Chapter 28
Isabella flicked the pen onto the conference table, the sharp click slicing through the room. She rose without sparing Joanna a glance and plucked the gold‑trimmed internship résumé straight out of HR's hands.
"Don't want to be in my team?" She said. "If Ms. Jordan thinks working under me is beneath her, then this little office of mine clearly can't house such a divine presence."
Résumé in hand, she circled the desk and headed for the hallway without slowing her pace.
Joanna blinked, startled by how easily Isabella had agreed. "At least you know your place," she muttered.
As Joanna walked, she sneered sarcastically behind others, "Don't think those online cleanup campaigns fixed your reputation. In our world, money talks. People like you should know that by now."
Isabella didn't break stride. She walked straight to the executive suite at the end of the corridor and pushed open the door without knocking.
Joseph looked up from the stack of budget reports in front of him, a crease still between his brows. The moment he saw her, the tension in his face eased, softening something that rarely softened for anyone.
"Isabella? What happened?" He asked, already rising from his chair.
She stopped at his desk and let Joanna's immaculate résumé drop in front of him. "Your problem. You handle it."
Arms crossed, she sounded brisk, almost clinical—no jealousy, no drama, nothing for Joanna to grab onto.
"Ms. Jordan feels my divorce and my 'spotty credentials' make me unfit to teach her anything. My team is here to deliver designs, not babysit a spoiled heiress. Since she's clearly here for you, Mr. Miller, I'm returning her. Fully intact."
Joanna arrived just in time to hear it. She rushed forward, her expression flipping into wounded sweetness. She attempted to tug lightly at Joseph's sleeve.
"Mr. Miller, don't listen to her, I just don't think I can learn anything real from this woman. My dad said her reputation is terrible! I want to work with you. Can't you mentor me instead?"
"Get out." The words cut clean and ice‑cold, slicing off her last syllable.
Joanna froze. The charming President of Northstar Architecture—always polished, always gracious—now looked like winter carved into a man.
He didn't even look at her. He reached for the desk phone instead.
"Security to the executive office," he said. "And notify HR. Process Joanna Jordan's termination immediately. She leaves the building in three minutes."
Color drained from her face. "Mr. Miller? You can't fire me! My dad is one of your biggest investors! I only told her the truth, and you're kicking me out because of—because of her?"
Joseph set the phone down with a firm click. His gaze was level, unwavering. Joanna stumbled back a step.
"Since you mentioned your father, let me be perfectly clear." His voice stayed calm, but every word landed with weight. "Northstar Architecture has rules. Ms. Tudor is essential here—she's my lead designer. To insult her is to insult me and this entire firm."
"If your father is unhappy and wants to withdraw his investment, Legal will send the dissolution paperwork this afternoon. And if Northstar needs to cover the gap, I'll fund it myself. Now leave."
Security arrived, broad‑shouldered and impassive. They gestured toward the door.
Joanna's composure shattered. She stomped, crying as she fled down the hall.
Silence returned, broken only by the fading echo of her heels.
Leaning against the edge of Joseph's desk, Isabella watched without speaking. Something warm curled low in her chest—unexpected, startling in its gentleness.
There was no regard for the dignity of their long-standing family friendship, no indecisive weighing of interests, and even no use of disgusting excuses like "She's just a spoiled child, don't take it to heart" to gloss over the matter.
Joseph cut off all unwanted romantic advances and malicious rumors that could hurt her in the most straightforward and forceful way, right in front of the entire company.
James surfaced in her mind for an instant—how he had always expected her to swallow her pride, how he had let Charlotte intrude again and again until their marriage rotted through. He never chose her. Not truly.
But Joseph… with him, her dignity stood above every deal, every relationship, every dollar.
"You scared her off," she said, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. "Mr. Miller, your heart is made of stone. The girl practically floated in here dreaming about you. Aren't you worried you broke her heart?"
Joseph's expression cracked. A faint, unmistakable blush climbed the tips of his ears.
He cleared his throat, flustered. "Isabella, don't tease me. My focus is on design and work. And not everyone belongs at Northstar."
He hesitated, then met her eyes, something quiet and unguarded slipping through.
"Besides… how could I tolerate anyone disrespecting you in my own office? You know me. I protect what's mine."
The way he said 'you know me' carried a tenderness that brushed against something vulnerable inside her. Her smile softened, losing its edge.
The ambiguous atmosphere had just begun to brew in the office when it was abruptly and coldly cut off by an untimely phone ring.
Joseph's jaw tightened. He checked the caller ID and frowned. "The board. A conference call."
He hit speakerphone.
An elderly voice burst through, furious and sharp. "Joseph! Have you completely lost your mind?"