Page 51 of Isabelle and the Beast

“But you must be happier now,” she continues. “And no wonder, since you’ve got a beautiful woman next to you. Who are you, my dear?”

“Oh! I’m Isabelle Lovett,” I reply.

“Lovett? How do I know that name?”

“Her father is Jim Lovett, my manager,” Adam supplies.

“Ah, yes. He’s to blame for Adam leaving us for Hollywood.”

“Aunt,” Adam protests. “It’s not his fault I left.”

“No?” Agatha retorts. “Perhaps if you had a different manager, you wouldn’t have stayed there and come home sooner. But no, you had to instantly book a movie and become a big success.” She wiggles her fingers around her head and rolls her eyes at the screen, and I laugh.

“I’m glad you think my father is good at his job,” I say.

“Hmph,” Agatha replies. “So, what are you doing there? I didn’t think Adam had any visitors these days.”

“Well, we’re possibly going to act in a movie together,” I say.

Adam turns his head to look at me. “Are we now?” he says softly, and his eyes twinkle with…hope?

I shoot him a glance. “It’s the easiest explanation, isn’t it?” I whisper back.

“Speak up, dears!” Agatha calls out. “None of these side conversations.”

I chuckle and turn back to her. “I came up to meet him and happened to get snowed in, so I’m stuck here until it’s safe to drive back home.”

“Ah.” She watches me carefully, and I feel like she’s assessing me, trying to determine if I fit some criteria. After a few moments of silence, she claps her hands. “Well! I’m glad to hear that. I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy your evening!” And she promptly ends the call.

“She’s…interesting,” I comment.

Adam snorts. “Yes, she definitely is.” He pauses, a wistful look in his eyes. “She has a soft spot for Lily.”

I nod but stay quiet. I’ve realized that when he brings up sensitive subjects, it’s best for me to let him express himself at his own pace and not to prod him with any more questions.

He changes the subject back to interview tips, helping me plan out my general approach and personality traits, but before long, I’m yawning. “Sorry,” I say. “It’s not you, I promise.”

He smirks. “I’m highly offended.”

“I’m sure you are.”

He stands, then holds his hand out to me. “Come. Let’s get you to bed.”

I put my hand in his, surprised by his gentlemanly propriety, and feel the warmth from his touch travel from my hand and into my belly. He wraps my hand around his arm, just like a gentleman, and we walk together out of the room.

“To the theater?” he asks.

I just nod, and we walk the rest of the way in silence. When we reach the door, he stops and turns to face me.

What’s happening right now? Do we hug? Shake hands?

Kiss?

No, no, no Isabelle. No kissing.

“Thank you for your help,” I finally say. “I feel so much more prepared now.”

“You would’ve been fine without me,” he replies. “But it’s always better knowing what you’re getting into.”

---