Ruthless Page 9

  I even emailed him to tell him that he needed to take the call. He responded almost immediately with three simple words: Take a message.

  I slide the half-finished crossword puzzle from under the file folder on my desk. Giving it a glance, I hone in on the clue I’ve been stuck on for days. “Five letters for busy.”

  I tap my pen against the side of my lip. “Not me.”

  I laugh to myself. When I worked for Duke, I always had something to do. Barrett doesn’t delegate nearly as much as my previous boss. It has to be a control issue. That, or he doesn’t trust me as much as Duke did.

  The sound of heavy footsteps sets me in motion. I drop the pen, slide the crossword puzzle back into it’s hiding place, and open an already completed document on my laptop.

  My fingers jump to the keyboard. I might as well appear to be busy when Barrett comes out of his office.

  “Listen to me.” His voice carries through the wooden door. “It’s not your damn decision.”

  The door flies open, revealing a man on a mission. His gaze doesn’t land on me as he charges right past my desk. “Say what you need to say, but it changes nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing will change.”

  I stare at his back as he heads toward the elevator. When he jabs his finger into the call button over and over again, I rise from my chair.

  I should stop him, shouldn’t I? He said he needed to talk to me.

  Before I can round my desk to chase after him, the elevator doors pop open, and he steps inside. The doors glide shut, and I watch as the car climbs to the penthouse floor, leaving me with questions I don’t think I’ll get the answers to tonight.

  Chapter 22

  Bella

  I wait a full thirty minutes before I turn off my laptop and lock my desk drawers for the night. Shouldering my purse, I skim my hands over the front of my short sleeve black sweater, tucking the hem into the waistband of my skirt.

  I make my way to the elevator and push the call button. I should go straight home and cook a quick stir-fry with all the fresh vegetables that are sitting in the fridge. I bought those days ago to make a tofu dish for Gina. She stumbled on the recipe online and sent it to me via text message. She didn’t have to ask if I’d cook it for her. I always do.

  My sister has been good to me. I couldn’t find another room to rent for five hundred dollars a month that offers a fully equipped chef’s kitchen, laundry in the apartment, and a stellar view of Manhattan.

  We’ve gotten closer since our older brother, Dominick, moved to Italy six months ago. Gina and I miss him, so our bond has grown stronger in his absence.

  Just as I’m about to send Gina a text asking if she’s at home so I can cook for her, the elevator doors spring open. My eye catches on something on the floor of the car.

  I step forward and scoop it into my palm.

  It looks like a black credit card.

  No. It’s a keycard. The Garent logo is on the front. Underneath are the words Penthouse Two etched in raised gold lettering.

  The elevator was on the penthouse floor until I pushed the call button. I know that for a fact because I kept watch from my desk to see if my boss would take a ride back down to his office. This keycard has to belong to Barrett.

  I study the silver panel hanging on the wall in the lift. I can press any button other than PH and I’ll be taken directly to the corresponding floor. I know that because I’ve tried pressing the PH button and it’s never lit up.

  I tap the card in my hand against the control panel and the PH button shines yellow.

  That draws me back a step. I need to think this through. I can hold onto the card until tomorrow and return it to my boss when I see him in the morning, but what if he goes out tonight? He won’t have a keycard for the elevator.

  Returning the card is the right thing to do, so I press the PH button and suck in a deep breath.

  I’m a good employee. That’s all this is. I repeat that to myself over and over again as the elevator rises toward the penthouse where Barrett lives.

  ***

  As soon as I step off the elevator, I’m greeted with a choice. To the left is a door marked Penthouse One. To the right is Penthouse Two.

  Both are at opposite ends of a long corridor.

  I’ve worked in this building for years and had no idea that this existed. I imagined undeveloped space with dust everywhere, but this is beautiful. The floor is dark stained wood. The walls are painted light gray and dotted with framed works of art. The design has Ivan Garent written all over it. He appreciates art more than anyone I’ve ever met.

  My knowledge of the creative world is reserved to the colorful drawings my cousin’s kids give me when I see them at Calvetti’s or family gatherings.

  I set off toward the door marked Penthouse Two. My mission is simple. I need to get this keycard back in the hand of my boss. As soon as I do that, I can head home to prepare a feast for my sister.

  I stop just short of the door to Barrett’s apartment. I run a hand over my hair. Why do I care if I look nice and why the hell are there so many butterflies in my stomach?

  I’m just here to drop off a keycard. This is not a date.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I knock softly on the door. I wait in silence hoping that I’m not interrupting anything. I assume he’s done with his call by now, but what if he isn’t?

  A flash of regret passes over me just as the door opens.

  Holy hell.

  Barrett leans his bare left shoulder against the doorjamb and flashes me a brilliant smile. “Isn’t this a surprise?”

  I stare at his body, covered only in a pair of black sweatpants. It’s gorgeous unmarked skin and muscles.

  Pushing the keycard at him, I mumble. “For you. It’s yours.”

  His gaze falls to my hand before he locks eyes with me. “I must have dropped that.”

  I nod my head up and down like a fool.

  “You didn’t have to come up here to return it.” He takes a step back affording me a clear view into his apartment. “I’m glad you did. Come in, Isabella.”

  I step forward once and then again until I hear the click of the door behind me.

  Chapter 23

  Barrett

  I walk back into the main living area after sliding on a black T-shirt. Isabella’s face lit up when she saw me shirtless. I gave her the time she needed to take it all in. I work out. I’m in great shape. Appreciative looks like the one Isabella shot my way are all the motivation I need to hit the gym three times a week.

  “Can I get you anything?” I offer because she looks like she could use a drink. “I have some red wine, a beer, whiskey if you’re up for it. I don’t have the makings of a cosmopolitan, but this is New York so I’m sure I can order one up from the restaurant across the street.”

  Her gaze bolts to the wall of windows that border the main living area. “Water. I’ll take water.”

  Smart choice. I’m not as grounded, so I grab a beer from the fridge and pop it open before I take a swallow. I empty a small bottle of sparkling water into a glass, dropping two ice cubes in it.

  When I hand it to her, the tremor in her fingers is noticeable.

  My assistant is a bundle of nerves.

  The expression on her face was a clear indicator that she didn’t expect an invite into my apartment, but I wasn’t about to turn her away after she took the brazen step of using my keycard to gain access to this floor.

  “I thought you might need that tonight.” She points to where she dropped the keycard on a table in the foyer next to a tall vase holding some type of fake flowers. “I was worried that if you had plans, you wouldn’t be able to get back up to this floor.”

  “The doorman knows me. He would have let me take the ride up here. Besides, I have an extra keycard.”

  “Of course,” she says, shaking her head. “I should have thought of that.”

  I’m glad she didn’t. I was facing a night alone going over a few of the acquisitions that Duke has made in the past
five years. He created one hell of a mess when he was in charge. Spending time with my assistant is a welcome buffer between the call I was on earlier and dealing with Duke’s fuck-ups.

  “Do you have plans tonight?”

  My question lures her brows up. “I’m cooking dinner for my sister.”

  I know about the sister. Gina Calvetti is a rising social media star. She’s three years older than Isabella and a recognizable face in the Instagram ready world.

  “What are you cooking?” I draw this out because I’m enjoying watching her squirm. Her hand hasn’t stopped shaking. All the deep breaths she’s been taking aren’t helping.

  “A tofu stir fry thing.” She scrunches her nose.

  I point the bottle in my hand at her. “I’ve learned that if the chef makes that face when they’re talking about their food, you need to find a new place to eat.”

  Eat. Jesus. Why the fuck did I have a flash of my head between Isabella’s thighs?

  “It’s not my first choice,” she acquiesces with a shrug of her shoulder.

  I step right through that open door. “What would be your first choice?”

  Her blue eyes meet mine, and I feel the spark of something between us. I don’t know what the fuck it is, but it’s undeniable. It’s dangerous, but it feels so damn good.

  She’s my assistant. She’s my much younger assistant.

  I drill that into my brain as her lips tug up into a smile. “My first choice?”

  I give her a nod. “If you could eat anything for dinner tonight, what would it be?”

  A bite to the corner of her bottom lip sets my dick over the edge. I harden inside my sweatpants. Another drink from the beer does nothing to quell the growing need I feel inside me.

  “Greek food,” she announces with a sigh. “I should say Italian because I’m a Calvetti, but sometimes I crave Greek food.”

  Guilt lures her gaze to the floor. I should punish her.

  I need to get a fucking grip.

  I also need air. Cool New York City night air.

  I empty the bottle in my hand in one last swallow. “Where do you go when you want great Greek food?”

  “There’s a food truck not far from here,” she answers hesitantly. “Why?”

  “Tell your sister she needs to cook her own dinner.” I drop the bottle on the dining room table on the way back to my bedroom. “Give me two minutes to change.”

  “Change clothes?” She steps toward me.

  I turn back, tempted to curl my finger at her in an invitation to follow me, but Garent’s goddamn rules and regulations keep my hand by my side. “I haven’t had dinner yet. Neither have you. We’ll walk down to the truck together.”

  “Together?” she parrots back. “You and me?”

  I clarify because I can’t tell what’s going through that beautiful head of hers. “I want details about the party supply store Duke bought into. I’m killing that deal, and I need to know everything you do about Duke’s plans for that venture. We’ll walk and talk about that.”

  Her lips part. “It’s a working dinner.”

  If there’s disappointment in her tone I sure as hell don’t hear it. I sense she’s relieved that I’m not trying to sweep her off her feet. “That’s what it is.”

  “I’m ready when you are.” A smile blooms on her mouth.

  I take off down the hallway toward my bedroom. This evening took a hell of a sharp turn in a direction I wasn’t planning on heading, but I’ll go along for the ride.

  Greek food with Ms. Calvetti should prove to be interesting.

  Chapter 24

  Bella

  What do they say about a well-dressed man?

  It should be that every woman turns to get a glimpse of him. That’s what’s happening now as Barrett and I walk down Fifth Avenue side-by-side.

  He changed into charcoal gray pants and a black button-down shirt before we left his apartment. He rolled the sleeves on that and left the top two buttons open. He looks gorgeous and seriously delicious.

  Scrap that last thought.

  I have to stop thinking that way about him, even though I did see his bare chest less than an hour ago. That image is imprinted on my brain for eternity because of his abs and biceps and that gorgeous happy trail of dark hair that disappeared under the waistband of his sweatpants.

  “Isabella?” His deep voice shatters my thoughts about his sexy-as-sin body.

  It was so much easier working for Duke because he wasn’t my type.

  “Yes?” I glance over at him.

  “I asked you twice what your thoughts were about the acquisition of the party supply store.”

  It was a reckless move on Duke’s part. I saw the sales numbers for the mom and pop run store. I warned my then boss that he needed to rethink how he could help the elderly couple, but he dove into the deal with both feet.

  That’s how Duke is. He jumps first and asks questions after everyone has signed the contracts.

  I slow as we near the Greek food cart. The man in the suit standing at the window placing his order is all too familiar to me.

  Without a word from me, he turns in our direction. Recognition lights up his handsome face. “Bella?”

  His voice is just as I remember. Soft and soothing. It offered me comfort after a long day or a hard-fought battle with an exam. He was a vital part of my life when I was in college. I thought he might be important to me forever.

  “Emil,” I whisper his name to keep my tone even.

  I’ve seen him from time-to-time when our paths cross on the sidewalk or in a restaurant, but a part of me always feels a stab of sadness when I run into him.

  He looks just as he did the last time I saw him. That was at least five months ago, maybe more. His black hair is the same length, his green eyes as sharp as always.

  The seriousness that surrounds him fades when he smiles because the man could light the darkest sky when joy grabs hold of him.

  “Who is he?” Emil keeps his eyes pinned to me. “You’re seeing someone?”

  “Barrett Adler.” My boss steps beside me, snaking a hand past my shoulder toward Emil. “I work with Isabella.”

  “You go by Isabella now?” Emil questions with a draw of his brows together. “It’s so formal. It’s so not you.”

  He doesn’t know me. I thought he did, but how can a man know a woman if he doesn’t understand her soul? Emil’s sights were set much higher than mine when he graduated from NYU two years before I did.

  “I’m Emil Burdeon.” He shakes Barrett’s hand. “Is Bella still working as an assistant at Garent?”

  There it is; the innocent question with the unmistakable undertone of my value hidden within the words.

  “Always be better than someone else’s best. Aim higher, Bella. There’s no triumph in being second to anyone.”

  Emil thought he was helpful when he said those things to me over and over, but they cut into my self-esteem until I had to cut myself free of him.

  My grandma taught me that my value couldn’t be measured in the size of my paycheck or my job title, but in what I do for others that won’t earn me a dollar.

  “You’re one of those Burdeon kids, aren’t you?” Barrett sizes Emil up from head-to-toe. “Your dad owns the Burdeon vineyards. Is that right?”

  It’s Emil’s claim to fame. He runs the family business. It was his calling from the start. His degree in business only cemented his place in the legacy founded by his great-grandfather.

  He convinced himself that he beat out his brothers and older sister to take the reins when his father was looking for a CEO to lighten his load. Emil always felt he earned it by hard work and determination, but no one else wanted the responsibility. They all had their own dreams to chase.

  Emil’s face beams almost as brightly as his diamond cufflinks. “That’s right.”

  “My father owns Adler Estates.” Barrett scratches his chin. “He’s running circles around you at the moment.”

  Adler Estates? Barrett’s
father owns the company that produces some of the best wine in the country?

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Emil glances down the crowded sidewalk. “We’re focused on development at the moment. Expect our spring offering to trump yours.”

  “Not mine.” Barrett laughs off the comment with a shake of his head. “I don’t work for my old man. I carved my own path. You should try it sometime.”

  “Sir?” A woman sticks her head out of the window of the food truck. “Your order is up.”

  Emil grabs the offering, not bothering to thank the woman. “I need to take off. I’m heading to California later tonight.”

  “Safe travels,” I quip as I approach the window.

  “Cheers, Emil,” Barrett says from behind me. “It’s been a slice getting to know you.”

  ***

  “I need you to arrange a meeting for me with the owners of the party supply store tomorrow. Damn, if I can remember the name of that place.”

  I look up into the face of my boss. “Party Hearty.”

  “Hate it,” he quips. “What the fuck was Duke thinking when he dropped a load of cash into that?”

  I toss the wrapper from my gyro into the trash. “He was thinking that he was helping the owners keep their dream alive.”

  Barrett taps a finger on the side of his mouth. “You have a little something there.”

  Of course, I do. This night has been nothing but one disaster after another. I saw my college boyfriend. I dripped yogurt sauce on my sweater and now I’m proving to my boss that I can’t eat without leaving a trail of food on my face.

  I swipe a finger over both sides of my lips to be extra certain that I got whatever was left behind.

  Barrett leans forward on the bench we’re sitting on. “Emil Burdeon. Let’s talk about him.”

  I thought we’d skip over the subject of my ex when we got our food and sat down. Barrett launched into a long-winded speech about everything that is wrong with Party Hearty. I didn’t say a word because every point he made was valid.