THE HOTNESS CONTINUES: SWEET SUBMISSION

FIVE: ISABELLE

The door slams shut behind him, breaking through my haze of desire.
What are you doing?
What was I thinking? I was trying to forget tonight, to bury myself in his body and leave the
icky memories of Brent behind, and instead I completely embarrassed myself. I just felt so
grateful to him for helping me, for being so tender. I wasn’t even thinking.

Cam was gentleman enough to rescue me from that scene at the Underground and I
responded just like the tramp Brent says I am.
I bite back my stinging tears and towel myself dry with the huge fluffy towel Cam left me.
Pulling on a luxurious white bathrobe, I head to the adjoining bedroom.
The room is beautiful: decorated in a sophisticated style with a four-poster bed and an
antique-looking dresser. I take a deep breath, trying to settle down. Everything’s going to be OK,
I tell myself. Nothing bad is going to happen in a place with eight-hundred thread count sheets.
I smile wryly at my old joke. Growing up, I was so sure that money would solve everything.
That rich people were happy all the time. Why wouldn’t they be? They had everything they
could want. They didn’t know about the stress and desperation the rest of us felt, what it was like
to struggle every day just to get by.
But now I know differently. I may be surrounded by luxury, but I’m just as messed up as
before, maybe even more so. I shiver, wondering if that’s how Cam sees me now. Looking at
myself through his eyes, I’m sure I must seem ridiculous. Pathetic and needy.
I know he’s never liked me. Whenever we’ve seen each other before, he’s been totally
uninterested. Polite but cold. Distant. Almost like he didn’t see me. Like I didn’t matter.
But tonight, something changed. He saw me at my lowest point—and didn’t turn away. He
was kind, he didn’t judge me. And then…
I fall back on the soft bed and sigh. My body is still aching with lust from his masterful
touch. Every moment when he was washing my hair felt charged. Even now, my nipples tighten
to remember it. I’ve never had a man touch me like that: tender, but bold. And absolutely sure of
himself. I was so turned on, I couldn’t believe it. And I felt passion when he kissed me, real
desire. Nothing furtive or tawdry, just pure passion. I was so sure he felt the same way.
Until he cut the moment short and practically bolted from the room. Of course he didn’t feel
the same about me. He was doing a nice thing, and I totally misread the signs.
But I can’t deny my feelings. The way my body responded under his hands. The purely
animal heat that set me on fire. His touch felt so good, so natural.
I could hardly hold back from dragging him into the tub with me. The whole time he was
washing my hair, I wanted his hands on my breasts. His strong fingers on my aching clit. His
cock sliding in and out of me to some wild, unstoppable rhythm.
It was like being touched for the first time. My body waking up from a deep sleep.
I didn’t know it was possible to feel this way. So alive. Every nerve tingling with desire and
pleasure.
Brent has never touched me that way, so deliberate and sensual. With Brent, even when I was
turned on, wanting it, the way he rushed always made me feel used afterward. Empty. Like I was
just means to an end. But Cam handles me like a master. Like I was made for him.
Now, I find myself wondering what it would be like with Cam, to let him make love to me,
tenderly, passionately. The warm blue eyes, glinting with a ruthless sensuality. Firm muscles
flexing in his arms as he tenderly held me down…
I can’t help imagining his hands on my body. When I was in the tub, I swear I could feel his
excitement like some invisible force between us, drawing us together like magnets. And when we
kissed…a jolt of electricity shot straight down between my thighs.
My body wants him. It shocks me to realize that I do, too.
Slipping off the soft robe and now completely naked, I stretch out on the bed, my hands
stroking my skin. Running over the fullness of my breasts. I reach down, finding my most
sensitive spot. I stroke softly, and the pressure sends shivers through me.
Who is Cam, really? I thought I had him pegged. Mr. No-Nonsense Businessman.
Effortlessly charming but still so cold and self-absorbed. But alone with him tonight, I sensed
something much more passionate.
I’m already wet, thinking about him. Just down the hallway, so close, he could come and find
me like this at any minute… Just push the door open and see me spread on the bed, touching
myself. The thought makes me hotter. I dip my fingers into my own juices, dragging them up
over my clit. Hot bursts of pleasure spread through me.
He would stand in the doorway, watching me. Not do anything at first, just let his eyes rove
over me. Then, when I was moaning out loud, he would cross the room and—
Suddenly, a noise cuts through my fantasy. My phone is ringing on the dresser. I try to ignore
it and lose myself, but it rings again. And again.
Annoyed by the intrusion, I finally snatch up the phone and check the screen.
Brent.
Seeing his name on the display is like a cold shower. He’s left three voicemails and I see
seven missed calls. He’s been trying to reach me ever since I left the club with Cam.
My stomach drops. It won’t be good. He gets so angry when I don’t answer my phone.
Shaking with anxiety, I bring the phone to my ear and press play on the first message.
“Isabelle! What the fuck?” His voice comes angrily. “You can’t just take off with any random
guy who comes along. Paxton was totally pissed that you bailed, and you embarrassed me. I
promised him a good time tonight. With you.” I could hear music and noise in the background;
he must have called from the Underground as soon as I left.
Next message. Now, he’s even more furious. Slurring, drunk.
“You selfish bitch! Paxton and I were working out a deal and you totally blew it for me. He
just left. This is all your fault. You better come home right now, Isabelle. You don’t want to
fucking see what happens when you pull this shit with me. Get back here. Now.”
I delete it. Then I listen to the last message. Brent’s tone has changed. He’s all honey and
sweetness now. Playing the nice guy. But I know it’s just an act.
“Isabelle, my darling sister. I’m worried about you. Where are you? Why aren’t you taking
my calls? OK, I admit I went a little overboard.” He laughs nervously. “Maybe I misjudged the
situation. I thought you understood what we were doing in the club. Thought you would enjoy it,
a fun little fantasy. I was wrong. I see that now and I’m sorry. Please come home. I’ll make it up
to you, I promise. I’ll be waiting.”
I throw the phone down in disgust. Brent thinks his half-assed apology will make up for the
way he treated me?
It always did before.
A voice in my head reminds me that Brent’s screwed up in the past. Over and over, and I’ve
always forgiven him, every time. No wonder he thinks a few sweet words will make me come
running back to him.
But this time is different.
Anger rises inside of me. He pushed me too far—and forced me to face everything I’ve been
ignoring all along. How selfish he can be. How cruel. How he treats me like a plaything, and
expects me to take it all without a word of complaint.
I’ve been blind to it, still acting like that naïve sixteen-year old who worships the ground he
walks on. Feeling like I owe him for every good thing in my life. But I’m all grown up now. And
I realize something: I’ve changed.
I want more. I deserve more.
Cam’s face flashes in my mind. I catch my breath. That moment with him in the bathroom
may have been a humiliating mistake, but it showed me a passion I’ve never experienced with
Brent. Even knowing that Cam wants nothing more to do with me, it makes me realize that I
can’t settle for less anymore.
Brent’s been your whole world for years now. Without him, you’re all alone. What makes you
think you’re strong enough to get by on your own?
The whispers of insecurity flutter around me. But as I pull on a nightgown and slide into bed,
I don’t feel afraid. Somehow, knowing that Cam is nearby, I finally feel safe.
SIX: CAM
I don’t sleep. I have black-out curtains, the latest in hi-tech white-noise machines, and a
mattress imported from Italy and molded to my exact body shape, but all the expensive toys in
the world can’t block out the thought of her sleeping just down the hall.
I try to justify it with logic. She’s a beautiful woman, I’m a red-blooded man. This desire is
perfectly normal.
Except it’s not, not for me. I’m used to being in control: executing every scene with careful
thought and planning. Last night, I wanted to throw her down and fuck her like a wild animal: no
rules, no contract, no control. Demand her submission with my body instead of my mind.
But she’s off-limits. It’s not just that she’s Ashcroft’s daughter, it’s that she needs me to
protect her. She probably didn’t even know what she was doing, kissing me like that. She’s still
recovering from her ordeal at the club—the last thing she really wants is another man.
Besides, I saw the fear on her face when she was restrained. How she couldn’t get away from
Brent fast enough. She thinks the scene is repulsive and wrong. If she knew what I wanted to do
to her, she would never speak to me again.
My alarm finally pulls me out of hours of restless thought. I go straight to my home gym and
put in a few miles on the treadmill, running hard to chase the lustful thoughts from my mind.
After my workout and a quick shower, I head downstairs. Usually I head straight to the office,
but today I decide to fix some food. Isabelle felt alarmingly frail in my arms; she would probably
live off coffee without my intervention.
I rarely let my conquests stick around after the fun ends, and cooking breakfast for them is
positively unheard of. But once again, I bend the rules for Isabelle.
I’m scrambling eggs when she strolls into the kitchen. She’s barefoot, wrapped up in a
bathrobe, and stunningly beautiful. Her tousled hair and sleepy pout just make me want to strip
off that bulky robe, pin her against the cold steel refrigerator and—
“Good morning,” I say. Cool, courteous and professional. “How did you sleep?”
Her gaze flickers for a minute. Isabelle leans on the island, taking in the spread of fresh fruit,
bacon, and toast.
“Wow,” she smiles. “I didn’t know you cooked.”
“Sometimes,” I say. “But I figured since you’ll be staying here, this would be a good
opportunity to give you a tour of my kitchen.”
She frowns. “What do you mean, staying here? I’m grateful for the place to sleep last night,”
she says, “and for the rescue, but I do have a home of my own to get back to.”
“Not right now.” I carefully stir the eggs and toss in a handful of fresh herbs. Isabelle is still
looking pissed, so I add, “Look, it’s none of my business how you handle your personal life but I
think your…boyfriend…could use a cooling off period.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Isabelle scowls.
I feel a possessive surge of gladness, but I push it back. “Well, whomever he is, he needs to
calm down.”
He’s not the only one. If I laid eyes on Brent Ashcroft right now, I would break every bone in
his fucking body. I’m still furious at him for hurting her. I turn my anger on my cappuccino
machine instead, pouring Isabelle a cup and sliding it across the counter toward her.
She blinks. “Thank you.” She takes a sip and sighs with satisfaction. “It’s perfect.”
“See?” I try to lighten the mood. “There are some perks to staying here.”
But Isabelle is being stubborn. “Cam, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but
I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. I’ll handle things with Brent.”
Over my dead body.
I scowl. “I won’t hear of it, Isabelle. The decision’s made. You can’t be near him right now.
Do you really think it’s safe?”
Isabelle looks distraught, but doesn’t answer. We both know I’m right. She could go to a
hotel, but I have to protect her and I can’t do that if she isn’t here with me.
I soften. “I’ll have everything you need delivered to my apartment. You won’t want for
anything.”
Her lip trembles for a minute, but Isabelle keeps it together. She gives me a sharp nod. “Fine.
For now. Thank you.”
I fix her a plate of food and set it in front of her. She looks so lost, I feel sorry for her, but I
push the emotion aside. I don’t want the complication of feelings to muddle up a simple
arrangement. I’m doing a favor for Ashcroft, that’s all.
“I’ll have my personal shopper pick out some things,” I add.
I make a quick mental note in my head, running through a list of what I’ll need to order for
her. Clothes I’d like to see her wearing. The panties I’d like to slip my hand into…
The tools you’d like to use on that fair skin.
I take a swig of my own coffee, nearly burning my tongue. What’s gotten into me?
Isabelle suddenly reaches across the kitchen island. Her fingers rest lightly on mine. We’re
barely touching, but it’s electric.
“About last night…” she murmurs. Our eyes lock.
I pull my hand away. “Don’t think twice about it,” I say harshly. “You were obviously upset
and confused. Let it go.”
I think I see a flash of rejection in her eyes, but I know I’m right to stop this train of thought.
“I’ll be at the office all day,” I tell her, turning for the door. “You have my number if you need
anything.”
“There is one thing.”
I turn back to find her looking at me with a curious expression. “Last night,” she starts again,
hesitant. “I know what brought me to the Underground, but what were you doing there?”
My body stiffens. Images flash through my head. The girl. Riding crop. Isabelle in the
bathtub. The images collide and blur into one. Her soft lips on mine, that hungry kiss lighting my
body on fire.
“That’s none of your business,” I snap. “And if you’re going to stay under my roof, you’ll
never mention it again. Do you understand?”
Isabelle’s eyes widen.
“Do. You. Understand?” I ground out the words again.
“I…yes,” she stammers.
“Good. I have a meeting. I’ll see you tonight.”
I grab my briefcase and walk out without another look. If I stay, I’ll give in to temptation,
and that can’t happen again. I won’t allow it.

SEVEN: ISABELLE

He made breakfast.
It’s just a small thing, I know, but still, it takes me by surprise. I sit at the marble kitchen
counter after Cam has gone and stare at my plate in amazement. Eggs, toast, fruit, even a sprig of
basil on the side: fresh and simple, expertly done.
It smells so delicious that I allow myself to take a couple of bites, breaking the strict diet that
keeps me thin. Brent would never do anything like this, I can’t help but think. It would never
occur to him to lift a finger for me, do anything at all that I didn’t have to beg for. It’s all a big
game with him: fluttering my eyelashes, playing the part just right, all to manipulate him into
doing something he should be happy about all along.
Cam isn’t like that. He’s more straightforward. Except…I know he’s hiding something from
me. Like what he was doing at the Underground. When I asked him about it, he snapped so hard,
I was shocked to see the flare of anger burning in his eyes.
Shocked, but not at all scared.
I sigh, pushing my plate aside. I take a sip of coffee, and try to make sense of all his mixed
messages. Unless, maybe they’re not mixed at all. Maybe I’m imagining his response to me.
After all, his words are crystal clear: back off.
He doesn’t want me.
At least he’s a good cook. And he’s got flawless taste. The spotless kitchen is bright and airy,
decorated in marble and deep blue tile, and packed with expensive stainless-steel appliances. I
look around, checking the fridge and cabinets. They’re stocked with organic and imported
delicacies: cheeses, truffles, and bottles of chilled champagne.
My curiosity sparks to life. Now that I’m alone in the apartment, maybe I can find out more
about him. Discover what’s hidden behind his smooth surface. What makes him tick.
What turns him on.
I start in the living room. Last night I didn’t get a chance to see much, but looking around
now, I’m impressed. Sunlight pours in the tall windows, illuminating the rich, masculine décor.
Vintage leather couches, a deep teal rug. There are large, abstract canvases on the pale gray
walls, and I pause, looking closer. I’m not an expert, but I’ve spent years teaching myself about
art and antiques—rich people topics—and I’m pretty sure all the pieces are real.
The deeper I go into the apartment, the more curious I get. Cam is tidy, but there’s a lived-in
comfort to his home. It’s a place of contradictions: neatness and disorder. The office is spotless,
filled with the latest in hi-tech computing equipment, but the art on the wall is bold. Wild.
I pause by the bedroom door and feel a tremor of guilt. I shouldn’t be snooping around like
this, but I have a craving inside me to know more. Know Cam, inside and out.
I push open the door.
My heart falls. I hoped he’d reveal more here—his inner sanctuary—but the room is even
less personal than the rest of the apartment. Just cool, slate grey walls, a sleek dresser, and a huge
king-sized bed made up with crisp dark linens.
I smooth my hand over the soft cover, and wonder what it would be like to lay here…waiting
for his touch…
I stop, realizing something for the first time. A hot, successful guy like Cam would definitely
have his pick of the ladies, but there’s no hint of a girlfriend or woman in the apartment. When I
poke through the bedroom drawers, I find condoms but nothing that looks like it belongs to a
woman. If he does have a girlfriend, she’s definitely not allowed to leave her stuff here. There’s
not even a second toothbrush or extra razor in the shower.
I’ve almost finished my tour of the apartment when a staircase in the hall grabs my attention.
I didn’t realize there was another floor. I climb up to the top, but the door doesn’t open when I
try it. Locked. Right away, I feel a shiver of anticipation. What kind of secrets does Cameron
McCullough keep under lock and key? I’m dying to find out.
My phone suddenly vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, bracing myself for more messages
from Brent, but instead I find a reminder text about my hair appointment in an hour. I’d
completely forgotten about it. I debate canceling, but I can’t hide out here all day—I need some
air. I give the door one last look, then head downstairs to get ready. The mystery will just have to
wait.
* * *
At the salon, I gossip with my stylist Byron as usual, but I let him do most of the talking. The
familiar busy chatter of the room washes over me, comforting after all the upheaval of the last
day. Around me, the cream of New York society sits under dryers and at the manicure stations,
flicking through glossy magazines and planning their next party.
This is how I spend my days now: spa treatments, hair appointments, luncheons and charity
events. Growing up, it was all I ever wanted. I looked at those same magazines and imagined
what it would be like if I were one of those beautiful women, so perfect and removed from the
real world. I thought if I could be one of them, everything would be OK. No worries, no stress.
And then Ashcroft adopted me, and I learned, I couldn’t be more wrong.
But for today, just today, I decide to pretend. Like I really am the frivolous socialite people
think I am, and the most important decision I have to make is whether to pick ‘ballet slipper’ or
‘daydream’ for my manicure color.
My phone buzzes while I’m waiting for the polish to dry. I carefully tap the speaker button.
“Izzie, babe, I’m sitting alone at a table for six, where are you?”
My friend, Olivia. Shit. I’d totally forgotten our lunch date.
“I’m sorry, I’m on my way!” I lie. “The others aren’t there yet?”
“You know Nicole,” Olivia sighs. “She loves to make an entrance.”
I smile. “I promise I’ll be there soon.”
I finish up at the salon and hail a cab. Lunch with my friends is exactly the distraction I need.
Bistro Minou is bustling when I arrive. It’s the latest hot spot for one to see and be seen:
white leather and glass banquettes, with a polished bar and the best wine list in the city.
“Miss Ashcroft.” The elegant French hostess greets me on sight. “Please, this way.”
I spot the girls across the room. They’re seated at a prime table near the window. Of course,
Nicole and her minions want to be seen dining here. One of them has probably already sent in a
tip to the gossip columnists so they can run an item in their blogs talking about our outfits, our
shoes, our fabulous lives.
Olivia sees me coming and waves brightly. Nicole and Lulu, staring at their cell phones,
don’t even notice me until I sit down and loudly say, “Hi.”
“Isabelle, sweetie.” Nicole air kisses me from two feet away. Lulu just stares blankly at me as
if it’s the first time we’ve met. Ugh. Suddenly, I realize I’m not really in the mood for them
today. But Olivia is a sweetheart and I always enjoy hanging with her, so it’s kind of a trade-off.
The waiter swings by to take our order. Nicole treats him like a servant. She orders a bottle of
pricey champagne for the table, even though it’s barely past noon. He must be used to dealing
with snobby socialites, though. He’s unfazed.
My first foster mom was a waitress, and I remember how tired she’d be when she came home
from work. How she’d rub her feet and count her tips as she smoked a cigarette. Once, trying to
educate me about life, I guess, she told me about each of her customers as she sorted the paper
bills into ones, fives and tens.
The best tip that day had come from an elderly couple in town to visit their son and his new
wife. Newly retired, they told her how much they appreciated her help getting a low-salt meal for
the husband.
The worst tip, two dollars on a forty-five dollar tab, had come from a couple of business
executives who drank their lunch and snickered about my foster mom’s crooked, yellow teeth.
She told me that the richest people were often the least generous. If you didn’t have to work
for your living, she said, you didn’t appreciate those who did.
I’d never forgotten her words, and at Bistro Minou, I watch her theory in action.
“And it all needs to be gluten-free,” Nicole says, still listing her demands. “Organic only. Can
you check the provenance of the tuna in the Nicoise salad?” she adds. “I only eat wild-caught
fish from sustainable sources.”
Olivia and I exchange a smile.
“Of course,” the waiter nods, scribbling it all down before turning to me. “And you, miss?”
The two older men at the next table are happily digging into juicy steaks with sage cream,
sautéed mushrooms and crispy pomme frites. I eye their plates with envy. But I know Nicole and
Lulu will tease me if I order anything more than rabbit food, no matter how hungry I am. Every
once in a while, I sneak off to Shake Shack for a bacon cheeseburger and peanut butter custard
shake. It’s my version of heaven on earth.
But heaven will have to wait.
“The salad for me too, thank you.” I send him an apologetic smile. I’ll be sure to tip him
extra to make up for Nicole’s bitch act.
The minute he leaves, Nicole launches into the latest scandal involving her friend, Paige.
“And you know what the worst part is? Now he’s divorcing her.”
Lulu gasps, like it’s the first time she’s heard it. “She should’ve ignored the affairs.”
“For real,” Olivia sighs, refilling her glass. “I mean, what man doesn’t cheat?”
“He’s rich. She gets plenty of perks,” Nicole sneers. “But she signed a pre-nup. She’ll lose
everything. The apartment. The house in the Hamptons…”
“Stupid cow,” Lulu adds, giggling.
“Right?” Nicole sips at her champagne, then wrinkles her nose. “I mean, she’ll be practically
broke. Why would we even hang out with her anymore?”
“She won’t be coming to places like this,” Lulu agrees. “And we’ll have nothing to talk
about.”
Usually I just play along with their mean spirited gossip, but after everything that happened
over the last twenty-four hours, I wonder why I’m even here. What would they say if they knew
about Brent and my former relationship?
Olivia turns to me. “You’re quiet. Everything ok?”
I force a smile. “Thanks for checking, but I’m fine. Just a headache.”
Olivia looks like she doesn’t believe me. “Well, if you change your mind, you’ve got my
digits. Sometimes I get ‘headaches,’ too.” She smiles warmly and I’m grateful that she doesn’t
push.
Of all my socialite friends, she’s the nicest and the most genuine. I wish I could confide in
her, but we’re just too different. Her family owns several prestigious art galleries and she’s lived
her whole life surrounded by wealth and luxury. The best schools, summers abroad, European
vacations…she even had a pony at her family’s Connecticut farm. And would she still be
interested in me if she knew about the skeletons in my closet?
Olivia only knows me as Isabelle Ashcroft. I may be protected by my trust fund and last
name now, but my position in this world is still fragile. I should know: I learned the rules from
scratch, watching carefully to learn all the things that they take for granted.
A sudden swell of insecurity rises in my chest. I look around the table. Can I even call these
women my friends? I can’t confide in them, or in anyone, not really.
The truth is, I’m all alone. The only person who’s ever seen even a bit behind this perfect
façade is Cam.
I try to push the thought aside and focus on lunch. I gossip and chat with the others, but it’s
hard to go through the motions. By the time the check comes, I’m relieved to get away.
“See you soon!” I promise, after another round of air-kisses. I exit the bistro and try to plan
my day. There are some boutiques nearby, and even though Cam promised to get everything I
need, I decide to drop in and pick up some essentials.
I’m halfway down the block when I see a familiar face leaving Armani.
Brent.
I duck back into an alleyway, praying he didn’t see me on the street. My heart is beating a
mile a minute and I have to take deep breaths to calm myself.
I peer around the building in time to see him get into a cab. When it drives away, I feel waves
of relief.
Thank god. I’m safe.
I hate feeling this way. But Brent is so unhinged now, so unstable. I could always predict how
he would act, what he would say, how to behave to avoid upsetting him. But I don’t want to play
this game anymore. And yet I’m too afraid to tell him.
But how long can I hide?

EIGHT: CAM

Just because my personal life is in turmoil, it doesn’t mean my professional life slows down
for a minute. As soon as I get to the office, I’m plunged into the usual high-octane business that
keeps the multi-billion dollar company running smoothly. I try to get my head in the game, but
by the time I get to my afternoon meetings, my concentration is shot.
All I can think about is Isabelle.
I stare blankly at a spreadsheet, trying to follow the fight in front of me. My CFO is facing
off against my VP of marketing. It’s an important discussion about a division re brand, but I’m
too distracted to follow them. Isabelle’s face keeps popping into my mind, and with it, an
unwelcome surge of lust. All I can think about is the mess I’ve gotten myself into.
Why did I have to play the hero and butt into something that isn’t my business?
The answer comes, and I don’t like it one bit.
It is your business. You feel responsible for her now.
I sigh. It’s true, Ashcroft was my mentor, and his heir, Keely, asked me to keep an eye on
Isabelle, but that doesn’t explain why I feel so protective of her. Why I want her so badly that it’s
ruining my meeting, distracting me completely.
It’s more than her astonishing beauty, or the chameleon quality of watching her switch from
bratty socialite to a vulnerable and thoughtful woman. I know there’s much more to her than
meets the eye. Her life before Ashcroft has always been kind of murky, but I sense she’s a
fighter. There’s a strength and determination in her that’s absent in the other rich girls who flit
about the social world.
I tell myself I’m just helping her out. That whole ugly scene with Brent would have
traumatized anyone. It’s clear she can’t be around him right now, so letting her stay with me for a
few days until she’s back on her feet shouldn’t be a problem for anyone…
Except for me and the hard-on currently driving me mad.
“Cam, when do you want the figures on the revised budget?” my assistant asks for the second
time. Somehow, I manage to drag my attention back to the meeting, wrap it up and head back to
the privacy of my corner office.
I close the door behind me and sink into my top-of-the-line desk chair. I’ve got a prime view
of the city, and my office is decorated in leather and masculine, soothing shades of navy. It’s the
ultimate CEO’s pad, but none of it can reassure me now.
Isabelle crash-landed into my life, and ever since last night it feels like everything is chaos. I
hate being out of focus and out of control, second-guessing all my thoughts and actions. Ashcroft
Industries relies on me to run a tight ship and Isabelle’s presence is knocking it way off course.
This is exactly why I’ve always been so careful to keep my private life and my work life so
separate. Combining them is too dangerous. It’s like mixing two combustible chemicals;
something’s bound to explode.
Keely pops her head in the door. “You got a minute?” she asks.
“For you, of course.” I wave her in.
Keely has always been a great friend. When Ashcroft died, I was the one to guide her through
taking his place at the head of the company. Someone else might have sent me packing, or made
it tough for me to keep running things, but Keely was grateful for my expertise and eager to
learn. Her fiancé took a little longer to warm up to me, but now that Vaughn understands there is
nothing between us, I consider them both true friends.
“I figured you could use an afternoon break,” she says, sliding a little red bottle of Five-Hour
Energy across my desk.
I groan. “It’s that obvious?”
“You’ve been sleepwalking around the place all morning,” she says with a sympathetic look.
“Everything OK?”
“Sure,” I reply quickly. “I didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all.”
Keely makes a face. “That makes me feel even worse about what I need to ask you.”
“Oh?”
“My secretary double-booked me. I’m supposed to go schmooze bigwigs at some fundraising
dinner tonight but it’s my anniversary with Vaughn. I was going to surprise him. Soo…”
I raise my eyebrows.
Keely continues, looking nervous. “Would you go instead? I know you hate this kind of
thing,” she rushes to add, “but you’d be doing me—all of us—a huge favor. We need company
presence there.”
I take a swig of the energy drink and wince at the taste. “I’d probably do more harm than
good. You know I’m terrible at schmoozing. I never know what to say.”
“Sure you do. Just give them a smile and say something Scottish, and they’ll be swooning at
your feet.”
I smile.
“Pretty please?” Keely begs.
“How can I refuse? Vaughn would probably come knocking if I ruined his big surprise.”
Keely grins. “You’re a lifesaver, Cam! I’ll send you the info for tonight.” She blows me a
kiss and breezes out of my office. At least I’m making one woman happy today.
And it’s an excuse to stay out late tonight. Maybe Isabelle will be in bed when I get back, and
I won’t have to see her.
Immediately I picture her tucked between the sheets in my guest room, naked. Her bare skin,
her perfect tits…
It would be rude of me not to call her, I realize. I may leave my subs strapped to the bed,
waiting for my return, but Isabelle isn’t a sub. She’s my guest.
I’ve already programmed her number in my phone. I hit speed-dial, and tell myself to curb
my anxiety as I wait for her to answer. Finally, she picks up.
“Is everything OK?” I demand.
“Sorry, I’m just screening all my calls,” she explains. “Brent.”
“Oh. Good. So listen, there’s been a change of plans. I have to attend a fundraising dinner
tonight, so I won’t be back until late.”
There’s a pause. “OK, that’s fine. Thanks for letting me know. I hope it’s a good time.”
“Actually—” This is a bad idea, but I don’t stop myself. “Why don’t you come with me?”
“Oh. I would, but…I don’t have anything to wear,” Isabelle replies. She actually sounds
disappointed.
“You’re not at home? I sent some things over. There must be something suitable. I’ll have a
car pick you up at eight.”
I hang up, wondering if I’ve made a huge mistake. Letting her stay with me is one thing, but
inviting her to be my date to an event is more than just a favor, it’s asking for trouble.