of the time difference, or that he would probably wake Chrysander, he punched in the number and waited impatiently for the call to go through. He spared a brief moment of guilt that he would also be disturbing Marley, Chrysander’s wife, but hopefully he would pick up the phone before it wakened her.
“This better be damn good,” Chrysander growled in a sleepy voice.
Theron didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Who the hell is Isabella?” he demanded.
“Isabella?” There was no doubt as to the confusion in Chrysander’s voice. “You’re calling me at this hour to ask me about a woman?”
“Tell me…” Theron shook his head. No, Chrysander wouldn’t be unfaithful to Marley. Whatever this woman was to Chrysander, it must have been before he met Marley. “Just tell me what I need to know in order to get rid of her,” Theron said impatiently. “I’ve a letter here informing you of her progress, whatever the hell that means, and that she’s graduated successfully.” Theron’s lips thinned in disgust. “Theos, Chrysander. Isn’t she a bit young for you to have been involved with?”
Chrysander exploded in a torrent of Greek, and Theron held the phone from his ear until the storm calmed.
“I do not like your implication, little brother,” Chrysander said in an icy voice. “I am married. Of course I am not involved with this Isabella.” And then Theron heard Chrysander’s sharp intake of breath. “Bella. Of course,” he murmured. “I’m not thinking clearly at this hour of the night.”
“And I repeat, who is this Bella?” Theron asked, his patience running out.
“Caplan. Isabella Caplan. Surely you remember, Theron.”
“Little Isabella?” Theron asked in surprise. He hadn’t remembered her at all until Chrysander mentioned her last name. An image of a gangly, preteen girl with ponytails and braces shot to mind. He’d seen her a few times since, but he honestly couldn’t conjure an image. He remembered her being shy and unassuming, always trying to fade into the background. She’d been at his parents’ funeral, but he’d been too consumed with grief to pay attention to the young woman. How old would she have been then?
Chrysander chuckled. “She’s not so little anymore. She will have just graduated. Was doing quite well. Intelligent girl.”
“But why are you getting a report on her?” Theron asked. “For God’s sake, I thought she might be a former mistress, and the last thing I wanted was her causing trouble for Marley.”
“While your devotion to my wife is commendable, it’s hardly necessary,” Chrysander said dryly. Then he sighed. “Our obligation to Bella had temporarily slipped my mind. My focus of late has been on Marley and our child.”
“What obligation?” Theron asked sharply. “And why haven’t I heard of this before?”
“Our fathers were longtime friends and business partners. Her father extracted a promise from our father that if anything should ever happen to him that Isabella would be looked after. Our father preceded her father in death, so I assumed responsibility for her welfare when her father also passed away.”
“Then you should know that, according to this letter, she’s arriving in New York two days from now,” Theron said.
Chrysander cursed. “I can’t leave Marley right now.”
“Of course you can’t,” Theron said impatiently. “I’ll take care of it. But I need details. The last thing you need right now is to be saddled with another concern. New York is my responsibility. I’ll count this as yet another problem I’ve inherited when we traded offices.”
“Bella won’t be any problem. She’s a sweet girl. All you need to do is help her settle her affairs and make sure her needs are provided for. She doesn’t gain full control of her inheritance until she’s twenty-five or she marries, whichever happens first, so in the meantime Anetakis International acts as the trustee. As you are now the New York representative of Anetakis, that makes you her guardian of sorts.”
Theron groaned. “I knew I should have bloody well made Piers take over the New York office.”
Chrysander laughed. “This will be a piece of cake, little brother. It shouldn’t take you long at all to make sure she’s settled and has everything she needs.”
Isabella Caplan had no sooner made it past the airport security checkpoint when she saw a man in a chauffeur’s uniform holding a sign with her name on it.
She held up a hand in a wave and made her way over. To her surprise, two other men stepped forward to flank her. Her confusion must have showed because the chauffeur smiled and said, “Welcome to New York, Ms. Caplan. I’m Henry, your driver for today, and these gentlemen are from Mr. Anetakis’s security detail.”
“Uh, hi,” she said.
“I’ve arranged for someone to collect your luggage from baggage claim,” Henry said as he herded her toward the exit. “It will be delivered to the hotel shortly.”
Outside, one of the security men held the limousine door open for her then got in after her, while the second climbed into the front seat with Henry. Privacy wasn’t in the cards, and what she really wanted to do was wilt all over her seat.
Isabella leaned back as the limousine pulled away from the passenger pickup area en route to Imperial Park, the hotel owned by the Anetakis brothers. Chrysander had arranged a suite anytime she visited New York, not that it had occurred often.
This trip had been planned as nothing more than a brief stopover on her way to Europe, a fact she’d apprised Chrysander of in her correspondence. All of that had changed the minute she’d received a terse missive from Theron Anetakis informing her that he was now overseeing her affairs, and he would meet briefly with her in New York to make sure she had everything she needed for her trip abroad.
He didn’t know it yet, but her trip was a thing of the past. She was going to stay in New York…indefinitely.
The limousine pulled up in front of the hotel and ground smoothly to a halt. Her door opened, and the security guard who’d ridden in front extended his hand to assist her out. Once inside the lobby, she was ushered immediately to her suite, bypassing the front desk altogether.
Within ten minutes, her luggage was delivered to her room along with a bouquet of flowers and a basket filled with an assortment of snacks and fruits.
If that wasn’t enough, just as she settled onto the couch to kick off her shoes and catch her breath, another knock sounded. Grumbling under her breath, she went to open the door and found another hotel employee standing there. He extended a smooth, cream-colored envelope.
“A message from Mr. Anetakis.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Which Mr. Anetakis?”
The young man looked discomfited. “Theron.”
She smiled, thanked him and then closed the door. She turned the envelope over and lightly ran her finger over the inscription on the front. Isabella Caplan. Had he written it himself?
Experiencing a moment of silliness, she brought the paper to her nose, hoping to catch his smell. There. Light but
