Venice Nights (His Submissive #4.5)(15)
Author: Ava Claire

I chewed on my lip, not a fan of the lingering doubt that clouded my head. I would like to think the answer to that question was yes, but Jacob had built a ‘no access’ zone around Isabella. I did not know anything about their past or why he would hire some drill sergeant to watch over a home that he rarely came to. Or why her word was law in the first place.

I braced my hands on the door, leaning closer.

“Second chance…if—”

“Your job is facile!”

I winced as Isabella’s voice shrilled into my ears, coming through loud and well, loud. She must have realized that she was shouting, or maybe Jacob gave her a look because she quieted down, fragments of her defense, harder to grasp.

“Job…control…guest—”

“I swear if she calls me a guest one more time…” I covered my mouth, the words coming out louder than I intended. I took a step back, heat prickling my skin. It had been a wise move disengaging from the door because I would have spilled in the office, crashing to the floor. The door was pulled open, and the vitriol oozing form Isabella was proof that she had heard me—and hoped I would fall on my face too.

I cleared my throat, pushing aside the last remnants of my embarrassment. I pulled on a mask that would make Jacob proud.

My voice was calm and measured, just as non-confrontational as the neutral walls of Jacob’s office. “Is everything all right in here?”

I knew the answer was no, but I would not admit that I had all but put a cup against the door to eavesdrop. My eyes swooped around the room, taking in the cold and efficient furnishings that filled Jacob’s office—dark couches, a black and white painting on the wall, an impressive mahogany desk—and the increasingly impressive man behind it.

His eyebrow perked at my abrupt entrance. Blanka looked like a woman standing in front of a firing squad. Isabella glowered like she was the one holding the gun.

“No, everything is not all right.” Isabella plowed toward me, and it took every ounce of guts in me not to back up.

She stopped a few feet from me, then cast a look at Jacob like she expected him to banish me from the room. When he remained silent, her mouth twisted in disgust.

“This is a private matter. Haven’t you shoved your nose where it doesn’t belong enough for the day?” When I didn’t budge, she reached out and poked me with her finger. “You’ve already cost Blanka her job—”

“Excuse me?” I snapped, the cool facade crumbling. “So breakfast would have been a few minutes late—it’s not like Jacob was biting his nails, watching the clock. And I told you it was my fault.”

“Oh, no one denies that bambina,” she huffed with a bitter laugh. “If only you had minded your business and remembered your place.”

“Which is where?” I butted in, planted firmly in front of her.

“Where all the other guests belong,” she said acidly, her dark eyes wild with anger. “In the bedroom.”

My mouth flew open, the flush of embarrassment and indignation painting my face bright red. “You’ve got a lot of nerve—!”

“That’s enough.”

Jacob’s two words were more effective than all the ones me and Isabella were throwing at each other. We turned back to him; the billionaire planted behind his desk. His eyes glowed, and I knew he was tired of us all. He looked at me first, then flicked his eyes at Isabella.

“For the time being, we all have to live under the same roof.”

Isabella sighed dramatically. “Jacob, I just think that—”

“Do not interrupt me,” Jacob growled, his voice low and dangerous. She fell silent, crossing her arms against her chest. “I want to know what happened. From the beginning.” I opened my mouth to fill him, but he finished with, “From Blanka.”

Blanka swept her bangs from her eyes, stealing a glance at me and Isabella before squeaking. “Me?”

“Yes.” Picking up on the tension, and the silent threat Isabella was sending Blanka with her eyes, Jacob added, “Please speak freely. Your job is not at risk.”

I relaxed, mentally pumping my fists. Yay!

Despite Jacob’s assurance, Blanka was not completely at ease. She had Isabella hate-glaring at her left, and Jacob’s unreadable face in front of her. I moved to where she stood, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

She looked at me, chin trembling, and I gave her a nod. “It’s okay.”

Her big eyes clouded with emotion, and she swallowed slowly.

She turned back to Jacob. “I began breakfast as you requested,” she began, her voice stronger. “Miss Montgomery came down and we started talking, and I lost track of time. Ms. Moretti came in, and since I was late getting you your breakfast, she fired me.” Blanka stopped, wiping her palms on the front of her pants. “That’s what happened, Mr. Whitmore.”

No one replied for a long moment, and I batted my gaze from Jacob, who gave nothing away, to Blanka, who was losing confidence with the lack of response, and ended with Isabella, who was chomping at the bit. Itching to say something.

Screw it.

I took a step toward Jacob. “It was totally my fault. Blanka shouldn’t be fired because of me. She can’t be.”

My emboldened response was contagious, and Isabella came forward too. “Can’t be? Who’s in charge here? You or Jacob?”

I wanted to go back and forth with her until the ridiculousness of her actions sunk in, but I ignored her and looked to Jacob. He was the final say. All I could do was hope he would make the right choice.

Jacob rose, walking to the front of the desk. He perched on the edge, looking at Blanka first.

“You still have a job, but please be mindful of the requirements set forth by Isabella and myself.”

Blanka and I let out a single sigh of relief. Just as I was about to hug her, Jacob interrupted.

“Leave us, Blanka.”

My stomach dropped.

Uh oh.

Blanka left without a second glance, closing the door behind her. I had a feeling she would not have her ear pressed to the door, listening for what happened next. If she were smart, she was putting as much distance between herself and ground zero as possible.

Jacob’s eyes shot back and forth between Isabella and me. “I want a truce.” When my face scrunched in confusion, he elaborated. “I want you both to shake hands, sing Kumbaya, whatever you need to do to make this right.”

“You can’t be serious,” Isabella said with a haughty flick of her wrist, dismissing the notion. “She has undermined me from the moment we met—”