Cherish Hard
Page 27

Trevor laughed, his perfect white teeth gleaming in his perfect square-jawed face with its perfect salon-tousled blond hair. He was like a living, talking, walking magazine model. It was creepy. “Are you going in to see Jacqueline?” he asked. “I was hoping to have a word with her.”
“I don’t know if she’s in yet,” was all Ísa said. She had no desire to know what Trevor wanted to discuss with Jacqueline, though she could guess. Trevor had been angling for a senior position at Crafty Corners ever since his father Oliver had the good fortune to marry Jacqueline.
While Oliver Jones was a somewhat vague professor who, oddly enough, seemed to “get” Jacqueline in a way none of her previous husbands had, Trevor Jones was very much a smooth operator out to line his pockets. He’d quickly figured out that getting into Jacqueline’s good books was in his best interest.
Unfortunately, good-looking, charming men were Jacqueline’s weak point.
Except in business, of course. Nothing distracted Jacqueline in business. Not even “a nice piece of ass.”
Trevor had, so far, managed to walk the fine line between being a charming man whose company Jacqueline enjoyed and a calculating operator who wanted to wheedle his way into her business empire. Ísa wondered how long that would last. Jacqueline might have a weak spot for charming men, but she also had a razor-sharp intellect—sooner, rather than later, she’d figure out that Trevor was muscling in for a piece of the family pie.
That might’ve intrigued Jacqueline had Trevor been up to her standards, but Trevor wasn’t even on Jacqueline’s radar as someone she’d employ. While he was apparently a competent lawyer, he wasn’t a shark who could rip the competition to shreds without ever losing his smile. Jacqueline’s entire legal team was made up of sharks—which occasionally made for interesting office politics, but when it counted, the sharks worked together as a team.
They’d chew Trevor up and spit him out without so much as pausing in their work.
“I hear Jacqueline’s made you acting vice president.” Trevor’s smile was so dazzling that she half expected to see a glint off one pearly white. “Congratulations.”
Ísa settled the strap of her satchel and gave him the same tight smile as earlier, hoping he’d get the message. “It’s only for the summer,” she said. “I’m sure she’ll find someone permanent during that time.”
“Oh, don’t be modest, Ísalind.” Trevor’s smile rang hollow. “We all know you’re a genius. You’ve got your mother’s instincts.”
Now what the hell was he up to? “Um, thanks,” she muttered. “I’d better go in. There’s a lot to do.” She had an evening class to teach tonight, the reason why she’d arrived at Crafty Corners so early. She wasn’t about to do extra hours for Jacqueline, but neither did she plan to shirk on her part of the blackmail bargain.
Trevor fell into step beside her. “I don’t want to keep you. I know how important this is to Jacqueline. She looks to you as her successor you know.”
That was hardly a state secret.
“I want you to know,” Trevor added in a tone that dripped sincerity, “that if you ever need a hand, I’m here. Being thrown into the vice presidential position at only twenty-eight has got to create an immense amount of stress on you. I’ve got the legal know-how to give you backup anytime you need.”
It was a good thing no one from Crafty Corners’ in-house crack team of sharks was present to hear Trevor’s offer—she wouldn’t have given him high odds of survival in that situation. “Thanks,” she said, deciding to take his words at face value. It was possible he was genuinely trying to be helpful and nice. Maybe she shouldn’t think of him as a blackhearted villain just because he checked all the boxes.
Probably she should feel bad about mentally naming him Trevor the Creeper. But just like ivy crept over a wall until it smothered it, Trevor was on a campaign to creep all over Jacqueline and Crafty Corners.
He touched Ísa on her lower back.
She elbowed him hard enough in the gut that he spluttered out an “oof” of breath. “You shouldn’t startle women,” she said calmly instead of apologizing, because she was Jacqueline Rain’s daughter and her mother had taught Ísa never to apologize to men who were attempting to force their way into her space.
Every so often, when meetings or conferences or networking events didn’t interfere, Jacqueline had been one hell of a mom.
Still a little breathless, Trevor held up his hands. “Sorry, my fault,” he said with a dental-commercial-worthy smile. “I was just going to suggest we should have dinner together. Our parents are married, and yet I feel I don’t know you at all. How about it, stepsister?” He made the last word sound vaguely incestuous.
Ew.
“I’m sure we’ll get to know each other over the summer,” she said rather than answering his invitation. “Mother’s been talking about having more family dinners.” Actually, it was Ísa who’d been talking about family dinners—but she hadn’t been thinking of Trevor at the time. She wanted her mother to pay attention to her other two children.
Catie, the child to whom she’d given birth.
Harlow, the son whom she hadn’t birthed but into whose life she’d blasted at a critical point.
When Trevor opened his mouth again, Ísa beat him to the punch. “I’ve got to head up and make a start on work. Have a great day, and I hope you manage to catch up with Jacqueline.” She deliberately made sure the door locked behind her after she entered.
With it being so early, there was no one else around to let him in.
And oh, oops, she’d developed temporary hearing loss and couldn’t hear him knocking.
Devil Ísa grinned.
After reaching her office, she got immediately to work. It was about an hour and fifteen minutes later that she got up and went to see if Ginny had arrived; she needed the other woman to find some records for her.
Ginny’s computer was up and running, but Ísa couldn’t spot her.
Detouring to the staff room, Ísa grabbed a mug of coffee before wandering back into her office. A little potted plant sat in the center of her desk. She blinked, glanced over her shoulder—and saw Ginny coming back from the photocopier.
“Did you see where that potted plant came from?” she asked her assistant, her heart thumping triple time.
“Apparently it was dropped off at reception by that hunky blue-eyed contractor. Looks like he wants to make nice with the boss.” Mischief in her expression, she added, “James said he was wearing khaki work shorts and a sand-colored T-shirt. There was also mention of a thigh tattoo.” She pretended to melt into her chair. “I wish I’d seen him. Such a dishy sight to start off the day.”
Cheeks threatening to blaze, Ísa made some vague statement before shutting herself in her office. And surrendering to memories of the first time she’d seen adult Sailor—he’d been wearing his work shorts then too, a gorgeous, sweaty man who looked good enough to lick.
Ísa shivered as she made her way to her desk. The potted plant was another miniature cactus, this one tiny round balls with a thin “fur” of spikes. Tiny yellow flowers erupted from the tips. It was adorable.