a choice. She could upset her uncle by confessing she’d lost her appetite or redirect the conversation to get what she wanted. “There’s something I haven’t told you. How I met Dutch. I was locking up the art gallery and someone mugged me.”
His face went blank as he stiffened. “Oh, Isabel.” He held out a hand to her.
Isabel placed her palm on her uncle’s. “The guy grabbed my purse.” She left out the part about the knife. “The Chanel bag that Daddy gave me.” She tightened her fingers around his hand. “Dutch stopped him, brought him down like a superhero and got it back.”
He lifted their joined hands and kissed her fingers. “You should’ve told me. This is why you need a bodyguard.”
She cringed on the inside, not wanting her admission to backfire. “Dutch saved me twice. He treats me with respect. Dignity. Makes me feel like I should be treasured. No other man has ever done that.”
“Not even the last one, who owns all those businesses.”
Lowering her gaze, she swallowed past a flash of irritation. “No. Actually, that bigwig business owner turned out to be a real jerk.”
“If a man ever disrespects you, puts his hands on you, I want you to tell me.”
“Why? So you can sue him and punish me by shoving a bodyguard down my throat?”
He pursed his lips in obvious annoyance. “I would make the man rue the day he crossed the line with you, and yes, give you a bodyguard.”
No, thank you. She didn’t want help with strings attached. “Well, there’s no need for you to worry about Dutch crossing the line. He’s incredible. Though, you might not approve of him.” He would never fit the image of what her uncle wanted for her. “But I do. I want him to meet you because I respect and love you. Please, don’t ruin this for me. Okay?”
“I see this man is important to you. I’ll meet him tonight.”
A smile she couldn’t contain broke on her face. “Really?”
Her uncle nodded. “I do what I can to make you happy. Tell him to come to my club at eleven-thirty as my guest.”
“Thank you, tío.” Lifting out of her chair, she leaned across the table and kissed his cheek. “I must warn you that he speaks his mind and can be blunt, but we’ll be there.”
“You misunderstand.” He released her hand and picked up his wineglass. “I wish to meet him alone. Without you.”
That was strange. “Why?”
He gave her a placating grin, ratcheting up Isabel’s anxiety. “Because I said so.” His tone brooked no argument.
Chapter Thirteen
The call from Isabel canceling their plans had been unexpected, but worth it. Dutch was set to meet Vargas.
He pulled up to the valet in front of the Enigma nightclub in the heart of LA.
“Hey, man,” one of the twentysomethings wearing an orange vest said, approaching him. “Insurance won’t let us take it, but you can park right there.” He pointed to a parking spot in the valet area.
Dutch gave the kid forty bucks, twenty for valet and another Jackson as a tip to make sure they looked after his bike as if it were their own. “Not a scratch on it.”
The guy nodded enthusiastically. “Sure thing. No one will get close to it.”
Dutch rode over and backed into the spot sandwiched between a Mercedes and a Tesla. He took off his helmet and raked a hand through his hair.
Isabel let him know about the club’s dress code. But Dutch had deliberately dressed down, jeans and a V-neck tee. He got that Dante Emilio Vargas had an appreciation for the finer things in life and would judge a book by its cover, but there was no disguising that Dutch came from middle-class means. No hiding the way he carried himself, how he spoke, like a man born and bred on the streets.
Silk threads and putting on airs wouldn’t win over Vargas anyway. Men such as her uncle respected two things. Power and strength.
At the core, neither had anything to do with money.
Besides, Dutch didn’t know how to be anything other than himself, something that worked in his favor with Isabel. Other than the omission of why he’d stepped into her life—and granted, that was pretty big—he didn’t have to pretend with her.
He strode past the long line to get in that wrapped around the corner and went up to the bouncer at the door. “I’m Dutch Haas. Here to see Dante Vargas.”
The burly dude dressed in all black checked him out from head