ashamed I am drinking in the middle of the day. I’m just so stunned by my unexpected visitor, alcohol isn’t needed to give me the buzz life is supposed to give me.
Isabelle jumps out of her skin when I greet her with a back-the-front hug. With one arm juggling a bag of groceries, and the other clutching a six-pack of beer, I had to use my shoulder.
After gathering her heart from the ground, Isabelle slaps my shoulder. “Jesus, Brandon, you scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry, Izzy.” I slant my head like a dog getting whacked over the head with a newspaper, feeling bad I scared her. “What are you doing here?”
An array of emotions hit me at once when she replies, “I just left Alex’s office.”
I was hoping it was a personal visit.
Clearly, we’re not that close.
Nodding, I place the security code into the door Isabelle is standing next to before gesturing for her to enter the foyer before me. I follow her inside after doing a quick scope of the area. Not only am I suspicious Isaac has someone tailing Isabelle, I’m also wary about Grayson’s uncanny knack for knowing more than he should.
Confident we’re alone, I head for the elevator. I’m not willing to risk the stairs with how unstable my footing is. My aftershave can mask the scent of whiskey on my breath, but what excuse would I have for stumbling up steps?
“Does Isaac know you’re here?”
Isabelle freezes before she shakes her head. “He’s in a meeting. I left him a note.”
While calculating how long it will take for Isaac to have one of his security details kick down my door, I suggest for Isabelle to enter the elevator before me. With the space confined, I don’t voice any of the questions in my head for our fourteen-floor climb. I can taste the whiskey on my lips. I don’t want Isabelle to smell it.
Isabelle takes advantage of my unusual quietness when she shadows my walk to my apartment. She takes in the high-end features and masculine feel of the space while I place the perishables into the fridge and hide my half-consumed bottle of whiskey in the cutlery drawer.
Just as she spins around to face me, I place the beers onto the counter. When she stares at them for several long seconds, I offer her one. She shakes her head while saying, “Beer has never been my liquor of choice.”
“What about a glass of red, then?”
Eager to get her as sloshed as me, I snag a wine glass from a frosted overhead cupboard before pouring her a generous helping of merlot. She eyes me with suspicion when I hand it to her but remains quiet, unsure if she knows me well enough to notice my change in temperament.
As I enter the living room, I give thanks to my insomnia of late. If I weren’t up all night removing the perp boards from my walls, Isabelle would have realized just how crooked Isaac is. In a way, I kind of wished they were still there. Perhaps that’s what Isabelle needs—a hard wake-up call.
When I plonk onto my rock-hard sofa, Isabelle fills in the spot next to me. After folding her legs under her bottom to lessen the stiffness of the material, she tilts closer to me. “What happened?”
Even with a woozy head, I still know who her question is referencing. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and for some stupid-ass reason, she’s worried about me.
After swishing my tongue around my mouth, I say, “We had opposing opinions on a matter.”
I’m hoping my all-encompassing reply will subdue Isabelle’s inquisitiveness. Regretfully, she’s more clued in than I give her credit for. “We’ve all had that with Alex, but nothing bad enough to warrant him letting us go—”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not concerned about my position.”
I snap my mouth closed, pissed at the curtness of my tone. My mother would be slapping me up the side of my head if she could hear me now.
“What’s going on, Brandon?” When Isabelle dips her chin to force eye contact, my mood worsens. Phillipa’s shrink did the same thing when she probed into my past more than I liked. “Something is bothering you. You seem off, upset even.”
I gulp down half my beer before placing it onto the coffee table. While staring at nothing, I think about all the things I want to say. How the number of blows I’ve been hit with in my life isn’t fair. How I worked so