9
PARKER
Isabella was drunk and she still couldn’t stop talking about work. It was hilarious and a little adorable. She would run her hands through that red-gold hair of hers so often that it had gotten a little messy. Her blue eyes were soft and unfocused. With her elbow propped on the table, she had her cheek resting on her open palm, but she was almost lying flat from how far her elbow had slid away from her body.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to start your own business?” she babbled, giggling when she looked at me. “Of course, you do. You’ve started your own business. The only difference is that you’re doing so well, you’re getting ready to sell, while I’m still fighting my way to the top. No one will ever buy my company, do you know that? I’m twenty-eight and I’m building something that will only ever belong to me. The only thing that will ever be truly mine.”
She hiccupped, waving a finger at me. “I’m not drinking anytequinafor that one. It’s a fact about me, even if it is about mymob.”
Tequila and job, I corrected her mentally, but I agreed with the principle. She’d definitely had enough to drink. Looking around, I waited until I caught our waiter’s eye and signaled him for the check. Once he nodded, I turned my attention back to her. “Well, I’m thirty-three. When I was twenty-eight, I didn’t think the gym would still be going in five years. If it hadn’t been for my brother’s investment, I honestly don’t know if I’d have gotten to this point. I like to think I would’ve, but there’s no way of knowing for sure. Five years is a long time. Who knows? By the time you get to my age, you might be gearing up to sell as well.”
“Noooooo.” She drew the word out, eyes wide. She lifted her head to shake it before bringing it back to her palm. “I’ll never sell. I told you, it’s all mine. Just mine. I wouldn’t be able to sell, anyway, because no one else can do for my company what I can.”
She lifted her free hand to tap her temple, but her finger ended up somewhere near her ear instead. “It’s all in here. You have a regimen you can sell. A method that, now that you’ve perfected it, anyone can implement anywhere. What I do is all about me and the way I think about each brand. Lots of other people do what I do, but no one does it the same way. Does that make sense?”
“Sure,” I said. “You’re like a lawyer. There are thousands of them, but each one approaches a case in their way depending on how they see it.”
“Exactly.” She hiccupped again. “You get it. If I ever sell, my business becomes just another consulting firm. It won’t bemineanymore. They’ll get my client lists and all that, but if I’m not there, it’s just not the same.”
It was obviously a big deal to her that her business washers, which made me wonder why having something that belonged to her was so important. I was dying to ask, but I wouldn’t feel right doing it when she wasn’t at her best. I didn’t want to take advantage of the state she was in.
What it had made me realize, however, was that there was a lot more to her than met the eye. Obviously, her rules, her drive, and her severe adherence to professionalism without any space for jokes or even just small talk came from somewhere. I supposed it usually did, but with her, I wanted to know why.Where did it come from?
“What do you do when you’re not working?” I asked while we waited for the check. I needed to get her home safely, but we might as well keep talking while we were still here.
She frowned. “When I’m not working? I eat. I sleep. I play with my cat. Oh, and I go grocery shopping sometimes. Other times, I just have stuff delivered.”
Snapping her fingers, she let out a heavy breath. “To be honest, I’m usually thinking about work while I do all those things, which, in my line of work, means that I’m still working because I have to think a lot to come up with ideas for my clients.”
“So, basically, when you’re not working, you work?” I teased. “Don’t you have any hobbies?”
“Sure, I do.” She rolled her eyes. “I knit. Have I told you that? I taught myself how to knit as a way to decompress. It works. You should learn how to knit.”
My brows lifted. “I’d be willing to give it a try, but I doubt I’m going to be very good at it. My creativity lies elsewhere.”
Like in the bedroom, but I didn’t say that. I doubted she’d have appreciated it much, even if it would’ve been a joke.Well, sort of.
There sure as hell were a lot of creative things I’d have liked to try withherin the bedroom, but this wasn’t the time or place to think about them. I had to walk soon, and it’d be terrible to help her out of here while sporting a hard-on. In general, I didn’t really care much about what people thought about me, but with her being in the state she was in, someone would probably call the cops on me if they thought I was taking her somewhere to have my way with her.
Just the thought of it made bile rise in the back of my throat. At least it knocked my thoughts about all things sexual way down and killed any chance of popping a boner, even if my mind had briefly ventured to the things I wanted to do with her.
“What are your hobbies?” she asked as the waiter delivered our check. I paid the bill and added the pile of ones to the billfold when I was done.
“My hobbies?” I asked, nodding my thanks to the waiter. “Shit. There’s a lot. Fishing, hiking, climbing, surfing, scuba diving. Pretty much anything outdoors, I’ll give it a try. A friend of mine has a place near a lake, and I’ve been learning how to wakeboard when I’m there.”
“You really like to exercise, huh?” Her brow furrowed before she motioned at herself. “These overly voluptuous curves haven’t grown themselves. I’ve worked hard at maintaining them. Can’t work out too much. What if I get all skinny and sexy?”
While I could tell it was her idea of a joke, I wasn’t about to touch that statement with a ten-foot pole. If I got started on how sexy I found her exactly the way she was, someone was definitely going to end up calling the cops on me when I got her out of here.
“We should get you home,” I said instead. “Where do you live?”
“I’m not telling you that.” She scoffed. “Just point me in the direction of the street, and I’ll get a cab.”
“The street is more than twenty stories that way.” I pointed down. “I’m not leaving you to your own devices to get home. Besides, how are you comfortable telling a stranger where you live but not me?”
“The stranger will be the cabbie and he’ll need to know my address to drive me there. You…” She trailed off, her brow puckering as she gave her head a shake. “I don’t know why you’d want to know where I live.”
“To get you home safely,” I said. “Come on, drunkels. Let’s go.”