“Isabelle, he wants to give you this chance to shine. And I’ve looked into every client you had a hand in over the last three months. Not long, I know. But you do have design talent, and I have the experience to guide you. Everything in life comes down to who you know and opportunity.” She picked up the Stella McCartney handbag she’d placed on the table.
“I—”
“Don’t decide now,” Lucy said. “Spend the afternoon reading the information about our clubs and Eden. If you think you’re up to the challenge, I’ll see you on the island on Friday. If not, let me know, and I’ll contact my second choice.”
I picked up the folder, intrigued despite myself. “I’ll seriously consider it,” I promised her.
“It’s been a pleasure, Iz,” she said, a gentle smile on her lips.
The unexpected nickname set off a flurry of emotions and memories inside me, but before I could gather myself, Lucy Dare had walked out the door, leaving me behind with a folder. And a challenge.
One I sensed would eventually lead me back to Gabe. If I was brave enough to accept it.
Chapter Eleven
Gabe: Patience versus Sanity
Patience wasn’t Gabe’s strong suit. Three months had exhausted what little he had left. He waited for his sister’s return, pacing his Madison Avenue office in the penthouse of their flagship hotel, staring out the wall of glass, as if he could see her petite form rushing up the street.
By the time Lucy let herself in—without knocking, Starbucks in hand—he was ready to throttle her. “Well?”
His sister settled into the chair across from his desk and propped her feet up on the polished wood. “I like her. She’s feisty. And not too skinny. Oh, and she’s not a bitch.”
“Not what I meant, and you know it.”
Lucy grinned. “She’ll be there. I phrased it as a challenge. There’s no way she won’t rise to the occasion.”
“If she’s not—”
“Then you’ll go after her like you should have done from the beginning,” his sister said, a smug look on her face.
Gabe shook his head. “If I’d done that, she wouldn’t trust me now.”
“When she finds out you’ve kept tabs on her all this time, you think she’ll trust you?”
He shrugged, but his skin felt too tight at the thought. “She’ll understand,” Gabe said.
She had to because he wasn’t giving her up again.
Chapter Twelve
Isabelle: Paradise Awaits
I opened the invitation, my fingers gliding over the clearly expensive parchment-like paper, the words and information engraved on the page. The elegance and feel of the scroll writing and the almost demand-like phrasing to come to the island reminded me of Gabe, the deliberate way he went about things, the certainty he put into everything he did, and the sheer masculine perfection of the man. God, I missed him.
We’d barely been together at all, but the sense that I knew him and him me had remained during our time apart. Just as it had existed within me while I’d been with Lance. And now, even with Gabe gone from my life, knowing he’d easily let me go, I’d somehow felt his protection around me. Odd. Impossible. But still.
Swallowing hard, I pushed him out of my mind and focused on work. The only reason I’d been invited to the tropical island was to create a nightclub, not imagine a reunion with the man I couldn’t forget.
I researched Elite and discovered the clubs, both in Manhattan and the ones in various other cities like Las Vegas and South Beach, existed in a stratosphere the likes of which I’d never experienced. The challenge, to not just recreate the atmosphere but to exceed its luxury, was one I found impossible to resist. Still, I thought long and hard about whether or not I wanted a job that was handed to me courtesy of Gabe, who—I thought it best to remind myself—clearly was still avoiding direct contact. Even if it was what I’d told him I wanted, the fact he hadn’t come after me still hurt. Talk about feminine indecision and wanting to have it both ways. I winced, not thrilled with myself at the moment.
Ultimately, I decided only a fool would turn down a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Elite wasn’t just an exclusive nightclub. It was, for lack of a better metaphor, for the elite of the elite only, where celebrities like Rihanna, Beyonce, and Jay-Z were seen. Not only did you have to know someone to get in but you had to be willing to pay fifteen hundred to ten thousand dollars for the privilege of a table for the night. Yep, I’d be crazy to turn down the opportunity—as crazy as Lucy had been to entrust the job to me.
On Friday morning, I walked out of my apartment building and, just as the instructions indicated, a large stretch limousine waited out front.
“Isabelle Masters?” a man dressed in a chauffeur uniform asked me.
I nodded, and he held open the door for me to enter. I slid in, finding myself alone. I stretched my legs out in front of me and looked through the tinted windows, feeling like a celebrity as the driver took me to the airport for my trip to Miami, where I would switch to a charter for the short flight to Eden. Besides being in first class, which I would never have booked for myself, the first leg of the trip was uneventful.
Hours later, I was driven from the large main airport to a private airstrip. The plane, a seaplane, made me wish for a drink, a tranquilizer, or a potent combination of the two. The plane was too small, and the thought of landing on the water made my stomach dip with sheer nerves. I walked up the stairs, which I knew had been rolled out to the plane, and boarded.
The interior was small and confined, but before I could work myself into further panic, a woman walked out of what I knew was the cockpit.
“Isabelle?”
I swallowed over my fear. “Yes.”
“I’m Joely, and I’m your pilot.” She extended her hand, and I took it. Her no-nonsense grip was at odds with her entire appearance.
She was about my age with light brown, wavy hair, and her uniform, if you could call it that, consisted of khaki shorts and a black polo shirt. I could more easily picture her as an island guide than the woman who would be flying this plane. I played with the pearls at my neck, trying not to show my panic, which had only increased upon meeting her.
“Are you okay?” she asked perceptively.
I nodded. “Do you mind if I ask how old you are?” I blurted out.
She grinned. “Old enough to fly this baby, I promise. I’m a mechanic, and I have experience as a bush pilot. You’re in safe hands.” She waved hers in the air.