“Aaron!” The call from above, sharp and loud, cut her off. “Aaron,” the voice repeated. “There’s a spill.”
Aaron glanced upward and sighed. Just like she was no witch, he was no storybook prince. Not even an ogre. Just a character in the background, with no hope of changing his circumstances.
“I’m being summoned,” he said. As if she didn’t know. Foolish. He shook his head before coughing a little, willing the right words to leave his mouth. “Good luck to you, Miss Lira. I’m sure you will find someone right for your purposes.”
Her gaze, bold and bewitching, searched his for what felt like a stretch of time, and his breath hitched in anticipation.
But the spell had broken.
She stepped back from him, giving another formal curtsy. “Thank you. I apologize for taking so much of your time.” The words were stiff and her bearing straight as she walked past him with a dignity worthy of a princess. Worthy of more.
He would regret this later, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying one last time. “Miss Lira?”
“Yes?” She paused, her back still to him, her hand on the iron banister.
“You have the opportunity to ask for more than most people can even imagine. Please don’t squander it. Especially as us minor characters can never expect anything close.” And before she could respond, before she could force more truths from him, he turned on his heel and stalked deeper into the cellar.
Back where he belonged.
Shabbat came and went, as did most of Sunday morning. Isabelle’s eyes swam as she read the same scrawled note in her father’s file for the fourth time. A reminder to verify that cargo was limited to spices before approving a potential client. Their company worked not to support certain trades. Admirable, provided she didn’t think too hard about the interconnected webs of business. How profit wasn’t always direct.
And how none came without a hefty price, paid mostly by those who never reaped its rewards.
“Miss Lira?” A male voice echoed from the door, and she nearly jumped from her seat. Tipping her chin to collect herself, she blinked back up at the well-dressed man standing there with slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes, hands folded in front of him.
She held back a gasp. “Mr. Berab. I didn’t know you would be visiting.” Isabelle rose to acknowledge Roger, the youngest of her father’s business partners. One of the two seeking her hand.
“We were on our way to a meeting and thought we’d attempt a brief word.” Before she could question his word choice, he stepped through the threshold to reveal the bane of her existence: his oldest brother, David.
The man who had betrayed his friendship with her father when he’d given her an ultimatum over their shared business: marry a manheapproved to act in her father’s stead—preferably one of his brothers—or watch as he divided the company, taking her father’s clients with him.Good luck if you choose that route, she remembered him scoffing.How many gentiles do you think will deal directly with a Jewish woman?
This day was just becoming better and better.
“Hello there, Miss Lira.” David gave a small bow. “Always a pleasure,” he added, the words tight. He strode in front of his younger brother, thankfully followed by another taller, slightly older man, with sharp eyes and gray hair.
Isabelle’s chest relaxed at the sight of Pena, her father’s former valet and companion. The once jovial man used to perform puppet shows and sneak her sweets, but since her father’s death, he had taken to growling at anyone who dared to cross her.
Not that she minded his behavior where the Berabs were concerned. Though, she grumbled to herself, she’d eventually need to make peace with them if business was to survive.
Even if they’d been nothing but condescending and hostile toward her from the moment she’d announced her intention to personally assume her father’s place.
“A very brief word.” Pena coughed into his hand, his eyes flashing. “As I said, Miss Lira is quite busy.”
“As am I.” David glared, then turned toward her. “Which is why I am here. Do you have the Agha file?” he demanded. As if her possession of the material were a crime.
With as much calm as she could muster, she pulled the soft leather-bound volume from the desk. “Naturally. My father negotiated the relationship.”
“And the contract it yielded includes a clause I drafted—and now need to reference for a new and potentially much more important arrangement,” David snapped, swiping the file from her hand, oblivious to the rather dangerous step forward Pena took toward the two. She shook her head at him because his defense, while appreciated, was very much not needed and would only add fuel to this fire.
“This should have been at the office,” David continued, still oblivious, and blood raged through her veins at his ungratefulness.
“I needed to review it,” she snapped back, rising to her feet. “And I work better here.”
“At the expense of the company,” David retorted.
How dare he? She balled her hands into fists. “I would never do anything to hurt the company my father built. Never.”
“You have al—” David started but was cut off by his younger brother.
