Isabel watched me with curiosity and maybe even a little fascination, as if discovering something new about me that she appreciated. “A superhero in Armani ties.”
I hesitated. “Except, I’m not always very heroic to those I rescue.”
“They never are,” Isabel waved a hand and picked up her fork.
“Aren’t they?”
“No. Most of the time, superheroes are arrogant and dismissive and they almost always think they know best. Thesureway to win.” She shrugged. “But most importantly, they learn a valuable lesson at the end.”
She was spot on until the lesson at the end part. I bit the tip off a breadstick and then pointed it at her. “You watch too much television.”
Isabel tossed her head back with laughter. “I’m not kidding. It’s a Hollywood formula. You’ve seen it. The hero always makes the wrong judgment of how to stop the villain because of…let’s use the example ofrash decisions…because he didn’t stop to listen to his knowledgeable—but not as powerful—sidekick. Who typically ends up being right, because of something ourherowas not seeing to begin with.”
I listened with amusement to her analogy. There was a grin on my face that I couldn’t suppress, no matter how hard I tried. “So, I’m no hero after all?” I tried to sound disappointed, even though I never believed I was for a second.
She sat up and continued with a hint of enjoyment. “Oh no no, you are still very much the hero. You have to remember; without you—the one with the power to save others—in your case an excess of funds—there would be no one to save the victims of…the bigger fish of Manhattan.” She shrugged, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth. Which, all in itself, almost made me lose focus.
Dammit. I was doing it again;staringat her. I rarely found anyone that captivated me. And what the hell was it that she’d just said? Painting what I did as some necessary evil for all the good I do? I couldn’t figure out why it meant so much to me. I almost wanted her to say it again— the validation of my often ruthlessness.
It was rare for people to see me as anything other than a man who only saw dollar signs in his ventures.
9
ELLE
“So,I’ll stand by my word that I won’t ask you about your business dealings. But can I at least ask what you do and how you know so much about what makes up a superhero?”
I sighed, knowing full well that I needed to answer that question—and how strange it would be if I didn’t. Not to mention suspicious as hell.
I could do it. I could tell him that I worked for the firm that was hired to plan his friend’s anniversary party. And that if he had spotted me an hour earlier that night, he would have found me in black ankle pants with traces of powdered sugar on them, a fanny pack, my super worn but still oh-so-comfortable Toms and barely there makeup.
I could just tell him that, and something told me he’d probably get a kick out of it.
Yeah, out of you being a joke.
No. He’d find it hilarious. I was sure of it.
Yep, and he’ll probably share this “funny” story with his best bud—Donovan Hayes. And sure the Scott Weston I was having the pleasure of dining with might be one hell of a charmer, but who knew the real him behind it all?
The man I’d read about seemed like he could do some serious damage to my career.
Or…he could be the hero I hadn’t been waiting for.
Don’t be ignorant, Elle.
Even if I wouldn’t get fired for being caught out on the floor, I’d blow my whole “party-goer damage control” ensemble that will no doubt get around.My new colleagues would mock the hell out of me for months for my back up plan when things couldn’t be taken care ofoffthe floor.
“Vendor management,” I answered half truthfully.
“And what do you do with these vendors?
“Negotiate.”
His green eyes locked on mine with an unreadable expression. Then, a slow crooked grin began to spread across his face. “Spoken like a true businesswoman.”
“How’s that?”
“With little to no detail.”
