Chapter 49 Calling the Wrong Man
Yosef's work style was nothing like Armando's. Armando lived and breathed his job, every waking hour consumed by it. Yosef, on the other hand, understood the art of balance.
Elizabeth sat on the couch, phone in hand, idly flicking through a game.
The bedroom door stood open.
Inside, Yosef and Lana were together, the epitome of his idea of balance. Elizabeth, his secretary, waited on the couch for him to finish before they headed to the evening's gala. It was, she thought with a wry twist of her lips, a level of dedication few could match.
Yosef had a cigarette between his lips, his sharp, cold gaze cutting through the dim light as he bent to pick up his trousers from the floor. Two slender arms curled around his, Lana's voice a soft murmur. "Stay tonight?"
Her eyes roamed over the hard lines of his body, hand lifting to touch.
He buckled his belt, catching her wrist and moving it away. His voice was rough. "Not tonight."
Faint marks traced his defined chest. He stepped out of the bedroom. "Elizabeth, clothes."
Elizabeth glanced at her watch. Time was still on their side.
She rose, picked up the suit and trousers from the couch, and handed them to him. Even faced with the sight of his physique, her pulse remained steady.
He leaned close, eyebrow arched. "Are you even a woman?"
Her gaze didn't flicker.
His eyes dropped to her collarbone, framed perfectly by the black mermaid gown she'd chosen for the gala. Her smile was half-amused, half-challenging. He exhaled softly, took the clothes, and went to change.
Tonight, she would be his date.
They stepped outside together. Dusk had settled, the sky deepening as the car pulled away toward the venue.
Elizabeth's hand rested lightly on his arm as they entered the gala hall.
Across the room, Timothy lounged in a corner, one hand draped over the couch arm, the other holding a cigarette, his expression bored.
Matthew's gaze shifted to the door. "Yosef's here… and that woman looks familiar. Isn't that Elizabeth?"
Timothy's eyes lifted lazily, noting Yosef and Elizabeth. He took a slow drag, posture loose and cold.
Elizabeth smiled at Yosef's side, the slit of her gown revealing flashes of her legs with each step. Heads turned.
"That's odd… why is she with Yosef?" Matthew stood, a smile tugging at his mouth. "I'm going to ask."
Armando had arrived too, Sherry on his arm. Sherry's eyes narrowed at the sight of Elizabeth, her laughter mingling with others. This was a gathering for the upper tier. Elizabeth was divorced—who was she leaning on to be here?
Armando's gaze brushed past her, catching her mid-conversation, focused and engaged. He looked once, then away, unnoticed.
Elsewhere, Emma finally spotted Timothy in the corner. She lifted her gown and crossed to him, sitting close, lips pursed. "Mr. Robinson, I've been looking everywhere for you."
He gave a one-word answer, his gaze steady, detached.
Emma's smile brightened as she held out her palm. A necklace lay in her hand. "Mr. Robinson, could you help me put this on? I can't manage the clasp."
He looked at her, jawline sharp, eyes pale and indifferent. She flushed. "Please?"
"You could ask Yosef." He gestured toward the other side of the room. "They're over there."
Matthew had already learned Elizabeth was now Yosef's personal secretary. He pointed toward Timothy. Elizabeth's gaze followed, finding him with Emma beside him.
Yosef led her over, greeting Timothy with respect. "Mr. Robinson."
Timothy nodded.
Emma's smile was sweet. "Yosef. Ms. Penrose."
Elizabeth returned it. "Miss Sutter."
Yosef sat. Elizabeth remained standing behind the couch, unobtrusive. Secretaries didn't sit in this circle.
Matthew's eyes flicked to the necklace in Emma's hand. "Why not put it on?"
"You came over too quickly. I was just about to ask Mr. Robinson," Emma said, voice warm and teasing. "Too bad."
Matthew chuckled. "Do I have the honor of helping you?"
"No." Emma shot him a look, tugging Timothy's sleeve. "Mr. Robinson, please?"
Elizabeth listened to Emma's coaxing, glancing toward Timothy. His collar was open, his cigarette now crushed in the ashtray. "I'm going to the restroom," he said.
Emma only shrugged. "Mr. Robinson really doesn't know how to play along."
The words carried an easy familiarity.
When Timothy left, Elizabeth leaned toward Yosef. "I'm going to say hello to Armando."
His eyes narrowed. "Alright."
She took a glass of red wine from a passing tray and crossed to Armando. Her smile was vivid. "Mr. Johnson. Miss Scott."
Sherry caught the faint scent of perfume on Elizabeth—identical to the one she'd smelled on Armando's clothes days ago. Her stomach tightened.
"Miss Scott, you look lovely tonight." Elizabeth's eyes swept over Sherry. "That dress suits you."
Sherry had only recently given birth; her body hadn't fully recovered. The gown's loose fit still couldn't hide the lack of definition at her waist. Elizabeth's appraisal and compliment felt like a subtle sting.
Elizabeth clinked her glass with Armando's, downed it. "We'll talk later."
She moved away, hips swaying, back to Yosef.
The gala was in full swing. Elizabeth had drunk more than usual, sometimes taking Yosef's place in toasts.
She decided to step outside for air.
Yosef noticed the flush in her cheeks. "You can wait in the car."
She nodded. "I'll do that."
The parking lot was empty. Her heels clicked steadily on the pavement.
She rubbed her temple, scanning for his car. The rows blurred.
In the shadows, Timothy leaned against a car door, eyes cold. He heard the approach of heels and turned. Elizabeth's steps faltered; she was unsteady.
She squinted, stopping. Yosef's car should be nearby. She hesitated, then walked on—she just wanted to sit down.
A hand slid around her waist, firm and unyielding.
Between two cars, Timothy held her, gaze lowered.
Her face was flushed from wine, beauty sharpened by intoxication. He studied her for a moment.
"Elizabeth." His voice was low.
She blinked, recognizing him. "What is it?"
He lowered his head.
A breath escaped her, fingers curling in his shirt, her neck arching. He pressed her back against the car.
Security blocked the lot's entrance, others checking nearby vehicles.
"Arm…" She started to say Armando's name but couldn't finish.
Her voice—soft, blurred by alcohol—made him freeze, the next move halted.
Timothy laughed, cold and sharp.
She'd mistaken him for Armando.