Page 15 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

I step inside … and damn it all if Isabella King doesn’t look like a siren dressed in corporate silk. That teal-blue blouse of hers makes her eyes pop—a stormy green sea I’ve drowned in before. And that skirt, hugging her like it’s privy to secrets I’ve only begun to uncover.

“Isabella,” I start, clenching my jaw when her name leaves my lips. It’s like tasting a forbidden fruit—sweet yet bound to end in disaster. But there’s no time for hunger now, only the bitter taste of frustration. “Several of the projections we discussed in our last meeting are missing. Please tell me you just misplaced them and didn’t decide to play hide-and-seek with crucial documents.”

Her eyes narrow, a silent challenge. “I finished every last one of them and gave them to you, Adrian. If anything’s missing, it’s not on me.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” I shoot back, the heat of our proximity igniting a fire I have no time to put out. “Because unless they’re playing invisible, those numbers aren’t where they should be.”

“Maybe you need glasses then,” she retorts, her spine straight as an iron rod. She’s got nerve, I’ll give her that.

“Or maybe,” I say, leaning forward, my voice low, “you need to double-check your work before handing it over.”

“I gave everything I drafted to you.” Defiance sparks in her gaze, and for a moment, I almost admire her tenacity. Almost.

“If you’re so sure, come to my office. I’ll show you the gaping hole where those projections should be.”

Besides, I can barely stomach the thought of lingering in her office—a space tainted with memories best left unvisited during working hours—so I usher her out, needing the sanctuary of my own four walls.

We walk in tense silence, the distance between us crackling with unsaid words and regrets we’d both rather not acknowledge. As soon as we cross the threshold into my office, I gesture toward the chaos of papers on my desk with a flourish.

“See for yourself,” I challenge.

Isabella’s eyes scan the desk, and she frowns, plucking the stack of documents with an efficiency that irks me. She flips through them with the precision of a surgeon, then points to the gap where several pages should nestle.

“Adrian, these aren’t even in the correct order that I turned them in. You clearly lost them. Just admit it.”

Her accusation slices through the air, leaving a trail of indignation in its wake. “I did no such thing. They’ve been here on my desk all week.”

“Well, maybe Suzy—”

“Leave Suzy out of this,” I snap, “you’ve been nothing but careless since this whole merger started.”

“Careless?” Isabella scoffs, lips curling in disbelief. “Your standards aren’t just high—they’re perched on top of Everest, and even then, I doubt they’d be satisfied.”

“Maybe so,” I concede. “But for now, all I need is for you to draft a new set of documents. Replace the missing ones.” When she doesn’t say anything, I lean in closer. Probably too close. “Redo them. Now.”

The fury in her eyes would be enough to set the room ablaze if looks could ignite. She whirls around, her skirt swishing in silent reprimand, and storms out of my office like a tempest in red-bottomhigh heels.

“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, watching the door slam shut behind her with a force that mirrors my pounding headache.

I’m pacing in my office like a caged animal when Suzy waltzes in, the scent of Arabica in her wake. “Your coffee, Mr. Cole,” she chirps, oblivious to the storm clouds brewing over my head.

“Thanks,” I grumble, still simmering from Isabella’s latest “contribution” to our shared misery. I seize the moment to vent. “You won’t believe the mess Ms. King has made—missing projections, documents amiss ... it’s like working with a tornado these days.”

Suzy sets the cup on my desk, her brows knitting together in a way that spells trouble. “But didn’t you take those documents home Monday night?”

I freeze, mid-rant, the heat climbing up my neck. “What?”

“I recall you took the financial projections home to look over because your nanny couldn’t stay past 4 p.m. It seems like you might have only taken half of the stack home with you.”

Right. I had brought them home but never looked at them. Caleb had a science project due the next morning, so those documents have been sitting on my dining table ever since. The mistake is mine, not Isabella’s.

“Should I let Isabella know she doesn’t need to redo them?” Suzy’s voice is soft, tinged with sympathy I don’t deserve.

“Ahem.” I clear my throat, already weaving my web of self-justification. “No, no. Let Ms. King flex those organizational muscles, it’ll be good for her.”

Suzy eyes me, a flicker of skepticism in her gaze, but nods all the same. She exits, leaving me alone with my bruised ego and a coffee that’s suddenly lost its appeal.

My pride, stubborn as it is, seals my lips. Let Isabella think what she wants; I’ll handle my mistakes in silence.

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