Devotion - Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel (6 page)

“How’s the hand?” Phillip announced to Weiss, as if they were the only ones in the room and there was no need for formal greetings.  Phillip dished up the imported black fish eggs onto the Russian blini and offered the first serving to Isabel.

“Still hurts,” Weiss snapped with his blue-collar Chicago accent. “Heard you’re selling The Peoria.”

“News travels fast.”

“Your lawyer just told me. He’s got a big mouth”

“Yes, he does.  That makes him very good at his job.”

“I hate lawyers.”

“I know,” Phillip replied as he prepared a blini and offered it to Weiss.  “You hate a lot of things.”

Weiss glared at the blini before finally accepting it.  “So cut all your fancy talk and tell me, why would you sell a premier piece of real estate like The Peoria in a pocket deal to Harvey Zale?” Carlton shoveled the delicacy into his mouth. 

“Because I want to sell it fast, and you and I both know that Zale will buy anything fast.”

“Anything at a discount,” Weiss muttered through crumbs and caviar.  “Is it a done deal?”

“Letter of intent.”

“Then there’s still room for a competing offer.”

Phillip’s answer was in his silence.

“Why are you selling?” Carlton pressed the point while wiping down his grey moustache.

“To raise capital,” Phillip answered flatly. “I’m moving forward with the redevelopment of The Old Main Post Office.”

“That ol’ junk space?”

Phillip’s blue eyes flashed like a snake preparing to strike. 

This was how it happened last time
, Isabel thought,
two men sparring over their egos through the reputations of their properties
.  But this time, Weiss seemed more interested in making money than physically bruising Phillip’s smug smile and wounding his British air of superiority. 

“Taking on business partners?”

“No, it’s going to be a solo project.”

Weiss whistled.  “Then you’re gonna need more than what Harvey Zale is offering you for The Peoria.” Weiss suddenly slipped his business card into Phillip’s breast pocket and extended his hand for a handshake.  “Call me tomorrow and let’s hammer out something before you give it away to Zale.  But I want to talk to
you
,” he warned. “Not one of your fancy henchmen.”

“You mean Jett, my broker.”

“And not your chatty lawyer, either.”

“I’m flattered.” Phillip nodded in agreement with a mixture of sincerity and sarcasm.

Weiss paused, carefully weighing Phillip’s fancy Oxford accent and whether or not it was mocking him. “Because at least with you, I know you aren’t gonna kiss my ass and tell me it tastes like ice cream.”

“No, certainly not,” Phillip replied.

Isabel watched Phillip and Weiss shake hands like they were best friends again.  She waited until Weiss crossed the room before she narrowed her eyes at Phillip.

“You’re going to move forward on the full renovation?”  There was an edge of accusation in her voice, and they both heard it.  “You
intentionally
want the word to spread as fast of possible about The Peoria in order to help you sell it.  You want to use the capital for the renovation of The Old Main Post Office.”

Phillip arched his eyebrow. “What was it that Jett called you the other day?”

“Nancy Drew.”

“Ahhh, yes.  Nancy Drew,” he repeated with amusement. “I’m more of an Agatha Christie fan.  But really, you’re too young and lovely to be compared to frumpy old Miss Marple.”

“Phillip—” Isabel insisted, realizing she was foolish not to have realized his intention all along.  “Are you really selling The Peoria to fund the full redevelopment of The Old Main Post Office?”

Phillip released a sly smile before moving closer to whisper in her ear. “Slowly, carefully,” he instructed her, “look around the room and notice how many guests were watching us, wondering if Weiss was going to throw another punch at me.  Instead, they saw him give me his business card and shake my hand.  That’s the beauty of our industry.  The best marketing tool for making a sale is still an old-fashioned one—gossip.” 

Isabel fixed her gaze onto Phillip’s sparkling eyes.  His mood suddenly grew cheery and she realized she had just witnessed her boss do what he always did best—manipulate everyone to his advantage. 

“You’ve been planning to sell The Peoria all along in order to raise capital to renovate The Old Main Post Office, haven’t you?”

Phillip smirked, but he did not respond.  No response was needed.  Isabel knew Phillip loved playing chess, and he never sacrificed a rook without laying a trap to catch a Queen.  Being “cornered” by Zale into selling The Peoria was simply an opportunity he intended to use to his advantage. 

“I’ve told you many times that some things—things precious and irreplaceable—deserve to be nurtured and preserved.  But I think you underestimate my commitment.”

Phillip moved towards the panoramic views of the city he had come to love.  Shrouded by a veil of darkness, the lights along the cityscape blinked with endless promise.  He cast his gaze to the south branch of the Chicago River and settled his eyes on The Old Main Post Office, an expansive rectangular building along the riverfront.

“And now, I have decided it’s simply time to finally do something about it.”  He shifted his gaze onto Isabel and held it with determination.

“It’s not that I underestimate you,” she replied.  “It’s that I’m less of a romantic and more of a cynic who worries it might not all be worth the risk.” 

Her eyes drifted over The Old Main Post Office’s expansive footprint, dominating all the other buildings around it like a fortress. 
Three million square feet
,
a daunting amount of lease space to lease
, she considered. 
And three, possibly four, rounds of renovation
. 

“But it does offer so many incredibly exciting possibilities,” she finally acknowledged, recalling his pledge to create a public park across the building’s rooftop—a recreational garden in the summer and a public ice rink in the winter.  “And no, I would never underestimate you, Phillip.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past five years, it’s never to underestimate Phillip Spears.”

Together, they peered out through the glass, their gaze holding steadfast on the soot-stained terra cotta walls of the historic landmark.

“Still wasting your time pining over old buildings that no one cares about, Spears?”

Isabel turned to the commanding voice—
Eliot Watercross
.  She tried hard not to notice how handsome and domineering he looked in his navy Neapolitan suit. 
Tall and dashing
.  He handed over two glasses of white wine to Isabel and Phillip.

“Better than wasting my time constructing garish new ones,” Phillip slung back with his trademark British bite.

Phillip was referring to the completion of the Watercross Tower.  Watercross had outbid him for the purchase of landfill rights at the mouth of the Chicago River, and Isabel knew Phillip was still sore over it.  Not since the eighteenth century, when Chicago’s moguls intentionally reversed the flow of the Chicago River, had anyone fundamentally altered the city’s natural waterway how Watercross did when he dumped three million tons of sand and stone into the river to create the manmade foundation for his newest development.  Nothing served more of a threat to Phillip’s self-imposed mission to preserve Chicago’s history and vintage icons than the slash and burn modernization of Watercross Capital.

“Why save it when you can tear it down and build something better for half the cost, that’s what I always say.”  Eliot’s jade eyes flashed as they settled on Isabel and her ivory dress. “You look amazing as usual, Bella.”

“Thank you, Eliot.” Isabel didn’t dare shift her eyes to see Phillip’s reaction.  She already knew how much Phillip despised Watercross, but she knew he hated Eliot’s presumptuous use of her nickname even more.

“Well, you’ve certainly made your mark on the city,” Phillip said with an undercutting tone. “So that years from now, they will no doubt declare Watercross Tower as the most demonstrative example of twenty-first century consumerism.”

“Better than not discussing it at all.”

“Better is a matter of opinion.”

“No, Spears—it’s a matter of fact,” Eliot sharply asserted, the annoyance in his voice rising above the sudden brass melody of lively big band music. “This project cost me seventy-five million to build and we’ve already sold out all the limited-edition condominiums for almost double that.”

“Really?” Phillip peered at him with skepticism. “I heard at last tally, you were liquidating the remaining dozen units at auction.” He sipped from his wine, but his cold blue eyes challenged Eliot’s claim—and his integrity. 

Isabel watched Eliot’s reaction.  No one was more masterful than Phillip in his ability to know everything about every business deal in the city.  But it was Phillip’s desire to uncover the personal agendas behind every real estate transaction that made him truly a dangerous competitor.  Isabel knew Phillip thought that Watercross was lying about the profitability of the development, and now, Phillip clearly wanted Watercross to know it.

Watercross chewed on his challenged before unexpectedly removing the wine glass from Isabel’s hand and passing it off to Phillip. 

“Shall we…?” he said, noting the swelling sway of a Viennese waltz.  He didn’t wait for her response or acknowledge the hesitation in her eyes.  He simply took her by the hand and towed her out across the burgundy wooden dance floor. 

From the corner of her eye, Isabel saw a crowd of bystanders exchange whispers.  Eliot Watercross had just arrived to his own party; now, she felt self-conscious in her ivory dress, beaming beneath the bright lights from the stage.  He encircled her in his embrace, allowing everyone in the casino to take notice of them as the sole couple sliding in unison to the rhythm of the waltz. 

“I’m surprised you picked such old-fashioned music for such a modern event,” Isabel said, attempting to persuade him to release her from his grasp.

“I knew you would be here, and I know that waltz is your favorite.”

Isabel remembered the last time they danced together at the recent gala in the Cultural Center’s Tiffany ballroom.  Eliot had learned then that she loved to dance—and that Phillip hated giving her up to him.  She suddenly thought of the flowers with a cold sense of dread.

“But somehow,” she offered carefully, “dancing waltz feels more appropriate under the canopy of Louis Comfort Tiffany’s 1897 mosaic glass dome rather than—”

“The interior of a glitzy, glamorous skyline casino?” he countered, his gaze falling upon her with intensity. “I’m a man of many dichotomies, Bella. I value stylish beauty wherever and whenever I see it.”  He slowly pulled her through the closure of the waltz and held her with a pause. “You should know that by now.”

She did know it; he made sure of it. 

“Then you understand Phillip’s passion for historic preservation.” The sudden tension of her body made it clear she was on Phillip’s side—always.  It was one thing to enjoy the occasional ballroom dance with Eliot Watercross at a public event, it was another thing entirely to accept romantic advances from her boss’ mortal enemy.

“The only thing I see is your employer’s philosophical crusade to get in the way of anything that I am determined to claim for myself.” Eliot’s voice dropped as he embraced her tightly, making it clear that she should reconsider her allegiances.

“Eliot,” Isabel whispered, resisting the innuendos behind his touch.

Usually, Phillip’s business colleagues brushed her aside, or worse like Carlton Weiss, ignored her completely.  But not Eliot Watercross.  Eliot Watercross always made her feel like the most important person in the room.  It had been a very long time since anyone had held her the way Eliot Watercross held her whenever they danced together. Strong.  Possessive. Commanding. 
It had been long
…
too, too long
.

She stopped his lead and collected her composure. “Thank you for the dance, but there are so many people I still need to see tonight. “

Watercross did not attempt to draw her back to him.  Instead, he outlined the platinum strand of her necklace with the tip of his finger.  The delicate sensation along her neckline silenced her protest.

“Lovely, but too modest.” His finger lingered over the diamond pendant, the first Christmas gift that Phillip had ever given her.

She gazed into his jade eyes and attempted not to betray how Eliot’s seductive touch made her yearn for more.  Working for Phillip and raising her son had dominated every aspect of her personal and professional life for the past five years.  There was no room to enjoy anything else or anyone else—especially not the possibility of an intimate romance, and especially not one with a man like Eliot Watercross.

“I’m sure you don’t mind my cutting in—”  Phillip’s voice asserted.

The waltz had come to an end and the band quickly rolled into a popular swing tune.  Phillip towed Isabel towards him; Eliot relinquished her from his arms and surrendered her without a fight.