Devotion - Billionaire Contemporary Romance Novel Read online

  She shook her head. “Too lucrative, Norton. Harvey Zale knows Phillip would never sell a cash cow like the Merc.”

  “40 South LaSalle?” Gary jumped in, playing the game.

  “There’s nothing powerful or sexy about the Federal Reserve Building,” Jett snarked. “Sure, they print billions of dollars. But they don’t know how to spend it.” He winked at Isabel, shifting his gum from one side of his cheek to the other.

  “City Hall?” Norton guessed again.

  “Phillip would gladly pay Zale to take a pain-in-the-ass tenant like the Mayor off his hands,” Gary cawed. “Am I right, Phil?”

  But Phillip didn’t respond. He was lost in thought, as if he had disappeared from the room. Then, Isabel realized he was peering at the pile of mail on the edge of his pristine glass desk.

  Suddenly, a rubber band whizzed into Phillip’s chest from across the room. Jett tittered like a school boy, and for a brief moment, they all laughed as if they had all forgotten they were fighting a losing battle. There was an awkward return to silence when no one else offered up any other suggestions.

  “The Old Main Post Office.” Phillip said it like a statement of uncharacteristic resignation. He leaned forward from his chair and picked up the rubber band from the floor, then tossed it into the trash can. He peered over at Isabel, confirming her theory. “Harvey Zale wants The Old Main Post Office.”

  Isabel nodded, as if they were reading each other’s minds. “Yes, it’s the perfect play.”

  “A vulture play,” Phillip confirmed. “Completely Zale’s style.”

  “But everyone knows that property has been tied up in federal red tape for years,” Jett said, shooting another rubber band directly into the trash can.

  “And that’s exactly why Zale wants it,” Isabel replied. “Everyone has left that building for dead because they assume it’s worthless—everyone except Phillip.”

  “Four thousand feet of premium riverfront property,” Phillip stated dryly. “It’s clearly worth more than anyone has given it credit for…”

  “And completely your style,” Isabel offered in consolation. “Your style is to revitalize downtown Chicago—one vintage building at a time.”

  He peered directly at her, his eyes softening. “Let Zale have any of my other properties to keep him from selling The Amway to my bastard ex-business partner. But not The Old Main Post Office. The Old Main Post Office is not for sale.”

  “It’s going to take millions of dollars to renovate it back to its former glory,” Jett interjected. “You should just dump it, Phillip.”

  “Three hundred and fifty million dollars—to be exact,” Norton confirmed, rising from the couch like he was awaking from his mid-morning cat nap. “That’s why you’ve owned it for twenty years, Phillip, and even you still haven’t bothered yourself with it.”

  “You’re wrong, Norton. Renovation of its historic main lobby is almost complete,” Phillip shot back. “And Zale will take it and turn it into a shopping mall. A tasteless tourist attraction. Or worse—a parking garage.”

  “Yes…but at least he’s too cheap to tear it down completely,” Norton countered, his sunken eyes challenging Phillip like a father. “He’ll keep the exterior. But it’s true, he’ll likely gut everything else, including its Beaux-Arts marble lobby.”

  As if he had lost interest in the fight, Norton shuffled towards the door, preparing to exit. “Know your own intentions, Phillip. Some things are worth fighting for, but many, many, many more things are simply a display of one’s own stubborn pride.”

  Isabel watched Phillip absorb Norton’s words with disquiet. Norton knew the history behind every Chicago downtown real estate deal since The Great Depression, and his uncanny ability as Phillip’s actuary to assess risk had kept Phillip from chasing deals that had bankrupted several of his competitors. If there was one person who could alter Phillip’s opinion about how to deal with Harvey Zale, it was Norton Harrington.

  Phillip’s phone intercom suddenly buzzed. “Mr. Spears?”

  “Yes, Lucy?” Phillip called to the receptionist.

  “Harvey Zale is on line seven for you.”

  Phillip looked down at the blinking light on his phone receiver, then glanced over at Isabel. She nodded without indulging in her victory. She had been right, but now it meant that Phillip would likely be forced to forfeit The Old Main Post Office to keep Harvey Zale from reassigning the Amway deal to his ex-business partner, Symeon Colovos.

  Isabel gazed at Phillip’s churning blue eyes, offering up her support in any way she could. But it was out of their hands now, and they both knew it.

  “Thank you, Lucy,” Phillip answered, his voice grounding down like gravel. “I shall take the call.”

  “Don’t blow his brains down to his balls, Phil,” Gary warned.

  “No…” Phillip replied, turning away his Roman profile towards the windows, allowing the muted sunlight to warm his smooth face. “That’s what I pay you to do, Gary. And fortunately, I have an incredibly savvy executive assistant to warn me not to blow out his brains—not quite yet.”

  Phillip glanced over at Isabel. She smiled in appreciation.

  He waited, his finger hovering over the blinking light on his phone until Jett and Gary filed out of his office. Isabel turned to follow them, glancing back at Phillip as she prepared to close the door behind her. He lifted up the handset to accept Harvey Zale’s call while his gaze fixed on her. He would need her again after the call. She shouldn’t go far.

  She understood him. They always understood each other.

  “So Nancy…that was some sexy sleuthing in there.”

  Isabel shut Phillip’s office door and turned towards Jett, his devious eyes tracing the scooping neckline of her sweater. His eyes were always fishing, and he never attempted to conceal it. “Maybe you need to stop by my office sometime and we can try to unravel the mysteries of some of my real estate contracts—together.”

  Isabel smirked. It was hard to take him seriously when his breath smelled like bubble gum.

  “The alphabet’s a little too much for you these days, Jett?”

  He snuffed out through his nose and cracked his gum. “Maybe. Or maybe Phillip’s not the only one who should be entitled to a sassy executive assistant.”

  “Good, because that’s what I’m here for…” Tami said, appearing behind him, holding up an iced latte in one hand and Jett’s phone messages in her other hand like a crushing full house.

  “Dimon called. Angie called. George Barnes called. And you mother called—twice.

  If I were you, I’d call your mother back first, since she’s the only one who thinks you’re not an offensive, juvenile beefcake. Is that sassy enough for you?”

  Jett chomped down on his gum, baring his bleached teeth at her, as if he despised the interruption. “Très,” he shot back with a glib smile, plucking all of the phone messages out of Tami’s fingers.

  “Merci,” Tami answered curtly. “Now get back to your office and start your work day.” Tami ordered him like she was the boss, and Jett was merely her assistant. “And spit out your gum. No one wants to hear the sound of your smacking tongue, I can guarantee you. Not even your mother.”

  “Are you sure about that?” he said, passing his nose over Isabel’s bouquet of flowers. Isabel eyed him for a sign. Had he been the one? Could it even be possible that Jett Wattson—the immature, inappropriate real estate broker—had a clandestine romantic side?

  “Very.” Tami challenged him with her open palm. Jett rolled out his cotton-candy pink wad of gum into her hand with a long, gagging display of his stained tongue. Tami held her ground without flinching once.

  “Try not to miss me while I’m gone.” Jett winked at Isabel before sauntering off with glee, stopping only to steal a loose sheet of paper from Tami’s desk to make a free-throw shot clear across the office into the saltwater aquarium tank. The tropical fish crisscrossed each other with explosive fright. Jett threw up his arms in victory and disappea
red into his corner office. Clearly, he was the champion.

  Tami rolled her eyes and turned back to Isabel, dumping Jett’s distasteful gum wad into her trashcan. “Neanderthal. How does he even figure out how to put on his underwear on the right way every morning?”

  “He probably just goes without.”

  “Ugh,” Tami retched, adjusting her black-rimmed glasses. “Let’s not even speak of it.”

  Tami was the only executive assistant who had lasted longer than three weeks working for Jett, and now, Isabel calculated that it had at least been two years. Phillip tolerated Jett’s juvenile behavior because he was used to it from their days together at Harvard Business School. And also because Jett knew every banker, broker, and billionaire in the city and had an uncanny way of sniffing out the most desirable real estate deals before they hit the open market.

  Tami, on the other hand, tolerated Jett’s behavior because she had five older brothers and she was the only other woman in the office, besides Isabel, who had figured out that Jett was an adolescent puppy constantly seeking a titillating scratch.

  Both women turned and saw Gary, standing alongside Isabel’s desk, waiting for his chance to gain her attention.

  “That was brilliant in there, Bella. How did you sense what Zale was really after?”

  Isabel shrugged, downplaying his compliment. “Sometimes, things are more obvious when you’re pushed against a wall and you’re forced to consider what the other person truly wants from you.”

  “I think sometimes things are less obvious when you’re not ready or willing to acknowledge them.” Gary shifted his brief case from his right hand to his left, and traced the edge of one of the rose petals with his finger. “Phillip is very lucky to have you.”

  He kept his steady eyes on her. Gary had shown his interest in her before but never with this much unguarded intensity.

  “From a secret admirer?” he suddenly asked, as if he was noticing the bouquet for the very first time.

  Isabel gazed at him, searching for a sign that he was its sender. But Gary betrayed nothing more to her. Instead, the light in his honey-glazed eyes fell flat as he scanned the flowers before turning away with a polite nod. “Looks like someone has upstaged us all with his admiration.”

  He headed down the corridor towards the glass doors. “I meant what I said about treating you to that six-star dinner. We can share dessert.”

  “I usually prefer my own,” Isabel lobbed back.

  “Noted.” Gary glanced back with a flirtatious smile and cavalier salute before disappearing through the office’s the double doors and into the lobby.

  Tami slurped on her latte and followed Gary out of the office with her eyes. “Holy hot-litigator-on-a-popsicle. What the heck was that all about?”

  Isabel lowered her smile and nodded to the flowers.

  “Ge-e-e-e-et. O-o-ut!” Tami sucked down her iced latte like a caffeine junkie trying to stabilize the highs and lows of her addiction. “You told me they were from a client!”

  “Shhhhh,” Isabel silenced her again. “I don’t know…I mean, maybe.”

  Isabel hesitated before pulling out the card from her skirt pocket and handing it over to Tami.

  “This is only the beginning…” Tami read aloud. “Ouuuuhhhh, totally crazy witchy mysterious.” She shivered, as if she finally had absorbed the chill of her iced latte, then peered enviously at the roses. “I kinda wish I had somebody sending me flowers. Or expensive chocolates. Hell, at this point, I’d even settle for some scented hand lotion and a naked selfie.”

  “Now that’s creepy.”

  Tami shrugged. “Not for me…I’m old and desperate.”

  “You’re thirty-four, Tami. That’s hardly old, and I seriously doubt you’re that desperate.”

  “You’re completely missing my point, Miss Long-Stemmed Roses. I am absolutely that desperate because I’ve got exactly zero prospects. Count them—zero. You’re barely thirty and at least you’ve got flowers.”

  Tami touched one of the rose petals like she was truly heartbroken.

  “Well, you’re not completely out of luck,” Isabel teased. “Jett gives you nice gifts on a weekly basis.”

  “What, like basketball tickets? Oh, no…you mean the Hilary Clinton bobblehead,” she snorted sarcastically.

  “It’s his way of showing his professional affection for you.”

  “To hell with professional affection. I’d gladly settle for some non-professional affection from someone, anyone—trust me. I’m telling you: hand lotion and a naked selfie. He doesn’t even need to include his face.”

  The sound of sudden banging filled the office. Giselle, the intern, was at the copy machine, attempting to unjam the jam.

  Tami rolled her eyes. “Oh, good Lord, she’s beating the copy machine again.”

  “Go help her…please.”

  “You help her, Isabel…I’m just the crotchety sexless secretary spinster, remember?”

  “Tami—please…”

  But Isabel knew it was fruitless. Tami had already spent every shred of civility dealing with Jett. She couldn’t be forced to be nice to the helpless intern, too.

  “Look—” Tami nodded into Jett’s office. Both women spotted Jett, adjusting his position in his swivel chair in order to gain an unobstructed view of Giselle at the copy machine—and her over-extended backside.

  “Facebook time.” Tami typed through the air and skated back to her desk like she was the busiest assistant in the office “Thank you, thank you, thank you, clueless sex-pot intern Giselle.”

  Bang, bang, bang…

  Isabel watched Giselle open and shut trap doors on the copy machine—again and again. Her tight skirt stretched over her curvy backside as she bowed forward and peered between the drums and rollers like she was investigating under the hood of a car. Isabel spotted Jett, leaning back into his swivel chair, enjoying the show.

  Neanderthal. Isabel quickly swept into Jett’s doorway and closed his door, shutting out his voyeuristic view. Then, she walked over to Giselle and offered her assistance.

  “Here…you usually have to open the lid and lift up this...” Isabel flipped up a small lever and pulled out a crumpled piece of jammed copy paper.

  “Oh my God, thank you so much. How did you know to look there?” Giselle peered into the drum spool like she was expecting to see a magical gnome pop out.

  “Years and years of practice.” Isabel closed the lid and restarted the machine with a vibrant purring hum. “There, all better.”

  “Thank you, Miss Alvarez.”

  Isabel looked at Giselle, disarmed by her formal use of her surname. “You’re welcome, Giselle. Anything else can I help you with?”

  Giselle hesitated, her eyes glancing back at Phillip’s closed door.

  “C’mon on, don’t be shy…you’re still new here and I would be happy to help you. What is it?”

  “Well, it’s just…Mr. Spears told me this morning that I slouch too much and that I needed to practice my posture.”

  Isabel tried hard not to break into a smile. “Giselle, try to remember: Phillip is English. If he had his way, everyone would be forced to stroll around the office on their tippy-toes, balancing copies of the Encyclopaedia Britannica on their heads.”

  Giselle released a burst of laughter from her glossy pink lips. Isabel noted her blue neon mascara and low-cut blouse. She was so young, so incredibly naïve and so inexperienced, it was almost too painful. At least Isabel had the benefit of being in her mid-twenties when she had started working at Spears & Associates. In her mid-twenties—and pregnant. She silently cringed, remembering how hard it was for her, too.

  “Anyway, Phillip’s just testing you,” Isabel reassured her. “He does that with everyone. When I started working for him, he told me I needed to cut my hair because I was always playing with it.”

  Giselle’s crystal eyes widened with horror. “Oh my God. I would have died. What did you do?”

  “I left the office during my lunc
h hour, walked into the nearest salon and got my hair cut past my ears. It was the worst haircut of my life. The next day, Phillip said nothing about it—nothing. Instead, he gave me a raise and promoted me from my position as the office copy clerk to his executive assistant. It took me almost two years to grow my hair back, and Phillip has never dared to ever say anything about it since.”

  Giselle touched her long blonde hair, as if she feared it might face the same drastic fate.

  “Don’t worry.” Isabel noted her concern. “Here’s the secret to working here—just focus on being professional and try not to let anyone intimidate you.”

  “Okay. Thanks so much, Miss Alvarez. Oh, and by the way…I love the bouquet of flowers you received this morning. Those Chihuly vases are my favorite.” Giselle eyed the iridescent blown-glass vase shaped like a swan, complementing the beauty of the blush pink bouquet.

  Isabel peered at Giselle with curiosity. “You’re familiar with them? ”

  “Oh sure. They’re a signature thing from the flower shop just down the street on Washington Avenue. I worked there all last summer as a flower arranger. The Chihuly vases are in limited supply—only available to customers who purchase three-hundred-dollar bouquets. Somebody must be sending you a really special message.”

  “Isabel—” Phillip’s stern voice hollered out of his office.

  All the assistants looked up from their work and turned their attention onto Isabel while Giselle shot her a glance of concern.

  “Encyclopaedia Britannica,” Isabel reassured her with a playful wink before whisking down the hallway. “Coming…”

  Isabel slipped into Phillip’s office. “You rang?” she chirped, knowing she was going to have to compensate for his foul mood after his phone call with Harvey Zale.

  “Close the door.”

  She obeyed and took a seat across from him.

  “Sooooooo… how did it go?”

  “Better than he expected,” he replied without offering more.

  “Really?” There was surprise in Isabel’s voice. Phillip noted it with his cool blue glare.