Claimed (Diamond Tycoons 1)

“I’ll lay it out for them. But, Marc,” Hollister cautioned, “if you’re wrong and you’ve antagonized the largest newspaper on the West Coast—”

“I’m not wrong. We don’t deal in blood diamonds. We will never deal in blood diamonds and anyone who says differently is a goddamn liar.”

“We need to do more than threaten them,” Nic said into the silence that followed his pronouncements. “We need to prove to them that they’re wrong.”

“And how exactly are we going to do that?” Lisa asked. “If we don’t know who they’re getting information from, or even what that information is, how can we contradict them?”

“By hiring an expert in conflict diamonds,” Hollister chimed in. “By taking him up to Canada where we get our stock, letting him examine the mines we pull from. And then bringing him back here and giving him access to anything and everything he wants. We don’t have any secrets—at least not of the blood diamond variety. So let’s prove that.”

“Yes, but getting an expert of that caliber on board could take weeks,” Lisa protested. “There are barely a dozen people in the world with the credentials to sign off unquestioningly on our diamonds. Even if we pay twice the going rate, there’s no guarantee that one of them will be available.”

“But one is available,” Nic told her even as he cast a wary look at Marc. “She lives right here in San Diego and teaches at GIA. She could totally do it.”

Hell. He couldn’t say he was surprised—from the moment Hollister had suggested hiring an expert, Marc had known they would end up here. But that didn’t make it any easier to take.

“Dude, you look like you swallowed a bug,” his brother told him.

Yeah, that was pretty much how he felt, too, except worse. Because, no. He wasn’t calling her. He couldn’t call her. Not with their distant past and definitely not with what had just happened between them the night before. She’d laugh in his face. And if she didn’t...if she didn’t, she’d probably deliberately sabotage them. No, he wouldn’t put the future of his company in her hands.

He said as much to Nic, who rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Weren’t you the one saying we can’t afford to screw around with this? Isa’s here, she has the experience, and if you pay her well and get a sub to carry her classes, she’s probably available. It doesn’t get much better than that.”

“You should give her a call,” Hollister urged.

“Yeah, absolutely,” agreed Lisa. “I’d forgotten about Isabella Moreno being here in San Diego. I’ve met her a few times and she’s really lovely—we should totally get her. I can try to talk to her, if you’d like.”

Marc almost said yes, almost passed the buck onto Lisa to deal with. But he couldn’t. It would be a slap in the face to Isa—an even bigger one than he’d already delivered to her this morning—and he couldn’t afford that. Couldn’t afford to antagonize her when she might very well be the only thing standing between Bijoux and total ruin.

The irony of the situation was not lost on him.

“No,” he told Lisa harshly, after a few uncomfortable seconds passed. “I’ll take care of getting her on board.”

He sounded more confident than he felt. Then again, it wasn’t as if he had a choice. He couldn’t fail. Not now, not on this. His family’s business depended on it.

He would do whatever it took to convince Isa to take on Bijoux—and him.

Eight

Isa was in the middle of a cleaning frenzy, one that involved scrubbing down every surface in her house that Marc might have touched. She knew it was ridiculous, knew it had to be her mind playing tricks on her, but that didn’t matter. Not when she could smell him everywhere.

Inconsiderate bastard, leaving his dark honey and pine scent all over her house. She refused to acknowledge the little voice that whispered it wasn’t her house he’d left his scent on. It was her.

She’d made it through the entire space and was on her knees scrubbing the bottom shelf of her refrigerator when the doorbell rang. She nearly ignored it—it wasn’t like she was in the mood to talk to anyone. But when the ringing gave way to a loud and urgent pounding, she rushed to the front door and pulled it open. She lived in a good neighborhood, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t in trouble. Maybe they needed—

She froze as she looked straight up and into Marc’s narrowed eyes.

So not an emergency, then.

She slammed the door shut in his face before she could worry about what she was giving away by doing so. Then she sagged against it and forced herself to pull air into lungs that had forgotten how to breathe.

What was he doing here? When he’d walked out this morning, she’d been certain she’d never have to see him again—maybe only from a distance on the GIA campus. Had counted on it, in fact. No matter what she’d told herself, her feelings for him, for what had happened last night, were still too raw for her to face him again.

Not yet, she told herself as she worked to get her ragged heartbeat under control. Preferably not ever, but definitely not yet.

Except Marc hadn’t gotten the message. The pounding on her door started again, along with his voice, low and urgent, ordering her to “Open up, Isabelle.”

It was his use of her formal first name that got her brain functioning again.

She thought about ignoring him. About walking into her bedroom at the back of the house and turning on music, the TV, the shower—anything to drown out the sound of his voice. But doing so would make her look even more ridiculous, more pathetic, than she already did. And that was saying something.