Page 12 of The Billionaire's Bargain
Humor, unexpected and unwelcome, rippled through his chest. He remembered this about her from the night of the blackout. Funny, self-deprecating, charming. Given everything he knew of Isobel’s character, the side she’d shown him in the darkness must’ve been a charade.
Her shock and horror the following morning had been real, though.
He gave his head a mental shake. He wasn’t here to rehash the colossal mistake he’d committed in the dark. He had a purpose, an agenda. And before he left this morning, it would be accomplished.
Making resolve a clear, hard wall in his chest, he moved into the living room. Well,movedwas generous. The change in location from foyer to the main room only required two steps.
Jesus, the whole apartment could fit into his great room—three times. The living room and dining room melded into one space, only broken up by a small counter that separated it from the equally small kitchen. A cramped tunnel of a hallway shot off to the left and led to what he knew from floorplans of the building to be a miniscule bedroom, bathroom and closet.
At least it was clean. The obviously secondhand couch, coffee table and round dining table wore signs of life—scratches, scuff marks and ragged edges in the upholstery. But everything was neat and shined, the scent of pine and lemon a pleasant fragrance under the aroma of brewing coffee. Even the colorful toys—blocks, a plastic easel, a colorful construction set and books—were stacked in chaotic order in one corner.
A hard tug wrenched his gut to the point of pain at the sight of those symbols of childhood. A tug that resonated with yearning. Aiden had been only six months old the last time Darius had seen him. That’d been at Gage’s funeral. How much had the boy changed in the two years since? Had his light brown hair darkened to the nearly black of Gage’s own color? As he’d matured, had he grown to resemble his mother, or had he inherited more of his father’s features?
That had been the seed of Gage’s and the family’s doubts regarding the baby’s parentage. The boy had possessed neither Gage’s nor Isobel’s features, except for her eyes. So they’d assumed he must look like his father—his true father. That Isobel had refused a paternity test had further solidified their suspicions that Gage hadn’t been Aiden’s father. And then, out of spite, she’d made Gage choose—his family or her. Of course, out of love and loyalty, and foolish blindness, he’d chosen her, isolating himself from his parents and friends. Till the end.
Selfish. Conniving. Cold.
Except maybe not so cold. Darius had a firsthand example of how hot she could burn...
Shit.
Focus.
Unbuttoning his jacket, he turned and watched Isobel stride toward him. She did another of those chin lifts as she entered the living room. Jesus, even with suspicion heavy in those blue-gray eyes, they were striking. Haunting. Beautiful.
Deceitful.
“You’re not going to ask me to have a seat?” he drawled, the dark, twisted mix of bitterness and lust grinding relentlessly within him.
“Since you won’t be staying long, no,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest again. “What do you want?”
“That’s my question, Isobel.” Without her invite, he lowered to the dark blue, worn armchair across from the couch. “What do you want? Why were you at the gala last week?”
“None of your business.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. If you came there to pump the Wellses for money, then it is most definitely my business,” he said. Studying her, he caught the flash of emotion in her eyes. Emotion, hell. Guilt. That flash had been guilt. Satisfaction, thick and bright, flared within him. “What happened, Isobel? Did whatever fool you sank your claws into out there in Los Angeles come to his senses and kick you out before you sucked him dry?”
She stared at him, slowly uncoiling her arms and sinking to a perch on her sofa. “Thepoor foolyou’re so concerned about was my Aunt Lila, who I stayed with to help her recover from a stroke,” she continued, derision heavy in her voice. “She died a couple of months ago from another massive stroke, which is why I’m back here in Chicago. Any more insults or assumptions you want to throw out there before finally telling me why you’re here?”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he murmured. And he was sorry. He, more than anyone, understood the pain of losing a loved one. But that’s all he would apologize for. Protecting and defending his family from someone who sought to use them? No, he’d never regret that. “Now... What do you want with the Wells family? Although—” he deliberately turned his head and scanned the tight quarters of her apartment, lingering on the pile of envelopes on the breakfast bar before returning his attention to her “—I can probably guess if you don’t want to admit it.”
Her shoulders rolled back, her spine stiffening. Even with her just-rolled-out-of-bed hair and clothes, she appeared...regal. Pride. It was the pride that clung to her as closely as the tank top molding to her breasts.
“What. Do. You. Want. With. Them?” he ground out, when she didn’t answer.
“Help,” she snapped, leaning forward, a matching anger lighting her arctic eyes. “I need their help. Not for me. I’d rather hang pictures and lay a welcome mat out in a freshly dug hole than go to them for anything. But for the grandson they’ve rejected and refused to acknowledge, I need them.”
“You would have the nerve to ask them for help—no, let’s call it what it is—formoneyand use your son to do it? The son you’ve kept from them for two years? That’s low even for you, Isobel.” The agony and helplessness over Gage’s death, the rage toward the woman who was supposed to have loved him, but who had instead mercilessly and callously broken him, surged within him. Tearing through him like a sword, damn near slicing him in half. But he submerged the roiling emotions beneath a thick sheet of ice. “The answer is no. You don’t get to decide when they can and can’t have a relationship with the grandson who is the only part they have left of the son they loved and lost. You might be hismother, and I use that term loosely—”
“Get out.” The quiet, sharp words cut him off. She stood, the fine tremor shivering through her body visible in the finger she pointed toward the door. “Get the hell out and don’t come back.”
“Not until we discuss—”
“You’re just like them,” she snarled, continuing as if he hadn’t even spoken. “Cut from the same golden but filthy cloth. You don’t know shit about me as a mother, because you haven’t been there. You, Baron or Helena. So you have zero right to have an opinion on how I’m raising my son. And for the record, I didn’t try to keep them from Aiden. They didn’t want him. Didn’t want to know him. Didn’t even believe he was their grandson. So don’t you dare walk in here, look at this apartment and judge me—”
“Oh, no, Isobel,” he contradicted her, slowly rising to his feet as well, tired of her lies. Especially about the people, thefamily, who’d taken him in when he’d lost his own. Who’d accepted him as their own. “I judged you long before this. Your actions as a wife—” he spat the word out, distasteful on his tongue “—condemned you.”
“Right.” She nodded, a sneer matching his own, curling her mouth. “I was the money-grabbing, social-climbing whore who tricked Gage into marriage by getting knocked up. And he was the sacrificial lamb who cherished and adored me, who remained foolishly loyal to me right up until the moment of his death.”
