Page 1 of Unraveling an Enigma
Isaac
“How much longer do they expect me to wait?” I glare into the young police officer’s dark eyes that are gawking at me with a hint of infatuation.
He is so young, he looks like he is fresh out of the academy. His uniform still has the crinkles in it from where they were folded and sealed in plastic after manufacturing. I wonder how many years he will survive in this ruthless industry before he either sells out or leaves the force under “medical advice.”
“They either charge me or let me go.” I turn my gaze to the camera hanging in the corner of the room. “My patience is running thin.” My voice is beginning to get a hint of arrogance.
I’ve been sitting in an interview room at the Ravenshoe Police Department for the past two hours and have yet to be informed of what obviously fabricated charges they're attempting to pin on me. Other than being handed the official two-page report on my rights while in police custody, I’ve not yet had any other physical contact with any of the FBI agents who arrested me. Including Isabelle. After throwing the documents the rookie officer handed me onto the stainless steel desk I’m sitting at, I run my hand over the top of my head.
My jaw ticks profusely when I see the gentleman who read me my rights enter the room. He tilts his head to the side as his blue eyes rigorously assess my face. He has an arrogant smirk etched on his firm mouth. I clench my fists, internally fighting the urge to wipe the abhorrent and obnoxious look right off his fucking face.
This isn’t a game. It has never been a game to me.
I slowly lift my furious eyes from the documents I threw down on the desk. His smile falters the instant my gray eyes land on his. He clears his throat with an annoying cough that echoes in the silence of the interrogation room, no doubt ensuring fear isn’t heard in his voice.
He doesn’t need to speak for me to know he is scared. His whole stance gives it away. The way his shoulders slump, his thighs twitch, and the fear reflects in his eyes is all I need to see to know he is scared. And rightfully so, he should be scared.
“I have the ability to remand you in custody for a period of two days without charge if I so wish,” he informs, impressing me when his words only come out with a small quiver.
“So I suggest you get comfortable, Mr. Holt.” This time, his voice gets an edge of superiority and arrogance.
I stand from the solid stainless steel chair I am sitting in. His blue eyes follow my every movement. I’m not big; I’m average height for a guy, just over six feet tall. And I’m not overly bulked with muscles like my fighters either, but it isn’t my size that makes most men quiver in their boots when I'm in their presence.It is my reputation.A reputation that took me years to build. A reputation I plan on keeping, no matter how ruthless it may make me seem. This is my business; it is my life, and it is what I live for. I fought my way to where I am, and I have no intentions of ever giving it up.
My business is my empire. I worked relentlessly for years to get to where I am. I eat, breathe, and sleep for my empire. Nothing has diverted my attention away from my goals and aspirations the past five years.
Nothing at all. . . until I saw her.
This may sound conceited, but I’ve become accustomed to the vicious ploys women undertake to capture my attention: the spilled drinks, the damsel in distress. Hell, I’ve even been propositioned with money from wealthy business associates in my industry just for the chance to occupy my bed for one night, but Isabelle was by far the most elaborate ruse I’ve ever come across. I’ll give it to her; she performed well. She played me like a fucking fiddle.
I knew the instant my eyes roamed over Isabelle’s body sprawled at my feet, she would be my eternal weakness. For six years, I’ve never looked at a woman and not seen Ophelia reflecting back at me. Until the day Isabelle fell at my feet.
When I appraised Isabelle’s striking features, I only saw her: her big, beautiful chocolate brown eyes, her pouty cupid’s bow lips, and the most seductive body I’ve seen. That’s what I saw when she shamefully crashed into me at the airport over six months ago.
I fought hard to ignore my impulsive and domineering desire to claim Isabelle as my own, but I couldn’t last thirty minutes in her presence before my qualm faltered. At first, I played it off like I was assisting Isabelle with her fear of flying, but in reality, my hands were itching to touch her, to see if her skin felt as soft as it looked.
My strongest desire that defied all rational thinking was my urge to taste her. I’d only ever been like that once before in my life. That was when I met Ophelia. My obsession with Ophelia didn’t turn out so well, so I was reluctant to pursue Isabelle with the same amount of intensity.
When Isabelle fled to the bathroom after our flight had fully ascended, I battled my internal conflicts for nearly twenty minutes. When I was no longer able to calm the yearning begging me to claim Isabelle as my own, I made my way to the bathroom. If she had not been on her period, I would have claimed her in that washroom thirty thousand feet in the air. That is how strong the urge was to make her mine.
When Isabelle failed to arrive at my nightclub at the designated time we agreed upon for that same weekend, I construed it was a sign Isabelle was never supposed to be mine, but, no matter how hard I tried, her chocolate eyes were forever invading my thoughts. I own more than half of Ravenshoe, so it wasn’t hard for me to track Isabelle down. I watched her from afar for weeks. She rarely altered her daily routine, and never dressed out of her comfort zone.
I found it refreshing she was so down to earth. I’ve always believed that just because a woman is draped in expensive garments and priceless jewelry doesn’t make her more valuable, which describes Isabelle to a T. She is a rough diamond who hasn’t been polished to perfection. It is her little flaws that make her even more valuable.
Her dabber need to mumble under her breath numerous times throughout the day. The fact she prefers comfort over class, and she seemed to see me as only me, a mere man, instead of an enigma, spurred on my need to claim her as my own.
My hesitance to pursue her only resurfaced when I discovered she was living with a soon-to-be-retired police officer. I don’t have any objections to local law enforcement officers—many are friends of mine—but I’ve always been apprehensive about the people I allow in my inner circle. I’ve been burned in the past, so as the years went on, and my bank balance increased, I had to be more careful about whom I allow access to my private life.
I had Hugo shadowing Isabelle for weeks before I staged the ruse of an impromptu visit to the bakery she patronized every day for lunch. My desire to know if she was interested in me on a personal level, or whether she was more interested in mybusinessmatters, spurred on that meeting.
When Isabelle fled the bakery, I assumed her interests in me were on a personal level. Obviously, my assumption was completely inaccurate.
When Isabelle failed to meet me again the next day, I decided to forgo the chase. If she wanted me as much as her body indicated she did, she was going to have to come to me. It was a complete coincidence when I stumbled into her at the nightclub that following Saturday night. I was there simply as a patron.
I’ve always stalked any establishment I’m considering buying before placing an official offer. Accounts and ledgers can be altered to make a club look as if it is earning more money than it is. Even the fanciest-looking clubs can be run into the ground because their overhead outweighs their sales.
Packed-to-the-brim nightclubs don’t generally mean you're making more money. The nightclub may only be full because you are undervaluing your service, which in turn means you will only attract the cheap patrons who want to get drunk on a dime. Selling thousands of drinks per night means nothing if you're only making a measly dollar per drink.
I'd been eyeing that club for a few months prior. It seemed to hold regular numbers each weekend, but it lacked clientele during the weekdays. That may have been because it was only focusing its marketing on college students. With a proper marketing campaign, an overhaul of the interior, and an increase in distinguished clientele, that club now produces double the profits it was making before I purchased it.
