Chapter 23 Remy
REMY
Isabella knows where George is being held.
She produces a slim tablet from her purse, taps the screen, and tells me that he is in a room in the basement. “They’ll leave him alone for a while, give him time to ponder his actions and hold his hands up.”
“There’s no chance of that happening.”
Isabella smiles. “You know him better than you think you do.”
Her plan is for me to speak to him about his feelings for Isabella, tell him that I still love him, confuse him enough to confess that he and his fiancée signed a contract confirming an alliance between their families.
It will never work.
She doesn’t know about the conversation George and I had in the executive suite.
“I don’t think you should come with me.”
“Why?” Isabella has resumed her go-to persona, efficient, practical, calm. “I won't let you speak to him alone.”
“I won’t be alone.”
While she was hacking into the Titan’s internal systems, I’ve been formulating a plan of my own. So far, I only have the skeleton of an idea, but I feel it gathering legs.
“I’ll ask Terry to come with me.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. George will play up to his audience, and we’ll have lost the battle before we’ve even begun. He’ll twist this entire situation around on me. And you.”
I’m about to protest that I’m the innocent party in this, but deep down, I know she is right.
George Quinn is a coward. He is unhappy.
He is denying his sexuality for his family legacy, and he’ll lash out at anyone who happens to be in his path, inflicting his own wounds onto others.
If he can blame me for goading him into using his fist, he will.
Terry won’t believe him, of course. I’m sure they’ve dealt with plenty of men like George Quinn. But the damage will be done.
Unless…
“Isabella, do you and George… Do you have…?” I don’t even apologize in advance for the half-formed insensitive question. Ariel would be proud of me. Once she got over me colluding with the enemy.
“No. Never.”
I sigh with relief that I don’t have to spell it out.
“Not even to consummate the engagement?” I whisper.
“Not even that. I take it as a gigantic fucking win.”
“Has he—” Jeez, there’s no easy way to put this, so I just have to come right out with it “—ever mentioned anyone else?”
“He doesn’t need to, Remy. He doesn’t love me. I don’t love him. We’re both throwing our lives away because of a legacy written in blood by our ancestors.”
“Do you trust me?” It’s perhaps a silly question given that I’m not the one using another human being as leverage to sort my shit out.
Isabella kneels in front of me and takes my hand in hers.
“Did you ever watch the movie Notting Hill?” I shake my head, and she continues, “There’s this one scene where Julia Roberts’ character, a famous actress, says to Hugh Grant, ‘I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.
’ This is totally not the same, Remy, but I’m going to say it anyway because it’s my favorite movie line of all time.
I’m just a girl, kneeling in front of another girl, asking her to help me. ”
Fuck. I’m such an emotional wreck that I wrap my arms around her and hug her tightly. “I must watch it sometime.” I sniff back tears.
“Do. You won’t regret it.” Isabella extricates herself from my embrace. Her face is flushed, and I can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or hope. “You think you can make this work, don’t you?”
I don’t remind her that it’s a long shot, and if I miss the target, we won’t get another chance. Her eyes are glittering. We’re two women with a common interest, and I like to think that if the roles were reversed, she would do the same for me.
“What do we have to lose?” I ask.
She closes her eyes briefly. When she opens them again, they’re moist. “Thank you, Remy. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
“You have nothing to thank me for.” I’m a shameless people pleaser, I know, and today, I’m wearing that hat with pride.
Isabella guesses that someone will be guarding the room where George is currently being held. From her tablet, she does something to the security cameras on level fifty-seven; I don’t ask what. Then, she unlocks the door to the executive suite from the inside, and we slip out into the corridor.
It’s quiet.
I’ve lost all sense of time and reality since I sat in Cash’s private booth in the casino. When this is all over, I’ll sleep for twenty-four hours and restart my body clock, but until then, I’m just wading through a time zone of our own creation.
A middle-aged couple step out of the elevator when we’re a short distance away. Isabella pulls me into an embrace, turning my back to them and hiding my face.
I hear the woman click her tongue in disgust as she passes us by, and I bite the urge to snap that we’re not interfering in anyone else’s lives, and she should consider doing the same.
Isabella gives a brief shake of her head. She holds my gaze, keeping me grounded.
When the door to their suite closes behind them, we step into the elevator and press the button that will take us down to the basement.
My pulse is racing again now, and I feel every beat like a gong being bashed inside my head. My plan is still only half-baked, and I’m praying that I can wing it when I see George. Or better still, that he’ll play straight into my hands.
Isabella stares at the control panel, willing it not to stop for anyone else.
It doesn’t. Maybe the universe is finally on our side.
The elevator door opens, and a chill brushes my arms, raising goose bumps that might be caused by what we’re about to do.
We spot the guard dressed in black before we’ve even taken a step.
He is instantly on alert, raising a radio to his mouth.
“Wait!” I blurt out and run to him as quickly as I can considering that my head isn’t fully aware of which way is up. “I have a message for Terry.”
I hear Isabella’s gasp behind me and ignore it. This is the only way. We’re not getting past the guard otherwise, and I’m not ashamed to name drop Terry if it achieves the desired result. It was Terry or Cash. And Cash would take one look at my swollen face and handle George his own way.
There’s every possibility that Terry will do the same of course. But I’m not carrying Terry’s babies, and I sense that he’ll at least hear me out first.
The guard narrows his eyes as I approach and steps backwards, closer to the door. “Stay where you are, ma’am. Don’t come any closer.”
I stop dead. Isabella catches up with me but doesn’t step forward. She’s taking no chances that the guard will recognize her and call time on our plan before the start whistle has been blown.
I nod to confirm that I understand and am willing to comply. “A message for Terry, and no one else.”
He doesn’t respond either way.
“Tell him that Remy Jones is in the basement, and she wishes to speak to him alone.” Behind me, Isabella clears her throat. “Can you also tell him that I’m not in danger? Please? It’s important that he knows this.”
Or all hell will break loose, and Isabella will be on the receiving end. Yes, what she did was wrong, and yes, she undoubtedly could’ve handled things differently. But would I go to the same extremes to save my unborn babies from a life of misery? Hell yeah.
The guard’s eyes roam my face, and I feel the heat rising to my cheeks. His gaze flickers to Isabella half-shielded behind me. “Who is this?”
Before I can speak, Isabella steps forward. “I am Isabella Leone.”
I study her profile. If I met her now for the first time, I would think that she was one super-cool woman with the kind of privileged life that a lot of people might envy.
She has practiced this facade to perfection, and I admire her for appearing to hold it together while her heart is silently breaking.
The guard maintains eye contact with us while he speaks into the radio at his shoulder. “Code zero. I need you to come down to the basement.”
“Was that Terry?” I hear the tremor in my voice.
If Code zero means that Cash will come barging out of the elevator, he’ll never agree to me speaking to George, and who knows what will happen next.
The guard doesn’t need to answer the question.
Within moments, Terry approaches us from the opposite end of the corridor, arms akimbo as if he just spent the last couple of hours pumping weights at the gym. He nods once at the guard who makes a discreet exit.
“Talk to me,” Terry says. One hand is on the holster at his waist; his cell is in the other. “My stepsons won’t buy into us having a friendly chat in the basement without informing them of your whereabouts first.”
“Please don’t tell them I’m here. Not yet. I just want to speak to George—”
“No can do.” Terry is adamant. “What happened to your face, Remy?” He has kept his distance, not advancing past the room where George is being held.
I consider lying for approximately three seconds and decide that he will see straight through me. “It was George. He did this to me.”
“Okay.” Terry lowers his hands, and I suck in the first full breath that I’ve taken since we left the room on level fifty-seven. “Give me one good reason why I should go against Cash’s wishes and let you in there without his knowledge.”
“I need to speak with him… about something sensitive.”
He folds his arms across his chest. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
“It’s about me,” Isabella steps in.
“No.” I place a hand on her arm to stop her from saying any more. If this doesn’t work and her parents find out that she’s pregnant with Alessandro’s baby. “You don’t have to say anything, Isabella.”
Terry’s gaze jumps between the two of us, sizing us up. “Did she put you up to this?” he asks me.
“No. This was my idea.” It’s true enough. “It won’t affect Cash and Bash. I want you to believe that I would never do anything to undermine them. I just want to help Isabella.”