Unraveling an Enigma Page 8

  I could probably use a little bit of exercise. I haven’t been to the grocery store in over a month, so I’ve been living off stale Frosted Flakes and the emergency stash of Snickers in my freezer. It's not ideal, meaning in only four short days, I'm already struggling to fit into my jeans. Furthermore, a run could help get me out of the funk I'm in.

  After throwing on a pair of running shorts, a shirt, and a thin jacket, I tie on my shoes then exit my apartment. A brisk wind cuts through me like a knife when I break through the revolving door of my building. The sun hasn’t begun to rise yet, so the morning is still shrouded in an eerie grayness. The only light supplied is by the moon or the occasional street light scattered along the street.

  While putting in my earbuds, I catch the curious gaze of a security officer loitering in the lobby of my building. Upon closer glance, I realize he's the gentleman who returned the elevator to the ground floor at Isaac’s request after our disastrous date with Tatiana and Ryan. He watches me curiously when I take off down the near-isolated street with a wave. There are a handful of cars on the road, apparently early morning commuters heading to work, but the sidewalks are devoid of the foot traffic I'm usually hit with each morning.

  A grunt spills from my lips when Kings of Leon’s hit song “Sex on Fire” pumps through my earbuds. I’m aiming to run out my sexual frustration on a crisp fall morning, and what’s the first song I hear? The one that instantly makes my mind drift to Isaac any time I listen to it.

  Shrugging off Karma’s firm bite of my backside, I continue down the street. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been on a run, but it’s like riding a bike, you never forget how to do it. Before I know it, familiar strides increase the flow of blood through my body. In no time at all, my shirt is damp with sweat, and my heart rate has accelerated to a steady, pounding rhythm. Running is nearly as good as dancing when I need a boost of adrenaline. Both activities are exhausting, but my body thrums with adrenaline hours after. It’s similar to how my body reacts after having sexual contact with the incredibly alluring Mr. Isaac Holt.

  “Jesus, Isabelle, you're supposed to be running out your sexual frustration, not increasing it,” I reprimand to myself.

  Annoyed, I brave the grueling St. Thomas Street hill. It’s the steepest and longest hill in town. By the time I make it to the peak, my brain is too busy demanding my lungs to breathe, and it can’t think about the many other ways I’ve become breathless the past month.

  Raising my arms above my head, I fight in vain to replenish my lungs with the crisp morning air. My hair is drenched from the roots to the tips. Even my socks are soaked through. While removing my jacket to relieve my overheated body, I yank out my earbuds. Birds chirping in the distance are barely heard over the heavy flow of traffic. When I glance around at my surroundings, it dawns on me that I’ve been running a lot longer than I realized. If the steady stream of traffic is anything to go by, it would be close to seven o’clock. That means I’ve been running for over an hour and a half. No wonder my muscles are screaming.

  On the pleas of my aching joints, I stroll back down St. Thomas Street. It’s a nice morning, and I’ve got nowhere important to be, so I may as well take my time.

  My leisurely pace slackens even more when I turn down the street my building is on. There’s a dark blue sedan parked half a block down. Although it could be a coincidence, my intuition is warning me not to be gullible.

  After swallowing the lump in my throat, I continue with my journey, pricking my ears so I can hear if the stationary vehicle commences following me. When an engine roars to life, I pivot back around. Relief passes through me when a white Range Rover pulls out from behind the suspicious vehicle. My relieved sigh turns into a squeal when my abrupt turn around has me crashing into a well-defined chest. My nose stings as moisture clusters in my eyes.

  “Shit, Izzy, are you okay?”

  Lifting my tear-welling eyes, I'm met with the concerned gaze of Hugo. “I think your pec broke my nose,” I murmur through the hand that shot up to soothe my throbbing nose.

  When his chest heaves with laughter, I glare at him. He can laugh. He didn’t run into the equivalent of a brick wall.

  After mouthing a silent apology, he removes my hand from my nose so that he can inspect it. “I don’t think it’s broken.” He pinches the bridge, ensuring everything is in place. “But a nasty bump is forming. We should put some ice on it.” After peering at someone behind my shoulder, he jerks his head to my building. “Come on, let’s get it taken care of.”

  Suspicion makes itself known with my gut when he guides me into the elevator car of my building without needing to show ID. Although he's with me, the security officers of my building are usually more stringent.

  “Why were you outside my building so early?” Even with my nose plugged, suspicion still runs rife in my voice.

  Hugo coughs before selecting my floor on the elevator panel. “I live here.”

  My eyes snap to his. “What? For how long?”

  “Since I started working for Isaac.” He notches up his shoulder like it’s no big deal. It is. It’s huge. “Isaac doesn’t just own your apartment, Izzy, he owns the whole building.”

  Oh.

  As the elevator ascends to my floor, I contemplate how I can ask Hugo something without sounding like I’m interrogating him.

  When I fail to find a way, I try straight-up honesty. “Can I ask you something?”

  Hugo nods, approving my request without pause for consideration.

  “How much rent do you pay for your apartment?”

  Smiling, his blue eyes drop to mine. “The same amount as you.”

  I nearly fist pump the air. I knew Theresa was full of crap.

  My inner monologue trails off when Hugo adds on, “Nothing.”

  When my eyes rocket back to his, he winks at the astonished look on my face.

  “I’ll have you know, I pay rent for my apartment every month. It may not be quite the same amount as other tenants, but it's debited out of my account on the first of every month, thank you very much.”

  My last four words are full of sass, but they do little to stop amusement from slipping over Hugo’s face. Annoyed at his wrong assumption I’m living rent-free, when the elevator arrives at my floor, I storm out. Hugo shadows me, but not a word oozes from his lips. After kicking off my running shoes, I rush into my bedroom to yank my iPhone from its charging pod.

  Hugo’s eyes float down to mine when I re-enter the living room. “I’ll prove it.”

  I log into my bank app, ignoring my surprise at discovering I have more money in my account than expected, then complete a search for the past three months by adding the agreed rent amount into the search criteria. My heart stops beating when my search comes up empty. It’s not showing any payments to Colt Enterprises, let alone my measly twelve hundred a month.

  I stop glaring at my phone, willing for it to back me up when Hugo says, “You may have filled out a direct debit request, but that doesn’t mean Isaac’s real estate agent filed your paperwork.”

  Chapter 12

  Isabelle

  While clutching a piece of paper tightly in my fist, my fretful eyes dart up and down the street. Even in my furious mood, I can't risk the surveillance team, or even worse, Theresa seeing me entering Isaac's nightclub. Not only would my suspension most likely be extended, but I'd also risk being arrested.

  Confident no one is watching, I slip into the back entrance of Isaac’s nightclub. It’s only a little after ten in the morning, so there are no patrons inside the club yet, which is surprising. Even during the daytime, his nightclubs have several dozen patrons milling around.

  I bounce my curious eyes around surroundings I’ve taken in more via surveillance than in person. The Dungeon is an elegant-looking club that screams sex and seduction since Isaac’s allure is embedded in it. No wonder why patrons don’t bat an eyelid at being charged double for drinks. Even I’d pay the exorbitant fee to dance in a nightclub as elaborate
as this one.

  My heart beats out a funky tune when my eyes lock in on a mirrored window in the far corner of the room. I’m reasonably sure that’s Isaac’s office. After exhaling my nerves with a big breath, I pace for the door at the side of the mirror.

  My quick strides halt when a petite lady with a pixie haircut darts in front of me. She spreads her tiny hands on her even smaller waist before narrowing her eyes. “Isaac doesn’t want to see you.” She toughens her stance by rolling her shoulders and snarling her top lip. “Ever again.”

  “Then Isaac will need to tell me that.”

  I try not to let irritation be heard in my tone. I fail. Just the petite brunette’s eyes reveal her interests in Isaac aren’t business-related, much less her immediate dislike of me. Although I’d usually be more than happy to put her in her place, I’m not in the mood to deal with her right now. I have much more pressing matters to handle.

  When I attempt to skirt past the fairy-looking lady, she blocks my path. I glare at her before stepping to the left. She returns my glare before stepping right.

  “Please move.” I'm shocked I can render up any politeness. I’m at my absolute teether.

  She all but pokes me in the chest when she gives me a stern finger point. “You may have gotten your hooks into Isaac outside of these walls, but it won’t happen in my club.”

  “Your club?” I cross my arms in front of my chest, my hackles raised. “Please excuse me if I’m wrong, but I’m reasonably sure your name isn’t written above the door.” My squinted eyes stray to the proprietor’s name displayed at the entrance of the nightclub. “Oh, nope, that’s right, it still shows only Isaac Holt’s name above the door.”

  The pixie’s stern composure doesn’t flinch at my bitchy remark. She stands her ground, not once lessening the scowl marring her pretty face. “I was here years before you arrived, and I’ll be here years after you leave.”

  I tilt closer to the pixie fairy. Because she's so short, I have to bend my knees to glance into her eyes. “As nothing more than a paid employee.”

  The pulse in my neck twangs when the rumbling voice of Isaac echoes through the room. “Do you want me to get some mud, or are you two happy to continue wrestling without it?”

  He’s leaning against the doorframe of his office. The darkness of his gray suit matches his eyes to perfection, and even with an angry scowl straining his handsome face, my heart still skips a beat.

  When he notices my avid assessment of his body, his perfectly etched brow arches high, but before he can articulate either disdain or pleasure to my prolonged gawp, the fairy lady snaps, “I was telling Isabelle what you told me earlier. How you have no interest in seeing her ever again.”

  I stare at Isaac, begging for him to refute her hurtful comment. He does no such thing. He just adds to the bruise my ego just got.

  “What do you want, Isabelle?” His tone is harsh, but my body still tingles from my name rolling off his tongue.

  “I need to talk to you…” My words trail off when the lady standing beside me huffs dramatically. “In private.”

  Isaac takes several heart-clenching seconds contemplating my request. Once he decides, his eyes drift to the pixie lady standing next to me. When she sees his answer before he can voice it, she crosses her arms in front of her scarcely-covered chest and drops her jaw.

  Even though she’s aware of his response, Isaac spells it out for her. “Tell Roger I’m leaving five minutes later than expected.”

  I try to hide my smile, but the smallest smirk curves on my lips. I can’t help it. Victory has never tasted so sweet. After a final glare, Tina storms toward the bar, murmuring incoherently under her breath the entire way. Isaac tracks her angry march before returning his grim gaze to me. My pulse quickens when he jerks up his chin, requesting for me to follow him. When he spins on his heels and strides into his office, I do precisely that, my knees knocking with every step I take.

  As I enter the opulent space, I absorb the lavish furnishing and manly features. This is only the second time I’ve been here. The first time, I was too irate about the gigantic love bite Isaac left on my neck to fully take it in. Now, I'd give anything for him to mark me again.

  Halfway through my scan, I stumble onto Isaac standing near a glass bar. He’s pouring himself a generous helping of whiskey. “Don’t you think it’s a little early to be drinking?”

  His clutch on the bottle he's clasping firms before he glares at me. His gaze sears me motionless, but not in a bad way. It has me heating up everywhere as blistering as the anger I felt when he didn’t defend me to Tina.

  “Have you slept with Tina?”

  I’m reasonably sure I know the answer to my highly inappropriate question, especially considering the circumstances of my visit, but my inessential need to know everything gnawed at my insides until I had no choice but to blurt it out.

  Isaac throws down a generous serve of whiskey in one hit. Heat creeps across my cheeks when his face doesn’t allude to the sharp bitterness sliding down his throat. After returning his glass to the countertop, he pivots to face me. My breathing halts at how taut his beautiful face is. His eyes are slit, and his lips are furled, but he's still the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

  “What do you want, Isabelle?” he repeats, even harsher this time.

  When his gaze darts down to the paper I'm clutching, it dawns on me why I came to his office. I'm not being facetious when I say my inhibitions are thrown out the window when I’m in his presence. My level-headedness, my composure, and apparently my brain, disappear the instant my eyes land on him.

  “I came to give you this.” I step closer to him, my thighs shaking. “It isn’t as much as you receive from your other tenants, but it’s all I can afford.”

  When his eyes shoot down to the bank check I'm clutching, his jaw spasms. I’m only arriving at his club now as I had to wait for the bank to open so they could draw the check. Although Theresa disclosed the tenants in Isaac’s building pay more than double what I pay, I cannot afford the full amount. Instead, I had the check drawn up for the initially agreed twelve hundred dollars a month that was negotiated when I signed the lease. Considering I’ve been living in his apartment rent-free the past twelve weeks, the check is a little under four thousand dollars.

  When Isaac makes no attempt to accept the check, I place it on his bulky wooden desk. “I also called your real estate agent to advise that I’ll be vacating your property by the end of the month.”

  It isn’t that I don’t appreciate what he did for me—I truly do—I just can’t continue living there at the reduced rate. If I did, it would make the Internal Affairs Department’s investigation into me appear more legitimate. It will appear as if I gave Isaac private information in exchange for free housing. If I could afford the full monthly rent for an apartment that size, I would, but since I can’t, I have no choice but to move out.

  My throat works hard to swallow when a thick stench of awkwardness plagues the air surrounding us. Although it's dense, it isn’t abundant enough to mask the savage surge of electricity bolting between us. It’s so strong, I can hear it crackling and hissing in the air, almost drowning out what Isaac says next, “Is that all?”

  Unable to speak for fear my voice will crack, I nod.

  “Okay. Good. Goodbye, Isabelle.”

  I smile to hide the sting of his blunt dismissal. “Goodbye.”

  Spinning on my heels, I make a beeline for the door. I need to escape before my threatening tears spill over. Just before I exit, paper being ripped overtakes my pulse shrilling in my ears. Sharply, I crank my neck back in just enough time to witness Isaac tearing up the check I just had drawn.

  “What are you doing?” I storm back to him to snatch a portion of the now-ruined check out of his hand. “That’s a bank check, they’ve already taken the money out of my account, so whether you cash it or not, the money is already gone; I can’t draw you another one.”

  “I don’t want your fucking money, Is
abelle!”

  I take a step back, shocked at his words, but it won’t stop me saying, “I didn’t ask to be placed on your payroll either, but I wasn’t given a choice, was I?”

  He arches his brow. “My payroll?”

  “Yeah, your payroll. What did the agent from the IA call me… oh, that's right, a paid mistress aka your prostitute.”

  My teeth clench when an arrogant smirk stretches across his face. “That's what you are, isn't it? Whether the money was coming from the Bureau or me, you were paid to sleep with me.”

  I slap him so hard across the face, my hand sets on fire, and his head rockets to the side. Slowly, almost robotically, he returns it front and center. His jaw is twitching profusely, and a dark cloud has formed in his already furious eyes. I nearly stumble out an apology before realizing I have nothing to be sorry for. He insulted me, not the other way around.

  “I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry for not telling you about my job at the very beginning, but don’t you dare degrade what we had by saying I was paid to do it. You know as well as I do that I never slept with you for my job.” My tear-filled eyes stare into his, pleading for him to believe my statement. “I love you, Isaac. Whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you, but if you ever find it in your heart to forgive me, be assured I’ll be waiting for you. You just need to realize you're fighting a battle bigger than us both.”

  No longer having the ability to hold up the flood gates in my eyes, I dart out of his office as quickly as my trembling legs will take me. I slam the door shut before leaning my back against it. As I gulp in quick breaths, I beg my tears time and time again not to spill. Unlike Friday, the sun is shining brightly, so I’ll have no way of concealing my devastation from those around me.

  I stop reaching for the invisible knife Isaac just stabbed into my heart when a snarky voice whines, “I tried to warn you.”

  Tina braces her back on the bar before unleashing her most brutal assault—her victorious smirk. Enjoying the spectacle of me on the verge of tears, she folds her arms over her chest before getting her legs in on the show. The indecent length of her shorts when she crosses them assures they’d never be classified as clothing. The panties I wear during the red week of my cycle have more material than her shorts.