Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Isabel.” I say her name like a reprimand, and she takes it as one.
Her shoulders stiffen before she replies, “Undergrad from Berkeley. MBA from Stanford.”
How? She looks so young. She has high, round cheekbones and smooth, tan skin. Especially now, with most of her makeup gone, she seems so innocent.
“Did you graduate high school when you were twelve?”
“I’m twenty-six. That’s not so young. What are you?” She tilts her head and narrows her eyes like she’s trying to guess the exact year. “Fifty-eight?”
“Encantadora.”
Charming.
Her mouth quirks up in a private smile before she bites it down. She thinks she’s funny.
“Just so I understand, is this conversation about work or something else?”
“Work.”
She rolls her eyes. “Good. I’m off the clock and I’m going home. I would say it was a pleasure meeting you, but…” She shrugs lightly and gives me a laughing look.
“Let me have your bag and I’ll walk you.” I told her friends I’d get her home, but even if I hadn’t, I refuse to leave her side just yet. “You live in staff housing?”
“Yes. It’s close, only five minutes. Don’t bother.”
“The bag.” I open my hand for it. When she doesn’t immediately pass it to me, I add, “It’s obviously heavy. You keep messing with it.”
She swallows and looks down at it like she’s embarrassed. “Yes, well, I have my clothes and makeup in here. And I wasn’t sure what shoes I wanted to wear tonight so I brought two options, and snacks, of course…”
“Sí, of course,” I mock.
“Here. Take it.” She relents suddenly. “I’d love to see you carry a silly pink bag down the street, actually.”
The pink bag doesn’t offend me. I grip it and wave for her to lead the way. We start to walk, and she thinks she’s going to take the street side until I nudge her over and take her place. There’s not a lot of traffic out at this time of night, but I’ve seen some idiots careen around these corners before.
She shoots me daggers. “You could have just asked me to move instead of shoving me over.”
“I didn’t shove you.” Then, to make peace, I add, “I’ll work on it.”
“I highly doubt that,” she grumbles under her breath.
For a short time, we walk in silence. She has to hurry to keep up with my pace. I’d imagine my height seems daunting and I could slow down to make it easier for her to stroll alongside me, but the sooner I get her home, the better. This entire situation feels charged, like it’ll go up in flames at any moment. We’re better off staying quiet, but Isabel doesn’t get the memo.
“Just so you know, it’s perfectly obvious you’re one of those people—men, namely—who gets away with everything.”
I shoot her a sidelong glare. “Why do you think that?”
Those green eyes have been studying me since we met, and something tells me she’s come up with quite a few theories about me in the last ten minutes.
“Well, for starters, there’s the way you look.”
Oh, I’d love to hear this.
She sees my amused smile and shakes her head. “We’ll gloss over that. You obviously already know. Besides that, there’s the money and the status and the fact that you clearly enjoy lording over Ibiza like some tyrannical king.” She ignores my crushing look, completely unbothered by it, in fact. “And the way you were up there on the balcony tonight looking down on all of us peasants at your feet—you must get off on it, huh?”
“Get off on it?” I ask, playing naive just to watch her cheeks burn red. The vivid shade stirs something inside me.
We’re near enough to her apartment that she tries to grab her bag from me as punishment for my teasing, but I don’t let her. With our height difference, it’s not hard to keep it out of her reach.
“You know what I mean,” she insists.
“I’m not sure. Describe it. In detail. I saw you watching me tonight.”
Her annoyance melts into a laugh. She only peers up again once she’s composed herself, shaking her glossy black hair away from her face. She really is stunning.
She points up with one finger. “If you want to keep my pink bag so badly, all you have to do is ask.”
I toss the bag, and she has to think fast to catch it against her chest.
Already, she’s turned away, heading toward the sliding doors of the apartment complex. “Thank you for my walk home! I hope it never happens again!”
I stand rooted to my spot, smiling until I see her disappear into the lobby toward the bank of elevators. Once I’m confident she’s safely home, I walk away practically blushing over how much I enjoyed my first encounter with Isabel De Vere. Soon, I’ll know everything there is to know about her, and I’ll discover the real reason she wants to spend her summer incognito on Ibiza.