Chapter 4
DOMINIC
As I drive to work the next morning, I tell myself I’m going to be hard. Apparently, Jennifer’s husband spotted me in the park with them yesterday. It’s caused her loads of hassle, and it’s another reminder that I need to keep my head. But last night, texting Izzy…
There I go again. Romanticizing, turning this into something it doesn’t have to be.
In my morning meeting with Ethan, I ask him where Izzy is going to be located today. He gives me a look. Head tilted, appraising. He thinks I don’t notice when he looks at people like that, but I do. I’m trying to be more like the PR version of Dominic Vale today. Shut down all the other messiness.
“Here,” Ethan says after a pause. “Helping with the paperwork for the new acquisition, admin stuff. Why?”
“Why?” I repeat, shaking my head.
Ethan shrugs. “I’m just curious.”
“You should dial the curiosity down,” I tell him.
“Fair enough.”
“I’ve got a call with the West Coast office soon,” I say, gesturing to the door.
“They’re up early,” he comments, standing.
I can tell he noticed something when I mentioned Izzy. In the future, I should try not to even say her name.
“Dom,” Ethan says, pausing at the door.
“Hmm?”
“Don’t spread yourself too thin. Our big commercial projects, low-income here, and now more low-income in Cali? It’s a lot.”
I don’t reply. He sighs, then leaves. He’s probably right.
I don’t buy the big flashy offices, the look-at-me cars, or any of it.
I grind and try to do some good, because…
well, why not? Why not at least try to make the world a bit better?
Doing the opposite for cold cash has never made sense to me.
I take my West Coast call, then do my daily calls to my foremen to check on them.
An hour later, there’s a knock at the door. “Come in,” I say, my voice sterner than I’d like. Sometimes I wonder if my PR persona really is a show I put on… or a part of me that’s very real, and I don’t want to face it.
The door opens slowly. Izzy. She’s wearing black pants today, hugging her thick, beautiful legs.
I try to push that thought away and instead focus on her face.
She’s got her hair up in a loose ballerina bun with a few wisps escaping, giving her an ethereal look, a dainty necklace glinting around her neck, and there I go again, hyper-focusing on her.
“Hi, si… Dominic,” she says, correcting the sir she was about to offer.
She closes the office door behind her as if it’s a reflex. Or does she want us alone together? I remember what she texted last night, about how I don’t look as if I slack in the gym. Translation: I’m muscular.
My father’s voice warns me sternly, telling me not to go down this road, not to allow my thoughts to spiral and make a slave of my heart. And other places.
“Izzy,” I say after a pause that lasts a little too long.
She glances over her shoulder. Like she’s just realized she shut it.
“Can I help you?” I ask, trying to sound distant and uninterested.
A smile spreads across her face. She walks to my desk and places a manila envelope down. “Ethan asked me to deliver these. Projections for the housing project.”
I wave a hand. “Summarize them.”
For a beat, she just looks at me with owlish eyes. She’s probably wondering if I’m trying to keep her here. Or perhaps that’s just me projecting. I want to keep her here, even if I can’t acknowledge it to anybody else. Not even myself fully.
I enjoy being around her. Does it need to be more complicated than that?
She touches the back of the opposite chair, then hesitates. She’s painted her nails alternating colors, red and pink, like lipstick and smears of blood. Beauty and morbidity side by side. It seems fitting.
“Sit,” I tell her when she hesitates.
I’ve spent all this time trying to seem like a hard ass, at least publicly, but it somehow bothers me when the act works on this woman.
“From one perspective, it’s brilliant,” she says, her smile returning.
It lights up my chest, and I don’t give a damn if that’s a cliché.
“I can’t imagine most construction companies put in this much thought, right?
Comparing the incomes of the residents in the area with their current rent prices, working all the angles so you can get yours as low as possible. ”
A grin touches my lips. I don’t even try to fight it. “No one in this city does what we do here,” I tell her. “It’s the reason I’ve got an office here and not in some sparkling high-rise in the financial district. But you mentioned there might be another perspective?”
“Well… how are you going to make a profit?” she says.
“I’m not,” I reply. “Not on this job, anyway.”
“Oh,” she says, her shoulders seeming to droop. Was she nervous about coming in here?
“I make more on other projects, especially commercial ones. You never need to be concerned if our low-income projects don’t seem financially appealing.
That’s not a failure on your part, Izzy.
Nor mine. Nor anybody’s. The failure is my competitors’ thinking they need to bleed every single tenant dry until there’s nothing left. ”
I stop when I realize I’ve climbed to my feet. My chest is rising and falling rapidly. This fervor is always inside me, but I can usually keep it tucked safely away. She’s looking up at me with a mixture of awe and trepidation on her angelic face.
Angelic. Fucking angelic?
“That’s impressive,” she says. “Very, actually, sir.”
There she goes with the sir again.
“Is there anything else?” I ask, too blunt.
“No,” she murmurs, standing.
When she turns away, I try with every fiber of my being to look anywhere but at her wide hips and thick ass in those tight-fitting pants. But it’s inappropriate and unstoppable.
Once she’s gone, I grip the edge of the desk and focus on slowing my breathing down. I haven’t been this fervent in years, and that had nothing to do with women. That was the fire of ambition, to rise high, to make money, to do some good in the world after Sebastian Goodfellow twisted us all up.
I walk through the scenario in my head. Let’s say I let myself indulge in whatever this is.
Give in to the fire blazing suddenly and inexplicably inside.
Then I either marry this beautiful stranger or risk breaking up and causing a scandal for the company.
That could affect my relationship with some of my associates.
My entire image is built around cold, efficient pragmatism.
Right then. That’s decided. Isn’t it?
I work solidly for a couple more hours, then stand to stretch my arms over my head. Something glints on the floor. A necklace.
She left it on purpose, my father hisses in my ear. She’s trying to manipulate you.
I’ve never resented that voice before. I’ve always seen it as my dad trying to keep me safe, trying to prevent me from walking into ruin like he did. But now it annoys me. He said not to trust anyone, but somehow, I don’t want that to apply to Izzy.
The pendant is a small silver violin. I fold it into my fist and leave my office, riding the elevator down to the pit.
I stand at the edge of the room, leaning near the vending machine, when I realize no one has noticed me. Izzy is at her desk, typing fast, chewing her lip in concentration.
I get thirty seconds to watch her, and I know it’s only making things more complicated. I shouldn’t even be the one giving her the necklace back to her. Ethan could handle that. Or I could leave it on her desk.
Kenny looks up, spots me, and smiles tightly. He stands and walks over. “Need help, boss?”
“No,” I say, and almost add, You can call me Dom.
Sometimes I think my so-called friendliness is at odds with how grim I can be.
“I need to speak with Izzy.”
His eyebrows shoot up. Maybe I let too much huskiness into my voice.
I walk past him, deciding to get this over with. But Izzy has disappeared. I notice the door to the corridor swinging slightly on its hinges. I push through, then wait for her to emerge from the bathroom.
She stops mid-step, startled. “Oh,” she murmurs.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” I tell her, opening my fist. “You dropped this in my office.”
“It’s the clasp,” she murmurs, reaching for it. “It sticks and doesn’t close properly sometimes.”
I step closer to her. Her perfume swirls around me, flowery and feminine. A hungry heat stirs inside me, but I pretend it doesn’t exist.
“Let me try,” I say.
She stares at my big, calloused hand, the corner of her mouth curving in a wry smile. “It’s quite a delicate job,” she says quietly.
“I can be more delicate than you’d expect,” I say, stepping even closer. “May I?”
She slowly nods her head up and down, her lips parting slightly. “Uh, sure.”
We both know this is strange. But right now, apparently, neither of us cares. She hands me the necklace back. Our fingers touch, hot and electrified. Is this what chemistry feels like?
She tilts her head forward, exposing the nape of her neck. I want to lean in and kiss that sliver of skin so badly it hurts. I should run, but it’s the last thing I want to do.
“You’ll feel it stick,” she murmurs. “You have to push the clasp in for it to close properly.”
“I’ll be careful,” I say softly, guiding the necklace around her neck. I pull so the claw will open, and then push it back in so the clasp will close.
“There,” I say, stepping away, my hands trembling slightly.
She looks up at me with flushed cheeks. “Thank yo—”
The door opens, Kenny heading for the bathroom.
I turn and walk away so fast I’m almost running.