Semua Bab Entanglement: Falling for Dad's Bestfriend: Bab 1 - Bab 10

With only a duffel bag and the crushing weight of my stunning failure, I found myself alone in the driveway of my boyhood home when the taxi's engine quit. Three days ago I was Isabella Romano, a Wall Street analyst with a view of the corner office and an engagement ring that was worth more than the yearly pay of most individuals. Once again, I'm just Izzy, in financial disaster and embarrassment, creeping home like some pathetic cliché. My phone buzzed for what feels like the hundredth time today. An additional blocked number. Another vulture reporter, no doubt, keen to comment on the insider trading case that ruined my career. Although I was plainly too innocent to see the trap my own fiancé was laying for me, I was ironically too honest to be a part of the scheme that caused half of my company to fail. I can't get the irony out of my mouth. *Former fiancé* I can't stop thinking about it. In Manhattan, I saw Marcus tangled with my supposed best friend, Sarah, in the

Not much has changed with the Rusty Anchor. Sticky flooring, flashing neon signs, and inebriated construction workers numbing their sorrows with cheap whiskey are all still present. A great spot to vanish. I've been drinking Irish whiskey by the glass and attempting to block out the private investigator's statements for the past two hours. non-publicity-loving silent partners. What is meant by that? Could Dad be up to something? Is Dom here? I can't stop thinking about Dom's face when he almost kissed me, which is much worse. The warmth in his gaze. Again, my phone buzzes. Papa. Number six message: Where are you? I'm beginning to worry. I don't pay attention. “An additional round?” The bartender, who is Tommy?, gives me a look that is a mix of sympathy and worry. “Why not?” I proudly give him my glass while speaking in a barely audible slur. "There isn't really anywhere better for me to be." My cell phone rings. Father once more. I put it on voicemail, and it i

The voices were there before i even—like i knew something was off before i turned that damn corner. muffled but sharp, carrying just enough for my skin to crawl. vincent’s office door wasn’t even closed all the way, just this slit of light bleeding out onto that disgusting hallway carpet (why does carpet always look dirtier than it should? whatever, doesn’t matter). i slowed down like an idiot with the coffee in my hand like i had some business there.“…she’s been through enough.” vincent. his voice was low, but there was this cut in it, like paper sliced too fast.then dom. short, clipped. “i know she has. but you don’t—”and then—my name. like a stone dropping. izzy.Froze. just... locked. and then a chair scraped and my stomach went ice.vincent again. “you think i don’t notice? the way she looks at you?” and it sounded—accusing? warning? both. maybe jealous? no, not that. not vincent.dom stuttered. “i’m not—” and then silence that wasn’t silence, it was like it hit me in the ches

I didn’t just wake up with it like some neat plan, no it sat there all night in my head like static i couldn’t switch off. turned over, stared at the stupid ceiling till it was shapes and shadows and more shapes, and every time i thought drop it i could hear dom’s voice telling me the same thing and that just made me want to push harder. so fine. if he says leave it, i’ll shove it.by morning i’d decided what to wear like i was putting on armor, stupid armor, but it felt right. the skirt, shorter than i’d normally risk, soft grey that grabs my hips when i walk, blouse knotted up like i meant it as a dare. hair down, not too brushed, almost messy but not really. i looked in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize myself, like i was playing some role i didn’t even know the script for.I could’ve gone to dad’s site, predictable, too obvious. so i didn’t. instead i drove across town, midtown project, dom’s favorite, his baby or whatever, i don’t care, i just knew he’d be there. heat like a

It started with voices, low ones, the kind that slide under doors and up walls so you can’t help but stop and listen. i was halfway down the stairs, bare feet on the wood, and i could hear them before i even saw anything. my dad’s voice first—controlled, that steady tone he uses when he’s already decided something. dom’s came after, rougher, sharper, like a blade scraping against stone.“…not a good idea, vince.” that was dom, almost like a growl.and dad just—he didn’t even pause—“dom, i didn’t ask if it was a good idea. i told you she’s starting monday.”That sound, like chair legs dragging, impatient, frustrated. i froze on the step, fingers pressed so hard into the banister i thought they’d leave dents. dom again, more pissed this time: “you’re asking me to babysit your daughter in my office while i’m handling bids, deadlines, inspections—”and then dad cut him clean off. always does. “you’ve been running that office like a machine for fifteen years. one more set of hands isn’t go