Chapter 6
Austin
Isa looked the same, canary-yellow silk draped around curves I pretended not to notice, but something knocked the brightness out of her
eyes in the hour between seeing her before the auction started and now. At the very least, it seemed like she needed a distraction.
So, for a half hour, with me as a captive spectator, she demonstrated just how easy it was for her to charm donors.
She talked to a real estate tycoon about infrastructure investment, then discussed the future of the publishing industry with
the head of one of the major publishing houses in the city, all while weaving in the Mistry Foundation, my foundation.
“Well, Dr. Mercado, I hope to see you at the City Health Initiative dinner. Your father attended last year and was incredibly
interesting to talk to,” Mayor Wilson said jovially at the tail end of a conversation with Isa about the geopolitical implications
of another Alders presidency. “A man of many accomplishments, he failed to mention that chief among them is his brilliant
daughter.”
The comment made Isa’s shoulders momentarily slump, but just for a second. “I like to think I’m my own accomplishment.”
“You certainly are. And we’ll be sure to check in with the Mistry Foundation, see if we can’t get more eyes on that cause,”
his wife added as the mayor walked away with a delight-filled chuckle at an offhanded comment Isa made about the state of
politics.
I was never happier to be invisible.
I was terrible at mental math, but thirty minutes of Isa talking to these donors probably raised more for the foundation than
I had in a year.
“You know I never actually challenged you to anything,” I told her. “Especially not your best impression of a Jeopardy! contestant after too many espresso martinis.”
Whatever gloominess had been hanging around her earlier at the bar evaporated.
“I’ll take ‘well-rounded surgeon for five hundred.’” She grinned, clearly only hearing the compliment and nothing else. She
took a beat while the rest of that sentence settled in. “My dad taught me if someone leaves a conversation with you anything
but impressed, you’ve failed.”
Yikes. That sentence explained a lot about her. “That’s . . .”
“That’s my dad.” She shrugged. “But it’s served me well.”
“And the foundation, thanks. We could use it.”
She paused, staring across the room, her tongue tucked to the inside of her cheek.
I waited a few seconds, then waved my hand in front of her face. “Isa?”
Her eyes narrowed; she flicked a look over her shoulder to the auction hall, then back at me. “Your foundation needs funding.”
“Yeah . . .”
“Sooner rather than later?”
My brow dipped. “Yes.”
She crossed her arms. “This is going to sound insane but keep in mind I am Ivy League educated and every plan I’ve made for
my life has worked so far.”
Marginally terrified, but more curious, I took the bait. “Okay . . .”
“My best friend, Selena, is getting married in a few weeks. The Amari wedding is basically a captive audience of the kind
of people who could set the Mistry Foundation up for good.”
“Okay . . .” I repeated, starting to understand what she was getting at.
“You need rich people with deep pockets? I can do you one better. They’ll all be drunk at a wedding. So be my plus-one.”
It did make sense. If one evening with Isa shmoozing these donors was this successful, then another could fast-forward all
my plans for the foundation. And I could focus on everything else Jesse was lining up for me.
“That’s very generous of you,” I said, then quirked an eyebrow. “And not that insane.”
She smiled, though a flicker of embarrassment tugged at the corners of her mouth. “It’s not that generous, because I need
something, too.”
I waited for her to continue, but when she only took a long swig of her drink, I probed, “Yeah?”
She paused a beat, as if mentally calculating, then lifted her chin decidedly. “I need you to pose as my real date.”
Of all the things I could have imagined her saying, this was not it. I blinked a few times. “What?”
“It’s . . . unorthodox, I’ll give you that,” she conceded. The look in her eye made it clear that she needed this for some reason. I’d known her only a few weeks, but she always presented as strong and unwavering. This look was almost
lost. “You’re not my patient. It’d just be for the wedding. And I’ll help you charm all the guests you want. All you have to do is show up and
be my date.”
Her throat shifted. She looked over her shoulder to the auction space again, then back to me. The straight line of her lips
wobbled like it was the only thing holding back tears.
“So, you do have a little crush on me,” I teased her, mostly because that look on her seemed . . . wrong.
A tiny laugh pushed out from between her lips. Relief flooded through my body.
“No.” Her lips quirked up. “But my ex-boyfriend was a fan of yours for years. And this would just destroy him.”
“Ah, revenge. Now I understand.” This was more on track with the idea I had of her in my head. Vengeful seemed more on brand
for her than defeated.
“I know it’s petty and childish.” She shrugged. “But it’d help both of us. And I happen to have it on good authority you’ve
been instructed not to get on the field through the rest of the offseason, so you’re free.” She snapped her fingers. “So do
we have a deal?”
Outside of the fact that this may be a good idea, I had to wonder what this ex did to her. Because Isabelle seemed proud. She radiated it. So, whatever he did, it was bad enough that she was willing to put on a skit.
“What did he do that makes you want to exact such brutal revenge?” I had to ask.
Her shoulders tightened. “Nobody wants to be the ex that lost. And if I show up with you, I won’t be so . . .” She cut herself
off. “Call it what you want, but it’s a week and a half and it’s in France and—“
“Wait, what?” This thing was in France?
“I’m so sorry. Did you have other plans? Selena did just buy you for the next four weeks.” Her shoulders lifted, her pride
refilling. “And frankly, I think you could use the vacation. All you’ve done the past few weeks is broodily haunt the training
facilities and yell at reporters.”
She was a whirlwind of contradictions—blunt to a fault, a little mean, with the occasional flash of vulnerability. Somehow,
all of that landed in the “reasons to go along with this” column in my mind. Her plan was wild, no doubt, but maybe it was
exactly what we both needed. And honestly, her company wasn’t so bad. It might even be fun.
“Well, when you put it like that.”
“So? Do we have a deal?”
I guessed it would be fine. Probably good to get out of the city and clear my head for a few days. “Sure.”
A wide smile burst across her face. “Great. Then we can check all those items off the list. Piss off Blake. Make some money
for the foundation. Move on.”
She ticked each item off with a raised finger like she was playing mental Tetris—fitting blocks of time into a schedule in her mind.
“Hey! I was looking to make sure you were okay.” Selena’s voice drifted back over to us. “You’ll never guess what we were
bid—”
“Was it lessons with the American Footballer himself?” Isa drawled sarcastically, gesturing toward me.
Selena realized then that I was there. Her eyes darted between us. “What did I miss?”
“I’ll fill you in later.” She linked arms with her friend and the two began walking off. Throwing a look over her shoulder,
she called out to me. “I’ll get you the details.”
I stood there, a mix of relieved and confused, but mostly wondering what I’d just signed up for.