*Isabella's POV*
Some days later, I was back at work, catching up with Cole by my old desk. The post-Black Friday spur had settled over the office, a blissful, exhausted quiet.
"I'm so fucking glad Black Friday is over," I said, leaning against the desk. "People are absolutely batcrap crazy, the traffic was a complete fucking mess."
"Bitch, tell me you bought things for your new place," Cole said, swivelling in his chair to face me, his eyes wide with accusation.
"What things? I have everything I need," I said, gesturing vaguely.
"That apartment is crazy equipped, that's true," he went on, "but you need a new blender for healthy smoothies. Everyone knows sprouts can't be cut with any type of blade; you need a special one."
"Who the fuck eats sprouts?" I asked.
"Me, when I visit you," he sighed, as if he'd just witnessed a great tragedy. "People are underestimating whole grass so much lately." He leaned forward.
"Look, today is Tech Monday. You can totally try and order something online." He shoved his phone in my face, showing me a bunch of ads, making me roll my eyes so hard I nearly gave myself a headache.
At that exact moment, the door to Damien's office swung open. He stood there, like a goddamn hunk in a perfectly tailored suit. "Good morning, Isabella. Come to my office," he said. It wasn't a question. It was a command
Son of a bitch. The only reason I was hanging out here, casually chatting with Cole, was because I'd fucking convinced myself Damien had taken a long Thanksgiving weekend and wouldn't be back today. But then I remembered... he's as lonely as I am. Of course, he'd be here.
I gave Cole a helpless look before pushing myself off the desk. I followed Damien into his office, the familiar weight of his presence settling back over my shoulders like a heavy, unwanted coat.
"I need your help, so please stick around," he said, his voice tight with a tension I knew all too well. He didn't look at me, just ran a hand over his face, the picture of a man on the edge.
"What do you need me for?" I asked, my own voice guarded. I kept my distance, hovering near the door like a scared animal.
"It's Jacob," he said, and the name alone was enough to make my stomach clench. "He called me this morning, something about a product and Phoenix. Then he started to freak the fuck out and told me you'd be here by noon. It seems serious if he would fly to Raleigh so suddenly." He finally looked at me, his eyes pleading, a look I'd rarely seen on him. It was disarming.
"You always know how to keep him in line," he continued, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. "So I need you here with me." He added, and I couldn't help it. A small, surprised chuckle escaped my lips.
"So you think I can keep your little brother in line and you fucking can't," I said, a slow, triumphant smirk spreading across my face. "I'll take that as a compliment."
And then he laughed. A real, genuine laugh. It was a rare, beautiful sound that I hadn't heard in months, and it sent a dangerous warmth spreading through my chest.
And in that exact moment, the office door burst open, slamming against the wall with a deafening crack. Jacob stood there, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with a panic that was so tangible you could taste it.
"Hey! Guys, you won't fucking believe what happened!" he said, his voice a frantic, high-pitched thing I'd never heard from him before. He looked like he'd run a marathon, his hair a mess, his eyes wild and bloodshot.
"Phoenix released my product," he said, the words dropping like bombs in the quiet office.
"Wait, what? What product?" Damien asked, stepping forward, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"MY PRODUCT!" Jacob's voice roared through the office, a raw, husky sound of pure rage and despair. He started pacing like a caged animal, his movements jerky and unhinged. "The one I've been working on for eighteen fucking months!" he said, his hands flying through his hair. "Damn it, I was so close. I had planned a big Christmas release, and those thieving bastards released it on fucking Black Friday." He sank into one of the guest chairs, his head in his hands, looking utterly exhausted.
"I'm sure it's something similar, I mean...." Damien was saying, ever the pragmatist, when Jacob cut him off.
"None of that bullshit," Jacob snarled, his head snapping up. "You fucking listen to me. It's identical. Identical to the one I designed. Isabella knows," he said, his eyes locking onto mine, pleading. "I showed her my sketches."
"What? I don't remember that," I said, my mind racing. Sketches? When the fuck did he show me sketches?
"I did," he insisted, his voice desperate. "Damien was in Cuba, we were standing right here, don't you remember?" he sighed, the fight draining out of him.
"Oh, yeah, sorry," I said, a flicker of my old sass returning. "I wasn't paying attention. I wanted to get in your pants." A ghost of a smile touched Jacob's lips, but it vanished as quickly as it came.
"Wait, the sketches were gone," he said, his eyes widening in dawning horror. "I remember now. I wanted to show you brother, and they were nowhere to be found." Jacob sighed, the weight of the world settling back on his shoulders.
"I really don't know anything about it," I said, my voice firm but a tremor of fear ran through me. This was bad. This was corporate espionage-level bad.
"Wait, Dad. What are you doing here?" Damien asked, his voice filled with shock.
I turned to the door, my heart hammering against my ribs. And there he was. Gordon Lancaster. Tall, imposing, and dressed in a suit that probably cost more than my car. He stood in the doorway, his presence sucking all the air out of the room, his cold eyes sweeping over the three of us. Oh, fuck.