Catching Sin, page 7
She’s not my type, this girl. I usually like them taller, blonder, sweeter. More like Fiona, if I’m being honest. It was her dancing that caught my eye, but the defiant flash in hers is what held me. It’s what makes her so damn irresistible.
Five minutes later, Jake enters, giving me a “what’s up” head nod. I log out of the system and set the tablet down on the table. The door shuts with a heavy click, but he doesn’t sit down. Instead, he faces me, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the glass as he waits me out. He’s in a suit, sort of like mine, only his is darker and accompanied with a white shirt and a pink paisley tie. And a jacket. I hate wearing those fuckers. “Fiona pick out that tie? You look like a banker.”
He glances down at it and then back up to me. “Fi thinks my regular ties are too boring. Too street-thug-trying-to-be-a-CEO.”
“You are a street thug trying to be a CEO.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “That’s what I told her, but she bought me the tie anyway. I hear we have a new employee.”
“Yep.”
“Where is she now?”
“Getting Pretty Womanned or whatever.”
“Huh?”
I wave him off. “Never mind. I don’t know what it means, either.”
He blows out a breath. He doesn’t like this. But more than that, I know he feels guilty about it. About what’s coming. “Maddox—” he starts and then stops. What can he say that he hasn’t said already?
“I’m glad it’s me and not you,” I tell him, and I mean that. Not only because it’s Isabel—that’s actually a reason I wish it weren’t me—but because he has Fiona, and she needs him. He’s the CEO, and Turner Hotels needs him. I’m the lonely hunter. The guy who can never find absolution.
“You always say shit like that. And I’m going to tell you again that I wish it were the reverse. But it’s done, and I’m with you, man. This isn’t just about you. I’m in this, too, even if it’s only from the periphery. Whatever you need. You know that. So, talk to me. What are you thinking?”
“That I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
He chuckles, running a hand through his brown hair and latching onto the back of his neck as he waits. This is how we work. How our machine runs. Conti can make a million threats, but I’m not worried about Jake talking. And really, Conti would have to be a fucking fool to go after Jake Turner directly. We know this. It’s partially how we got here.
“Are you going to tell me, or should I just continue to stand here like an asshole?” His brown eyes stare into mine. Not hard. Not even questioning or searching. Just focused. Determined. It’s why we make such a good team and managed to survive this long. First in Afghanistan and then out here. Niklas Vaughn was not our first rodeo, though we don’t typically go out and kill men. Not now that we’re civilians.
“Why would he call in his favor using her? He could have had me up to his office, given me his expensive bourbon and simply asked me to hire her. Man to man. I probably would have done it. He has to know that.”
“She’s a puppet.”
I nod. “But why call in this favor now? And do it in this way? Why tell me that she’s different only to back that up by telling me he wants to rid her from his life? That’s superfluous info, right? Window dressing.”
“You mean why expose her as a potential weakness only to feign like she’s not?”
I shoot at him with my finger. “Exactly.”
“He’s playing you. Playing us.”
“That’s a given. But why her? Is he looking for an excuse to kill me? Is he thinking I’ll be a dick-led idiot and fuck her first chance I get?” Well . . .
“Conti isn’t the type of man who needs an excuse to kill people. He’s obscenely arrogant and has gotten away with it before. That said, he’s after something very specific and knows that if he tried, he’d be opening himself up to a war he might not win. And really, what reason would he have to kill you? You’re far more valuable to him alive than you are dead. For now, at least. He placed her here for a reason. My guess is to distract you. Should we have her followed?”
I shake my head. “I assume he’s already doing that, and I don’t want him to know I’m skeptical of her intentions.”
“What about her access?”
“Limited and traced, but not restricted enough that she, or he,” I add, “are suspicious of it.”
“Agreed.” He drops his hands, tucking them into his pockets like he’s getting comfortable. Except, there is nothing comfortable about this. This is the beginning of something. Something we knew would eventually come, but still. Jake is right about one thing—Conti is obscenely arrogant. And better yet, the man thinks I’m stupid and blind. “But I still want her badge and code access restricted. I’d rather not find out after the fact that she’s been places she shouldn’t be.”
“If she’s a mole, I don’t think she knows it yet.”
“Probably not, but that’s only a matter of time. Can you handle that?”
Good question. My elbows fall to my parted thighs, my face into my hands. I blow out a breath through my fingers as I think this through. “A woman. Why did it have to be a woman?”
Jake laughs at my Indiana Jones reference. “Better than snakes.”
“She’s likely one and the same. And we both know she’s the next step in his plan.”
“Then we have to watch her closely. And Maddox?”
I raise my head when he doesn’t continue.
“Pretty girl with a fucked-up life aside, Conti did call in his favor for a reason.”
I nod, because he’s right and I know it. “Now we just have to figure out what he’s going to do with it.”
Eight
ISABEL
* * *
Five shopping bags. That’s what I ended up walking out of that store with. I told Paula, the saleswoman, that I didn’t need this much stuff. That I didn’t feel comfortable having Mister Sinclair purchase all this for me. She waved me off and told me to have some fun.
“He told me to outfit you with a complete wardrobe. So, that’s what I’m going to do. Enjoy it, honey.”
Once I got over the initial shock of the price tags, I did enjoy myself. Because never in my life have I worn anything like what I’m wearing now. It’s a black—of course—long-sleeved, sweater dress that stops just above my knees and is form fitting without being tight. The neckline has a gathering to it, so it shows just a peek of skin, but no cleavage. It’s made of cashmere and wool and is the softest thing I’ve ever put on my body.
I’m also in silk—like, real silk, I think—stockings and three-and-a-half-inch heels that are pretty and a little sexy, but completely appropriate for a work environment. Well, that’s what Paula told me when she picked them out. I feel beautiful. Not trashy or overly sexy or slutty. I feel like a lady. Like I belong. When someone looks at me dressed like this, they won’t know I’ve danced naked on a stage and that my mother was a drug-addicted prostitute who died from an overdose when I was a teenager. They won’t know of the depraved, sick man I belong to.
I make it back up to the corporate floor and that Mallory woman directs me over to my small office across from Maddox’s office. It’s really just three walls and one of glass that opens to the hall without a door on it. But it’s mine, and it’s bright and it’s awesome. On my desk is a new iPhone, a laptop, and a desk phone. She shows me where to store my new clothes and how to log onto my computer, then she leaves me.
I’m not good with computers. The only ones I’ve ever used are the public ones at the library and they are limited. And old. This is a new laptop from the looks of it. A Mac. I’m completely unfamiliar with those. I do manage to find the calendar, which has Maddox’s schedule already on it, and my email account that has a bunch of welcome to Turner Hotels things in there, so I figure that’s a good place to start.
A job. I have a real job.
I’d be giddy if I weren’t so terrified.
Maddox steps into my office as I’m searching around on my new computer. I’m sitting, so he can’t see my full outfit, but he’s inspecting me from the waist up with an indiscernible expression. All my artfully crafted snark and bravado are slowly ebbing. Seeing this man naturally raises my hackles, but now I’m tired and emotionally worn out, and well, thankful. There, I admit it. I watch him watch me and I hate that I care, but I’m desperate to know if he likes what he sees.
He gives a tight nod.
That’s it?
Fine.
Whatever.
His opinion shouldn’t matter to me anyway.
“Now what?”
“I don’t know, Starshine.”
I scowl. I hate that he’s still calling me that. I liked the way he said Isabel much more.
“I’ve no idea what to do with you. I’ve never had an assistant. Never really wanted one before, I guess.”
I stand up at that. It practically shoots me out of my seat and I’m rounding the corner of my new shiny desk before I can stop myself, getting right up in his face. He doesn’t flinch, and he doesn’t step back. He doesn’t even look all that shocked, which angers me further.
“Then why did you hire me?” He doesn’t answer. “What am I doing here, Maddox, other than playing dress-up Barbie? Tell me the truth.”
I don’t know anything about this man other than his job title, his name, and that he’s involved with Anthony Conti enough for Conti to buy his drinks and offer him whatever he wanted at the club on the house. If that doesn’t set off big, ugly warning bells, I don’t know what would.
More silence.
Christ, I’m so stupid for pretending this was real.
“Screw this. I’m out of here.” I push off him and spin around, going straight for my closet that has my dress in it. I pull out the bags, one by one, digging through them like a fool because I can’t remember which one I stuck it in. Maddox is still standing there, observing me while I have a breakdown. I can’t take this. Feeling ridiculous is not a new phenomenon for me. But this moment might be one of the worst.
Finally, I locate it, yanking the black spandex fabric out of the bag and standing back up. The bastard is still there, only now his arms are folded as he examines me like I’m a curious spectacle he can’t quite figure out. “Why are you leaving?”
“Because I don’t like it when people play games with me.”
He rolls his eyes, and I’m about ready to kill him. “I hired you because I need an assistant. I might not have wanted one before,” he emphasizes, “but I do now. I have a lot of work to do for the hotels and not enough time or help to get it done. I just don’t know how to start. Like I said, I’ve never. Had. An. Assistant.” He punctuates each word in a rough staccato, practically biting them out like I just ate up the last shred of his patience.
I pause, blinking up at him. “Oh.” Heat swarms up my face like a gang of angry bees. “You could have gotten to that point a little quicker. You know, before I made a big dramatic scene.”
“Probably.” He eyes the crumpled dress in my hands. “But now that I know you’re willing to walk out on your own, I think we can get started.”
Huh?
“Are you going to change?”
I peek down at the dress and then back up to him. If I had my choice, I’d never take off the new dress I’m wearing. If it didn’t cost more than my monthly rent, I’d probably sleep in it. I quirk an eyebrow. “My attitude or my outfit?”
His lips twitch. “Both.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. In either case.”
“Good. Because I like you in your new dress. And, if I’m being honest, you’re fun to rile up.”
I flip him off and he laughs.
“Before you went all bratty teenager on me, I was going to suggest you bring your laptop into my office. We should probably sit and try to figure out this assistant job thing.”
He turns on his heel, forcing me to scurry after him. I snatch my laptop from my desk and push through his partially opened door. His office is big. Not as big as Conti’s, but still big. It’s comprised of a large L-shaped desk with three monitors on it, a sparsely filled bookcase, a brown leather couch, a round glass table with four dark chairs tucked snugly around it, and in the far corner, a private bathroom from the looks of it. The opposite wall is all glass, overlooking the Strip and the mountains in the distance. No pictures of any kind. Nothing personal at all. The only warmth in here is the sun shining through the tinted glass.
“Have a seat.” He points to the couch and not the table and chairs, which I find a little odd but sit on all the same. It’s soft and sleek, and I sink into the leather a little too much. I set my laptop next to me on the couch, keeping my mouth shut for once as I await further instruction.
Maddox closes the door and then turns to me, crossing the room with his long legs, until he’s kneeling down on the ground directly in front of me, so we’re eye to eye from only a foot away. I gasp, taken aback by our sudden proximity. The enticing scent of his cologne is everywhere. The light blue of his beautiful eyes is darker, filled with fiery determination. His strong, chiseled jaw—now freshly shaven—is locked tight. His lips. God, they’re right there. Full. Commanding. Devouring. He’s the full package. The one girls dream about. Forget movie stars and rock stars, Maddox Sinclair is the type of gorgeous that can make a girl’s panties melt with a simple look.
My heart starts to pound, even though I’m doing everything in my power to remain impervious. I don’t want to want this man. He’s the last man on the planet I should want. Well, one of two. It’s just attraction, I tell myself. A natural physical reaction to a handsome man and nothing more.
Mercifully, he doesn’t touch me. He barely moves. He’s just breathing in and out as he studies me. “You’re beautiful, Isabel. There is no denying that.” His eyes bounce around my face, feature by feature, before settling back on mine. “You’re so stunning you have the power to drop a man to his knees.”
He moves in closer until he’s mere inches away now. I can’t stop my eyes from sliding down to his lips. I wonder what kissing a man like Maddox would feel like. Would he make me feel safe, coveted, and adored with the gentle sweep of his lips? Or wild, passionate, and out of control as he dives in and takes what he wants? He made me feel all of that in my apartment and that was only from kissing my neck.
“But what happened the other night in your apartment and then at the club will never happen again. Our relationship, our interactions, are one hundred percent professional from here on out.”
I swallow hard. He watches the roll of my throat as I nod my head, drawing myself away from my dirty thoughts. “Agreed.” And thank all that is holy, my voice is calm and steady.
He rises swiftly, gracefully given his size, and then sits behind his desk, affording me the distance I need. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s get down to business.”
* * *
An hour later, we walk out of his office together. I think Maddox finally figured out what he needed in an assistant, and I think I finally saw him as my boss. “Well, now that that’s done, it’s time for lunch.”
“Lunch?” I laugh the word. “Didn’t we just start the day?”
“No,” he says, as he types something into his phone. “You just started the day. I’ve been working while you were shopping.”
“All right,” I agree with a shrug. “Lunch. I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Wrong again. Mallory informed me I needed to take you out. Something about that’s what executives do for their assistants on their first day. Honestly, I think she’s just saying that to keep you happy. She’s thrilled you’re here. So are the other assistants. It means less work for them.”
I look up at him through my lashes. “You’re taking me to a restaurant?”
His gaze shifts away from his phone over to me, and judging by his expression, he remembers our conversation about restaurants. “Yes. I’m taking you to a restaurant.” And damn him, he smiles like a triumphant king returning from battle. “Shit,” he mumbles, rubbing his smooth jaw. “Now I need to take you somewhere really good. This can’t just be any old restaurant. A diner won’t do.”
I try to maintain eye contact, but it’s hard. When he looks at me like that, it’s practically impossible. Because this guy? This one right in front of me? He’s the one I let drive me home from the grocery store. He’s the one I let into my apartment. The one I let buy me dinner and kiss my neck as I sat on my kitchen counter, all the while knowing better. “A diner is perfect. I honestly don’t care where we eat.”
“You may not, but I do. I have an idea, let’s go.”
He marches toward the exit and I follow. That might be our new thing.
We walk down the Strip in the direction of The Venetian. I’ll be honest, I’ve lived in this town my whole life and I’ve never walked the entire Strip. It’s over four miles, and when you’re a poor girl with very few friends, there isn’t much for you here. But Maddox looks at me like I’ve got two heads growing out a lizard’s body when I tell him I’ve never been inside The Venetian.
“Well, if we had more time and it wasn’t considered romantic, I’d take you on a gondola ride.” The idea of Maddox climbing into one of those long, narrow boats makes me laugh. He’s so big, he’d probably sink the thing. “I told you I’m a Southern boy,” he says as he leads me into a restaurant that smells out-of-this-world good. Like butter and grease and spices. My mouth is already watering, and we haven’t even been seated. “But I didn’t tell you I’m a Georgia boy. Now that I know your real name, I guess I can let you in on my secret.” He winks at me. “This is probably as close to good Southern food as I can get around here. It’s not quite my mama’s biscuits, or my eldest sister’s chicken and waffles, but it’s damn close.”
As excited as I am to eat in a restaurant and despite how good the food looks and smells, I wish he had taken me somewhere else. Somewhere less personal. Somewhere that didn’t give me the inclination to really like him. I’m dying to ask more about his family. About his mama—as he calls her—and his sisters. I want to know him, and that’s not the sort of desire that leads anywhere good.
