Page 91 of Enigma: An Isaac Retelling
“It’s our two-month anniversary.” Cormack’s teeth grit when I can’t hold back my laughter. He’s so pussy-whipped, even with Hunter stalking Isabelle’s apartment for any signs of her visitor’s return, I can hear his whipping noises. “The small stuff is important, Isaac.”
“I wouldn’t say that too loudly. Your staff might get the wrong idea.”
He joins me in laughing this time around. “It would be better than the other rumors they could hear.”
“That wasn’t you, Cormack. You did nothing wrong, and anyone who knows you is aware of that.”
He breathes out deeply before the woosh of a head bob sounds down the line. I’m shocked he’s finally believing me but also grateful. My mother values money over integrity, but I don’t ever see her pinning false charges onto her child purely to fund the elaborate lifestyle she’s become accustomed to the past seven years.
When I notice the late hour, which is most likely early for Cormack with his change in schedule of late, I tell him I’ll have the chef order some of his favorite meat cuts. “It’s the least I can do with the sale increasing my profit margin.”
Cormack laughs before announcing that he will forward me the bill.
I’m about to tell him his meal is on the house when a female voice interrupts our conversation. For once, it is coming from Cormack’s half of the line. He has trust issues, so his sexual conquests before Harlow were never publicly broadcasted. For a long time, I had wondered if he was ‘dating’ at all.
“Why don’t you join us, Isaac?” Harlow offers. “It will save Cormack a stamp.”
Stamp? Who uses snail mail these days?
“I would,” I reply, genuinely grateful for the offer. “But I have a prior arrangement.”
Cormack groans when it dawns on him that my objection about his cancellation has nothing to do with him canceling on me and everything to do with needing to blow off steam after my confrontation with Isabelle last night.
I’ve never been more worked up, but this is the first time I haven’t fallen into bed with the first pretty blonde to attract my eye.
I shift my focus back to my call when Harlow says, “Then bring her with you.” Her tone is pitched with the unrestrained matchmaking I’m confident is a requirement of every baker. They’re in everyone’s private businesses as much as hairdressers. “We’ll make it a double date. It will be fun.Please, Isaac.”
A smirk etches onto my mouth when I imagine Cormack’s stern, hard lips from Harlow begging me. His dominant side isn’t as obvious as mine, but there’s no way he would approve of his woman pleading with anyone who isn’t him.
That isn’t the way alpha males work.
After waiting long enough for Cormack to cite an objection, and it not occurring, I ask, “What time?”
Harlow squeals in the same manner Tina did last night before citing the details for our double date Friday night. Her excitement has me apprehensive if she is aware my date’s name isn’t Isabelle.
With Col due to return from a short New York trip Friday night, the dates I slimmed down to one earlier this week are back stronger than ever. Keke has a fresh batch of women at the ready she is convinced will pull the wool over Col’s eyes even faster than the media.
With that in mind, I say, “I’ll see you Friday at eight,” before disconnecting our call and hitting speed dial on another number.
Hunter answers two rings later, “Tallis doesn’t recognize him.”
“That doesn’t mean Brandon isn’t a part of Col’s team.”
“I know that,” Hunter replies, his voice strained with tiredness. “But it’s better than learning he’s one of Col’s henchmen.”
I huff. Brandon doesn’t have the balls to be a henchman. Just the way his cheeks inflamed during his kiss with Isabelle exposes this, much less the corny words he said after it. He doesn’t possess one-tenth of the possessiveness Isabelle craves. She wants to be dominated by a man, not a boy.
Brandon is the latter.
“Keep working on it.” Realizing I’m pushing Hunter to the brink of exhaustion, I add, “In the morning. Having you collapse from exhaustion won’t help anyone.”
“I could say the same to you.”
I huff again before telling him I’ll speak to him at a more reasonable hour.
Although the knowledge it’s four in the morning should keep my phone on the desk, remembering that a brothel manager’s hours are as indecisive as mine sees me returning it to my ear.
“Hello, darling,” Keke greets, her accent as fake as the lashes Tina bats at me while placing the day’s takings into the safe.
