Chapter Four #2
Isley might not like the guy, whose accent sounded fake, wearing clothes that were far too tight, but he had organisational skills that Isley could admire… grudgingly.
“Do you use a tracking system for your vehicles to keep current data for the clients' benefit?” Isley questioned, as he made some notes on his iPad. He’d have to add some notations to the spreadsheets he used to ensure all the information he needed would be at his fingertips.
“Yes,” Louis replied curtly, dismissing Isley by turning his back to him. “We can give you real time delivery information.”
Wasn’t that what I just asked?
Laken wore an enigmatic look as he glanced back at Isley before continuing to match his stride to Louis’s, leaving Isley to tag behind. Had he spoken aloud? He’d been doing that since he’d been at the ranch, so he couldn’t say for sure.
The man in front of him was more guarded than the crown jewels, so his thoughts were nigh on impossible to read.
Except inadvertently, one touch while Laken was asleep had changed that.
Those same barriers were down while he slept, and his animal had picked up past trauma.
The kind that tainted a soul. Isley had some guilt over taking advantage like that, but as Laken wasn’t aware it had happened, he couldn’t apologise for it without confessing what his animal had done.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. And we are going to need those tonight.
No, we are not doing anything tonight. You hear me. No!
His animal side wasn’t wrong, but Isley was always one to play fair, so no dirty tactics. Isley could recall Laken’s scent of arousal when Louis wasn’t around. He missed a step, lurching forward when that thought registered. And as he was closer to Laken, he gave a quick sniff, his nose wrinkling.
Why couldn’t he smell arousal coming from Laken, now?
If Laken was interested in Louis, surely he would smell it.
Isley wished he could get a look at Laken’s crotch.
He wasn’t blind—not that he often looked at the large bulge—to the barely concealed dick in trousers that were no longer as fitted as they once were.
He was pretty sure there’d been no obvious bulge like usual. What was he missing here?
“You will need to come back and visit for a holiday,” Louis said, fluttering his eyelashes, making it damn obvious he was flirting, and bringing Isley back into the present. “I’d love to show you Paris properly and without—”
“His calendar is full for the next six months,” Isley interjected, then blushed at the sequence of gruff barks coming from Laken, which seemed to take him by surprise because it stopped as quick as it started. Back was the strange look Isley was familiar with, but had no way of interpreting.
Joy.
Isley didn’t say another thing for the remainder of the tour, and the subject of a holiday was dropped, much to his relief.
He made several more notes to follow up on.
He felt that it was a foregone conclusion that they would sign the contract before they left tomorrow.
Taking on such a well-established and capable company was just good business sense.
The ride back to the hotel was made in silence without Louis in the car, as he had to stay behind for another meeting—thankfully.
He’ll be back later though, won’t he! Isley thought angrily.
Laken spent the ride working on his iPad and sending him emails to deal with. By the time they pulled up outside the hotel it was late afternoon, and Isley was ready to hunt down one of the French pastry shops he’d heard so much about and eat his feelings.
They’d worked late the night before, going over figures, so he believed Laken had no room to complain with him skipping out now. And if he did, tough. Isley was done with this day.
Laken exited the car first, holding the door for Isley. It was the small courtesies that made Isley’s insides melt like goo. Stupid really, he supposed.
“I’ve sent the contract to the lawyers to review before we sign tomorrow. Was there anything you believe to be missing or in need of tweaking?” Laken asked in a clipped tone.
Isley considered his reply, when it wasn’t the first time Laken had asked for his opinion.
“Their operation is slick. They appear to have covered all their bases with their internal network and with the other countries, having navigated the border taxes. What I would suggest is reaching out to two names Louis mentioned in Italy to check their streamlined system transfers as well there. He was a little cagey in his responses when you mentioned Italy in particular. We’ve dealt with the Italians and know they don’t always see the urgency in getting things delivered on time.
” The Milan show had proven that when Jupiter had thrown a hissy fit at the delays on vital deliveries to set up the staging area.
“Good point,” Laken murmured, not breaking stride as they entered the air-conditioned lobby.
Isley’s jaw dropped open at the comment, tripping over his own feet on hearing what could only be described as a compliment. When he recovered, he felt the urge to take out his phone and ask Laken to repeat himself so he could record it as a reminder that miracles do happen.
“I’ll do that while waiting for the lawyers,” Laken continued, unaware of Isley’s shock.
Laken didn’t appear to notice any of the romantic ambiance in the hotel, only looking forward as they walked through the lobby.
It had fancy cornices, brocade, and lush velvet fabrics draped over furniture that looked as if it belonged in the eighteenth century.
Classical paintings hung from the walls, adding to the old world feel, though Isley barely had time to look at them while trying to keep pace with Laken’s long strides.
“Have you been to Paris before?” Isley found himself panting when they came to a stop in front of a bank of elevators.
“Twice. It’s not my favorite city with the traffic and frantic pace everything goes at. The people are over the top. Irritating.”
The clipped response caused Isley’s heart to sink and him to scrutinize the man jabbing at the call button impatiently.
Over the top? Irritating? Is he referring to Louis? The sinking sensation dissipated. “Don’t suppose you’d want to go and do some sight-seeing then… with me?”
Laken frowned like he’d suggested they go skinny dipping in an icy sea, or something equally as ridiculous. “We’ve got work to do.”
Giving Laken a narrow-eyed stare, a flare of anger rising through him at being dismissed in such a way. Laken’s head tilted to the side, and Isley got the sense he was reiterating that, but to whom, Isley wasn’t sure. Didn’t matter.
“How did I not realize that?” he said sarcastically. “So, dinner tonight—without me—is work?”
Color filled Laken’s cheeks above his trimmed beard, a phenomenon seldom witnessed by Isley, who couldn’t figure out the reason for it. Was he embarrassed about being caught out in a double standard?
The elevator dinging to note its arrival had Laken moving to the side when several people exited speaking French and bringing an end to the stare off.
He waited for Isley to get in before following and pressing the button for their floor.
A tense silence ensued as Laken remained tight-lipped, not giving Isley an answer to his question.
Not that he expected one, it really wasn’t any of his business who Laken went to dinner with.
It is our business.
Not listening.
Back in the suite, Isley stomped off to his bedroom and shut his door with restraint, not wanting to give in and reveal how annoyed he was.
He stripped off his work clothes, throwing them on the floor and switched to jeans and a heather colored sweater.
He pushed the keycard for the room into his wallet and put that in his back pocket.
He slipped on sneakers and, grabbing a lightweight pea coat, he sailed back out into the main suite, noticing Laken sat on the small sofa next to the balcony with a view of the Eiffel tower.
His jacket was gone and he had rolled his shirt sleeves up.
His gaze, as usual, was on his laptop and not on the view.
Isley got an ache in his chest at how limited Laken’s life was. Work. Work, and more work. When did he ever just have fun? Then he recalled Laken’s plans for this evening with leering Louis and squashed his sympathy, stomping to the door.
“Where are you going?”
Laken’s voice stopped him at the door. He glanced over his shoulder and plastered on his brightest smile. “To have fun! Have a wonderful evening with Louis.”
He offered the fake platitude without a backward glance and then sailed out of the suite. His frustration carried him out of the hotel and toward the Eiffel tower.
“Hope he chokes on his food!”