Ruthless Page 2

  I keep talking because I’m committed to finishing any story I start, especially if I can squeeze a compliment in. “If I would have told him that your eyes are iridescent blue like a sea in Greece, he would have told me that they’re yellow.”

  “My eyes in particular?” He arches a brow.

  I’m jealous. I have to apply eyeliner and two coats of mascara every morning to rim my eyes so they look just the way I like.

  Dale has to exist.

  Not fair.

  “You have nice eyes,” I offer.

  “As do you, Isabella.” He stares into my eyes. “Your eyes are the color of the sky when an intense storm is approaching. Countless shades of blue with specks of gray.”

  I part my lips, but there are no words.

  Literally. I sit and stare at him.

  “So there was the argumentative one and done.” He swallows another mouthful of whiskey. “Who else couldn’t keep your attention?”

  “There have been a few that fall squarely in the boring one and done category.” I wiggle my fingers in the air. ‘Too many to count.”

  His eyes follow the movement of my hand. “They were banished immediately, were they?”

  “I cut them loose quickly.” I laugh. “Out of fear of falling asleep in my dinner, of course.”

  “Naturally,” he drawls. “Argumentative and boring men don’t cut it in Isabella’s world.”

  “Or married men.” I shrug a shoulder. “That’s happened.”

  His gaze skims over my face. “You’ve gone on a date with a married man?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I realized before I agreed to a date. So technically those men weren’t one and done. They were none and done.”

  “As they should be,” he comments with a curve of his lips.

  I sip the last remaining luscious drops of my cosmo. I glance around wondering why the waiter hasn’t brought us menus.

  I should be grateful that he’s slow. I’m good with this date lasting all weekend.

  “I’m having a great time.” I grin. “I’m glad I took a chance on this blind date.”

  I catch sight of a pretty redheaded woman approaching from the left. Her gaze is trained on Dale. A smile plays on her ruby red lips. It grows wider with each step she takes toward us.

  She’s expertly navigating her way through the crowded restaurant as if it’s a runway and she’s a supermodel.

  I can’t help but stare.

  I’m not alone.

  People sitting at the tables near us glance at her as she breezes past. Her low cut black dress is clinging to her body. The lace bra she’s wearing peeks out with every forward step she takes.

  I wait for Dale to notice her, but he’s focused on me.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see her slowing as she nears us. She comes to a complete stop when she’s almost in Dale’s lap.

  Her hand leaps to his shoulder, but her touch isn’t tentative. She runs her fingers over the fabric of his suit jacket until they leisurely tangle in the hair on the back of his head.

  “Forgive me, lover,” she purrs. “I saw an old friend on my way to the ladies’ room. I had to stop to catch up with her.”

  What the hell?

  Her gaze slides from Dale to me before finally settling on the empty glass on the table in front of me. “Who are you and where’s the cosmo I ordered?”

  Chapter 4

  Bella

  I skid my chair back so quickly that it bumps into a waitress.

  The tray in her hand wobbles precariously close to the head of a man sitting directly behind me.

  Dammit.

  Not only am I completely humiliated, but I’m about to knock someone out cold.

  “Look out,” I scream as I jump to my feet.

  The man sitting behind me ducks just as the tray glides past his head. It doesn’t hit him, but a small silver spoon that tumbles from it bounces off his shoulder.

  Everything else on the tray crashes to the floor.

  Taking a step to the side, I reach for my purse. I slung it over the back of the chair I was sitting in. I tug on the strap so hard that the chair falls over at my feet.

  Near silence settles over the restaurant.

  I don’t look up because I know that every eye in the place is on me, including not-Dale and his girlfriend.

  “Bella? Are you Bella?”

  I nod softly before I turn and face the man asking the question.

  He’s good-looking in an ordinary kind of way. His brown hair is cut short to his head. A five o’clock shadow peppers his jaw.

  Concern knits his brow. His blue eyes rake me over from head-to-toe. “Tiffany told me I’d be having dinner with the most beautiful woman in the restaurant. She was right. I’m Dale Samuelson.”

  Two waiters descend on us as they move to clear the broken plates and glasses.

  “Let’s get you out of the way of the glass.” Dale rests a hand on my elbow. “Come join me at my table. It’s over there.”

  I turn in the direction he’s pointing. There’s an empty table less than ten feet from where we are. If I had just looked beyond not-Dale, I might have seen real Dale when I arrived.

  As embarrassed as I am, I glance at the man I just shared a drink with. I can’t read the expression on his face, but I’m sure he can read what’s written all over mine.

  Horror.

  I flirted with a stranger, stole his girlfriend’s drink, and told him all about my string of dating flops.

  “Can I get a cosmopolitan?” The redhead asks the waitress who is trying to wipe smashed peas from the front of her white button-down shirt. “Mine seems to have disappeared into thin air.”

  She snaps her fingers next to my ear.

  I should apologize, but where the hell would I start?

  This is Manhattan. I can duck out of here, disappear into the crowds of the city, and never see these people again.

  I’ll become a funny story to them, and they’ll become a reminder to me why I’ll never go on another blind date again.

  I turn to real Dale. “Can I get a rain check on dinner?”

  “I’m in New York until the end of the month,” he says softly. “If you’re up to it, we can plan something while I’m here.”

  I nod.

  “I’ll see you out.” He slides a hand around my waist.

  I don’t resist because I could use his kind touch to get me past the people who are still throwing looks at me.

  I know I caused an unwanted distraction.

  We start across the quiet restaurant toward the exit. I steal a fleeting glance over my shoulder.

  Not-Dale is still on his feet. His eyes lock on mine for a split second.

  Our short date may have been unintended, but I know I’ll never forget it. I know I’ll never forget him.

  ***

  Tapping my foot on the hardwood floor in his living room, I wait for Max to stop laughing.

  This is the very reason why I’ve avoided him for the past two days. I tried to avoid everyone, but I live with my sister. I moved in with her three months ago when my former roommate decided she was moving to Minneapolis.

  When I got home after my disastrous blind date on Friday, Gina wasn’t around so I went straight to my bedroom. That solace lasted until yesterday afternoon when she dragged me out of bed and down to our grandmother’s Italian restaurant.

  Helping in the kitchen was a good distraction, but my grandma Marti knew something was up with me. She kept shooting me questioning looks as we made ravioli together. I told her I was thinking about a work issue.

  It wasn’t a complete lie.

  I have to work on my issues; in particular, my issues with dating. A break is in order.

  I’ll follow through with my dinner with the real Dale, but that’s it. After that, dating is taking a back seat to everything else in my life.

  “I still can’t believe that you sat at the wrong table.” Max shakes his head, sending the front of his blond hair tumbling onto
his forehead. “You didn’t call him Dale even once? Did you do all the talking?”

  “No,” I lie. “He said a few things.”

  “Not one of those things was his name?”

  Braiding the end of my ponytail, I shrug. “It doesn’t matter at this point. What matters is that I can’t go back to Atlas 22.”

  “Sure, you can.” He pats my shoulder, picking a small piece of lint from my blue sweater. “A week from now, no one will remember that you trashed the place.”

  I hide my face in my hands. “I’m trying to forget it ever happened.”

  Max tugs my hands down. His hazel eyes lock on my frown. “Cheer up, Bella. You still have your date with Dale to look forward to.”

  I wish I were meeting non-Dale for dinner instead.

  Max places another picture in the photo album on his lap.

  One Sunday a month, Max and I convene at his apartment for pasta night and pictures on his couch.

  I bring the pasta from Calvetti’s, my grandma’s restaurant. Max drags a cardboard box filled with pictures out of his front closet. While we eat whatever my grandma packed for dinner, Max tells me stories about his family while he sorts through the old photographs.

  One or two pictures make the cut each week. Tonight a baby photo of Max and a weathered, yellowing photograph of his great-grandfather took their rightful place on the tenth page of the album.

  Genealogy is all the rage in Max’s world at the moment.

  I stretch out my legs. “I need to get home. It’s back to the grind tomorrow.”

  Max skims a hand over the knee of my leggings. “Do you want to go to a movie this week?”

  “Wednesday works for me.” I punctuate my answer with a nod of my head.

  “It’s a date unless Dale asks you out for dinner that night.” He narrows his gaze. “By Dale, I mean the real Dale and not some random in a restaurant.”

  That random in the restaurant hasn’t left my thoughts all weekend.

  I may have enjoyed some alone time in bed while thinking about what could have been after our date if only it were a real date.

  I tug on the hood of Max’s gray sweatshirt. “I’m going home. I’ll text you when I’m done work tomorrow.”

  “You better.” He kisses my cheek. “I hope it’s as boring as a Monday should be.”

  Chapter 5

  Bella

  I peer around the corner into Duke Garent’s office, expecting to see my boss’s smiling face.

  The gray-haired man in a black suit standing with his back to me, staring out at the morning view of midtown Manhattan shouldn’t be here.

  Ivan Garent, Duke’s father, works out of the Chicago office of Garent Industries. Whenever he plans a trip to New York, I’m on the list of people who need to know about it.

  I had no clue that he’d be here today.

  If I had known, I would have chosen something other than the red sheath dress I’m wearing. I paired it with a pair of red heels and matching lipstick.

  Duke doesn’t subscribe to a dress code. I wore a dark blue suit to my interview with him. He told me that day that he doesn’t follow the same rules as his dad and I could wear whatever I wanted to the office if I landed the position of his executive assistant.

  I take my job seriously, but a pop of color never hurt anyone.

  I glance at the watch on my wrist. It’s ten minutes before nine. I’m early.

  Duke is late. He’s usually in his office by eight-thirty or so he tells me.

  I clear my throat. “Mr. Garent?”

  That turns him on his heel. A soft smile crosses his lips. The man is as handsome as he is distinguished.

  He started the company when he was in his early twenties. Fifty years later, he stands at the helm of an international conglomerate that manages hundreds of subsidiaries.

  “Isabella Calvetti.” He approaches me with open arms.

  I go in for the hug because I’ve known Ivan since I was seventeen and an intern in the summer program that Garent hosted.

  That internship turned into a part-time college job and ultimately, a full-time position after I graduated from NYU with dual degrees in economics and marketing.

  I’ve worked my way up the ranks, finally landing this coveted position six months ago.

  It’s not my end goal, but I love the work. I learn new things daily, and I can’t complain about my compensation package.

  Ivan takes a step back, looking me over. “You look as lovely as ever. Tell me, how is life treating you?”

  Other than that bump in the road on Friday night at Atlas 22 I can’t complain.

  I’m determined to put that behind me. That’s why this morning I responded to the text message that Dale sent me last night asking if I’d be interested in having dinner with him tomorrow.

  I accepted.

  He’s good-looking, kind, and leaving town in a few days, so it won’t turn into anything more than a fun evening.

  “Life is good.” I cross my arms over my chest. “How are you?”

  “I’m alright.” His gaze drops.

  Curiosity nips at me.

  The last time I spoke with Duke was Friday before I left the office. He was excited about the weekend since he was planning on heading to Fire Island to visit with friends.

  He would have let me know via text if he was going to be out of the office today. He should be here by now. His dad shouldn’t be here.

  I clear my throat. “I’m surprised to see you. Duke didn’t mention that you’d be visiting New York.”

  “It was a last minute decision. Duke didn’t have time to fill you in.” Ivan scratches his chin. “We need to talk.”

  Fear bubbles inside of me. Duke and I are friends outside of the office. He once told me that if he ever had to fire me, he’d fly his dad in to handle it.

  I can recite every line in my employment contract from memory.

  I haven’t done anything wrong, other than a handful of lunches that ran a few minutes over. Duke always looks the other way when that happens because he’s often out of the office for two or three hours at a time for lunch.

  “About?” I ask tentatively.

  “Have a seat.” He gestures toward the two ornate leather chairs that sit in front of Duke’s massive desk.

  My boss spared no expense when he had this space redecorated three months ago.

  My desk sits outside this office. I was grateful when Duke didn’t ask his interior designer to extend his vision to my area. I prefer sleek minimalism to what’s going on in here.

  Lowering myself into one of the chairs, I smooth the skirt of my dress.

  Ivan rounds the desk and plops himself in Duke’s chair.

  Throne is a better way to describe it. The seat is brown leather. The back and arms are crafted from what looks like gold.

  Duke works hard to live up to his name. I’m surprised he doesn’t parade around the office with a crown atop his head.

  “You’ve been working for my son for a few months.” Ivan rests both hands on a blue file folder.

  I’m the one who puts every file, paper, and receipt on Duke’s desk and I don’t recognize the folder.

  “Six months,” I affirm with a nod of my head.

  I pick at the chipped red nail polish on my thumb. It’s no match for my anxiety.

  Ivan’s next move is all silence and seriousness. He twists the folder around, slides it across the desk, and leans back in his son’s chair.

  I stare at the nondescript folder. There’s no label. I don’t see a clue about what is inside. All I spot is the corner of a white piece of paper sticking out.

  “What’s this?” I ask, studying Ivan’s face for a hint.

  “Open it.”

  His expression gives nothing away, so I look down and flip open the folder. There are two copies of an employment contract inside with my name on them.

  I run my index finger under each word on the first page, reading slowly. When I reach the six-figure a year salary, I stop.
That has to be a misprint. I make mid-five figures now.

  I move on to the bullet points about a monthly commuting allowance, an expense account, and three weeks paid vacation a year.

  Every item listed is a huge step up from the contract I signed a half a year ago.

  I skim the other four pages. All the information looks identical to my current contract. I skip over the details about performance reviews, confidentiality, and everything else that I read carefully before I accepted the job.

  I finally look up at Ivan and repeat my question. “What is this?”

  “Your future.” He slides a silver pen across the desk. “You’ve done remarkable work. I need you to agree to stay with Garent for the next year. Sign on the dotted line, Isabella, and everything listed is yours.”

  Chapter 6

  Bella

  “You never bring me lunch on Mondays.” Max reaches for the sandwich in my hand. “You’re all about getting your week in order.”

  That sounds like me.

  Typically, I do spend most of the day Monday lining up Duke’s week. I schedule his meetings and go over what he has to accomplish before six p.m. on Friday.

  Today is different.

  After I signed my new contract, Ivan had to leave Duke’s office to take a call. When he finally came back an hour later, I was at my desk, working on a proposal for a company that Duke wants to buy out.

  Ivan apologized for having to leave the building, but he assured me that he’d be back by mid-afternoon. He told me that I could take an extended lunch break if I wanted to celebrate my new contract.

  There is no one I’d rather celebrate with than my best friend.

  I yank a mini bottle of champagne out of my purse.

  Max’s gaze falls to the bottle before it lands back on my face. “Bella?”

  Since the bottle was in the discount bin at the liquor store, I have no trouble unscrewing the cap.

  “No cork?” He chuckles. “Am I right to assume that this celebratory lunch is low-key since you invested in the cheap stuff?”