Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
What would Dad think about this whole marriage thing?
Be strong. That’s what he’d want. Just be strong and be true to myself.
But that’s hard to do when I don’t know what I need.
Not like Conlan does.
I’m frustrated when I finally get a text from him a few hours after we last parted down at the bar.
Con: The general’s here. Ready for war?
Isabel: I’m a mere civilian in this contest, soldier.
Con: You know me. I’m a lover, not a fighter.
Isabel: Which is exactly what got you into this mess.
Con: Fair point. Maybe I’ll murder my way out of it then?
Isabel: Seems like a terrible idea.
Con: This is why you’d make a wonderful wife.
Isabel: Why? Because I talk you out of murder?
Con: Exactly! Everyone needs a partner to talk them out of murder. Meet me at the roulette table in five. Wear something nice.
I roll my eyes and check myself in the mirror: dress skirt, blouse, my hair pulled back, light jewelry, modest makeup. I’m dressed for a board meeting, which entirely appropriate. I decide he can go to hell if he doesn’t like what I have on and head out.
Conlan’s got six hundred dollars out on the table as the ball clatters around. I gape at the obscene amount of cash just lying there in the form of little chips waiting to disappear. The ball lands on twenty-nine, which is one of the few numbers he didn’t take, and all his bets disappear.
“Ah, well,” he says, turning to look at me. “I promised myself that if I won on that spin, this meeting would go well.”
“Luck just abandoned you, I guess.”
“At least you’re here.” He stares at me. “I’m glad you didn’t go.”
“If you’re about to propose to me again, save it. Still not interested.”
A ghost of a smile. “No, I wouldn’t dare. I can’t handle being rejected twice in one day.” He pauses and puts a finger to his perfect lips. “Actually, that’s not true, I’ve been rejected plenty of times.”
“I don’t need to hear about your failed conquests. Seriously, not interested.”
“You’re one of them, you know.” He leads me back toward the front desk and the elevator that takes us to Adler’s office.
“How am I one of your failed conquests? You never tried to sleep with me.”
“I did,” he insists. “On your third day of work. Do you remember?”
I squint at him. “No, I really don’t.”
“It was the first time you came to my house,” he prompts.
Some of it comes back. I recall being nervous, so nervous I could barely function. I spilled my coffee twice, nearly all over my lap the second time. Conlan was still terrifying back then—I got over my fear pretty quickly one I got to know him—and I was worried I’d screw something up.
“Most of those first few days are a total blur now. What did you do?”
“Came downstairs shirtless.”
“Big shock. How’d I react?”
“You stared.”
“I did not.” I frown slightly. Actually, I do remember this now—he came into the kitchen in a pair of tiny workout shorts, his muscles glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. He looked freaking erotic, and I nearly had a seizure right there on the spot.
“You were practically panting. I put my hand on your shoulder and invited you up to see my room. Do you remember what you said?”
I laugh once. “I said, ‘Unless you have a board room next to your pillow, no thanks.’”
He barks a laugh, nodding. “I thought it was the absolute funniest thing I’ve ever heard. I know right then that you were the perfect assistant for me.”
“Why? Because I wouldn’t fuck you?”
“No, because you had a sense of humor about it.”
The elevators arrive. I’m smiling to myself as we ride them up to the third floor again. It doesn’t really make sense to me—Conlan seems like the kind of guy to take rejection personally—but maybe it does to him in some sick and twisted way. Maybe in his mind, turning him down with a funny one-liner meant I could handle all the other shit that was coming my way shortly.
He was right. Three years later, I’m still handling it.
I’m also still hilarious.
Adler’s secretary meets us in the hallway. She’s an older woman, mousy, big glasses and bigger hair. “The general’s in with him right now,” she says, rubbing her hands together. “Shall I send you two in?”
“Please,” Conlan says. “Might as well get it over with.”
The secretary nods, looking nervous, and I start to wonder if I’m not sufficiently prepared for this when the doors open and we’re ushered inside.
Chapter 9
Isabel
Adler’s in his usual spot behind the desk. He’s sitting back in his chair swirling a glass of something dark—whiskey, bourbon, I don’t really know, I’m not an alcohol girl—while a man occupies the chairs in front of him, one for his tall and lean body, the other for a stack of files and papers.