, shaking her head with a frown. “Wait—no.”
Isaac’s face fell. He hadn’t been smiling—his features had been twisted into more of a grimace, if anything—but now everything about him seemed to droop, wilting like a flower in a drought.
“Oh,” he said, his voice gruff. He lowered his gaze, the muscles in his jaw working tightly. “I thought…”
“I want to say yes first,” she whispered.
His eyes shot back to hers, and in that moment his face was more expressive than ever. In his impenetrable features she saw hope, disbelief, exhilaration, and more than anything—love.
“You do?” He asked, his voice cracking.
“Of course,” she said, and her words were no better, wavering terribly as the first tears spilled over her cheeks.
He sank to his knees in front of her, taking her face in his hands. “Yes?”
“Yes.” She nodded firmly. “Yes, yes, yes, yes—”
He pressed his lips against hers, cutting off her joyous chant, and she wrapped her arms around him and let herself revel in the knowledge that somehow, impossibly, this man had become hers.
“Wait,” he whispered, pulling back. “The ring.”
“Isaac, I don’t give a fuck about the ring,” she grinned. “Kiss me.”
So he did.
Every day, for the rest of their lives.
Epilogue
One Year Later
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Jane was asking the question, but for a moment, Isaac heard Lizzie’s voice. She’d said the same thing to him last night. Under far more int
imate circumstances.
Blinking himself back into the present, Isaac nodded firmly.
His publicist gave a wry smile as she adjusted his tie. “You know you’re gonna have to talk, right?”
“Yep.” The knowledge made him want to vomit, but he’d do it anyway. It was necessary.
Especially considering what he’d learned last night.
“You remember what we practiced?” Jane stepped back as a crew member darted forwards, attaching a tiny microphone to his lapel.
“Yep,” Isaac said again, trying not to feel uncomfortable about the proximity of the crew member’s shiny, bald head to his face. Things were about to get a lot more uncomfortable than that.
Like, spill your guts in front of the nation uncomfortable.
He gritted his teeth. Just like he’d told Lizzie last night—he could do this.
And she’d agreed. She believed in him. So it must be true.
A stern-looking woman strode towards him, her curtain of shining hair pushed back by the headset she wore. Something about the purposeful way she moved and the impatient look on her face reminded him of Lizzie.
“Two minutes!” The woman snapped. “Get over here!”
Her severity was… comforting. She turned on her gleaming high-heels and marched away, and Isaac followed her like a duckling after its mother. This might not be a battle, but it sure as shit felt like one. At least he was following a formidable general onto the field.
“Good luck!” Jane called after him. He raised a hand in reply.
The woman with the headset parted the bustling hubbub of staff around them like it was the Red Sea, waving her clipboard like a beacon. Crew members scuttled out of her way, and Isaac trailed obediently in her wake, barely noticing the nervous stares his presence inspired.
Okay, so he did notice them. He probably always would. But these days, he really didn’t care.
He’d made peace with himself and with his crimes. The rest of the world could follow suit, or get fucked.
Undone by the Ex-Con: A BWWM Romance (Just for Him Book 2) Page 26