“I was going to suggest we start over and introduce ourselves the proper way, butno, 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 asElle, 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 weretwelve?”
“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.”
