Page 43 of High-Priority Asset

Dutch: Can I swing by after dinner? Go for a walk with you and McQueen.

She smiled and texted back.

Yes.

Uncle Emilio cleared his throat across the table from her, drawing her gaze. “Please, Isa. Shut that thing off while you’re with me,” he said, frowning.

Not only did her uncle find the use of personal devices during meals rude, but he was paranoid about some hacker eavesdropping through it to steal his corporate secrets. He was so cautious that when they met for dinners, it was always in private. Tonight, he’d arranged for the entire rooftop of a glamorous French bistro with spectacular views of the skyline to be theirs. A bodyguard stood at either end—Rodrigo, who she’d known for years, and Max. She’d only encountered him a few times, but he’d risen in position quickly and flirted with her whenever her uncle wasn’t within earshot. A third guard she didn’t recognize, named Lucas, stood at the entrance to the stairs.

She powered down the phone and put it back in her purse. “Sorry.”

“As I was saying, I’m planning to hold an exclusive silent auction at my compound for select pieces. I want you to organize everything and oversee the event from here. Handle the invitations, decor. Ensure the art is displayed properly with a floor plan and description of setup for Rodrigo. See to the menu with one of my vetted caterers, the music. Et cetera, et cetera.”

“Don’t you want me to come down and be there for the event?”

“No, that’s not necessary. I don’t want to intrude on your life. I know how you hate that.”

Guilt poked at her. Her uncle had his faults. He was domineering and ran the family with a tight grip, but he only wanted her happiness. “I want to help you in any way. For how many people and when?” She took another bite of her smoked octopus with vadouvan and fennel citrus salad, humming her continued delight at the explosion of flavors on her tongue.

“An intimate gathering. Fifty guests. Sunday.”

“You’re joking. I can’t organize an event that would be up to your standards in four days.”

“I never joke, and I have the utmost confidence in your abilities. You could do this blindfolded, and I need someone I trust implicitly to see to things.”

“Will your guests be able to attend on such short notice?”

“I have an exceptional item of great value that I’ll be selling. One-of-a-kind. They’ll clear their schedules for me. Have no fear. And you’ll make the event happen for me. Yes?”

It wasn’t really a question, even though he made it sound like one. “Yes.”

Their waitress came out onto the rooftop and served the second course. Loup de mer, a Mediterranean sea bass, with white asparagus and couscous with squid ink paired with a glass of Sancerre. She tasted the wine, a sip to be polite and avoid an interrogation. The last time they had dinner, and she didn’t drink, he’d accused her of being pregnant.

“So, what’s the young man’s name?” her uncle asked after the waitress left. “The one you want me to meet.”

“Horatio Haas, but he goes by Dutch.”

“Hmm. What does he do?”

Debating whether to tell him the truth, she tried the fish. Buttery, silky, delicious. The wine complemented it perfectly with a hint of honeysuckle and flint. “He’s between jobs right now.”

A lie, once discovered, would only anger her uncle. She’d learned that the hard way as a teenager after her father died and she went through a rebellious phase. Better to be honest and mitigate the cons rather than incur his wrath.

Uncle Emilio shook his head. “I assume you pay for everything?”

“No. He hasn’t let me pay for anything.”

“Yet.” He wagged a finger at her. “Give it time.”

“Tío, he’s the greatest guy. Truly. He makes me happy.” She could envision a real future with Dutch. He had nothing to hide, was trustworthy, reliable. Unbelievably hot.

“What’s so great about him?” Her uncle cocked his head to the side, waiting.

Mentally, she ran through the long list, deciding which thing would win over her uncle and sway him to give Dutch a chance. “I was stung by a bee the other day,” she said, omitting the part about slimy Chad. “My allergic reaction was fast. It was bad—I’m not going to lie.”

“Dios mío, Isa, why didn’t you tell me?” He put his fork down. “I would’ve had you flown home to San Diego and ensured you were properly cared for while you recovered.”

Where he would’ve smothered her to death with love. “That’s precisely why I didn’t want you to know. My home is here. In Malibu with my dog.” With Brenda. With Dutch.