Our Secret Summer(19)

This girl.

“I was going to suggest we start over and introduce ourselves the proper way, but no, I don’t think that will help. Besides, you knew who I was this whole time…”

“I didn’t know you were Dolores’s grandson.”

“But you knew I was your boss. Care to apologize?” I ask with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

“No,” she says in a pretty tone with a mocking smile tacked on for good measure.

“Still, maybe we should try for peace.” I hold out my hand, and she stares down at it like she’s afraid. “It’s just a hand.”

Her green eyes flare when they meet mine again. “I know that.”

Then she clasps it tightly, like she’s trying to mangle my fingers. It doesn’t work. Her hand is tiny. She’d need a grip of steel to actually hurt me. Her failure only worsens her mood.

“Are you going to tell people who I am?” she asks, dropping my hand and setting her scowl in place again.

“Is it really that big of a secret?”

She turns away and gives me her proud profile. “Yes. It is to me. I’m just trying to have a normal summer here as Elle, not Isabel.”

So that’s the explanation for why she’s here working in one of my nightclubs when we both know she doesn’t need the money or the headache. Her family ranks on every list around the world for influence and wealth. She could be lounging in Ibiza’s most luxurious resorts. But she wants to feel normal? Is that really it?

“Do you have a college degree, Elle?” I ask, trying to glean more pieces of the puzzle.

She lifts her chin in stubborn defiance. “Hugo already interviewed me. If you want to know, ask him. Though I doubt he even remembers. He didn’t care about anything so long as I had a decent—”

“Isabel.” I say her name like a reprimand, and she takes it as one.

Her shoulders stiffen before she replies, “Undergrad from Berkeley. MBA from Stanford.”

How? She looks so young. She has high, round cheekbones and smooth, tan skin. Especially now, with most of her makeup gone, she seems so innocent.

“Did you graduate high school when you were twelve?”

“I’m twenty-six. That’s not so young. What are you?” She tilts her head and narrows her eyes like she’s trying to guess the exact year. “Fifty-eight?”

“Encantadora.”

Charming.

Her mouth quirks up in a private smile before she bites it down. She thinks she’s funny.

“Just so I understand, is this conversation about work or something else?”

“Work.”

She rolls her eyes. “Good. I’m off the clock and I’m going home. I would say it was a pleasure meeting you, but…” She shrugs lightly and gives me a laughing look.

“Let me have your bag and I’ll walk you.” I told her friends I’d get her home, but even if I hadn’t, I refuse to leave her side just yet. “You live in staff housing?”

“Yes. It’s close, only five minutes. Don’t bother.”

“The bag.” I open my hand for it. When she doesn’t immediately pass it to me, I add, “It’s obviously heavy. You keep messing with it.”

She swallows and looks down at it like she’s embarrassed. “Yes, well, I have my clothes and makeup in here. And I wasn’t sure what shoes I wanted to wear tonight so I brought two options, and snacks, of course…”

“Sí, of course,” I mock.

“Here. Take it.” She relents suddenly. “I’d love to see you carry a silly pink bag down the street, actually.”

The pink bag doesn’t offend me. I grip it and wave for her to lead the way. We start to walk, and she thinks she’s going to take the street side until I nudge her over and take her place. There’s not a lot of traffic out at this time of night, but I’ve seen some idiots careen around these corners before.

She shoots me daggers. “You could have just asked me to move instead of shoving me over.”

“I didn’t shove you.” Then, to make peace, I add, “I’ll work on it.”

“I highly doubt that,” she grumbles under her breath.

For a short time, we walk in silence. She has to hurry to keep up with my pace. I’d imagine my height seems daunting and I could slow down to make it easier for her to stroll alongside me, but the sooner I get her home, the better. This entire situation feels charged, like it’ll go up in flames at any moment. We’re better off staying quiet, but Isabel doesn’t get the memo.

“Just so you know, it’s perfectly obvious you’re one of those people—men, namely—who gets away with everything.”

I shoot her a sidelong glare. “Why do you think that?”

Those green eyes have been studying me since we met, and something tells me she’s come up with quite a few theories about me in the last ten minutes.

“Well, for starters, there’s the way you look.”

Oh, I’d love to hear this.

She sees my amused smile and shakes her head. “We’ll gloss over that. You obviously already know. Besides that, there’s the money and the status and the fact that you clearly enjoy lording over Ibiza like some tyrannical king.” She ignores my crushing look, completely unbothered by it, in fact. “And the way you were up there on the balcony tonight looking down on all of us peasants at your feet—you must get off on it, huh?”