Taming My Sugar Mommy
Chapter 57: After Hours

Chapter 57: After Hours

The penthouse was quiet when Isabella arrived home, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she moved through the dimly lit space. She dropped her keys in the crystal bowl by the door, the soft clink echoing in the stillness. The city sprawled below her floor-to-ceiling windows, a tapestry of lights against the night sky.

She kicked off her shoes and poured herself a glass of whiskey, neat. The amber liquid caught the light as she swirled it, then took a generous sip, welcoming the burn. Her conversation with Seraphina replayed in her mind, each word, each promise, each potential pitfall.

A high-profile partnership. A distraction.

But what kind? And with whom?

She moved to her desk and opened her laptop, the blue light illuminating her face as she began searching for any vulnerabilities in her board members’ portfolios, any leverage she might have overlooked. An hour passed, then two. The whiskey was long gone, and frustration had settled in its place.

Her phone lit up beside her. 11:42 PM. Liam.

Isabella stared at his name on the screen, debating whether to answer. With a sigh, she picked up.

"It’s almost midnight," she said by way of greeting.

"And yet you answered on the first ring," Liam replied, his voice carrying that hint of amusement that always irritated her. "Couldn’t sleep either?"

"I’m working."

"Of course you are." A pause. "Find anything useful?"

Isabella pinched the bridge of her nose. "Nothing actionable. You calling for a reason, or just to check if I’m having a crisis of conscience?"

Liam chuckled. "First, I don’t think you’re capable of those. Second, I’m calling about the Westbrook proposal. Just got their revised terms."

"At midnight?"

"International clients. Different time zones. You know how it goes."

Isabella leaned back in her chair. "And? Are the terms better?"

"Marginally. They’re still pushing for exclusive distribution rights, but they’ve dropped the five-year lock-in clause."

She hummed thoughtfully. "Send it over. I’ll review it tomorrow."

"Already forwarded it to your email."

"Efficient as always."

"Someone has to be."

She could practically hear his smirk through the phone. "Careful, Liam. That almost sounded like criticism."

"Me? Criticize the great Isabella Ashworth? Never."

Despite herself, she felt the corners of her lips tugging upward. "Your sarcasm is noted."

"Good. I’d hate for my efforts to go unappreciated."

A comfortable silence settled between them. In the background, she could hear the faint sound of what might have been a sports commentary.

"Are you watching basketball at midnight?" she asked, unable to hide her disbelief.

"Replay of the game I missed this afternoon. Some of us actually enjoy things outside of boardroom drama, you know."

"How pedestrian of you."

"There’s beauty in the mundane, Isabella. You should try it sometime."

She rolled her eyes. "I’ll add it to my schedule. Right after ’surrender company to hostile board’ and ’become completely irrelevant.’"

Liam’s tone shifted slightly. "Is that what you think will happen? Without this deal with Seraphina?"

Isabella hesitated. "It’s a possibility I can’t afford to ignore."

"There are other ways—"

"We’ve been through this," she cut him off, then softened her tone. "I appreciate your concern, Liam. I do. But I need you on my side here."

"I’m always on your side," he replied quietly. "Even when I think you’re making a mistake."

She felt a twinge of something—guilt, perhaps, or maybe just fatigue. "I know."

Another pause, longer this time.

"So," Liam finally broke the silence, his tone deliberately lighter. "Did Marcus give you the silent treatment all the way home? He looked ready to stage a mutiny when you made him drive through Eastwood."

Isabella couldn’t help but laugh. "Marcus is paid well enough to keep his opinions to himself."

"Unlike some of us."

"You share your opinions for free. It’s one of your less endearing qualities."

"Oh? And what are my endearing qualities, then?" His voice held a teasing challenge.

Isabella took a sip of water, buying herself time. "I’ll let you know when I discover them."

Liam laughed, the sound warm and familiar through the phone. "You wound me, Ashworth."

"You’ll survive, Campbell."

She could almost see him shaking his head, that half-smile he wore when she was being particularly difficult. The image was oddly comforting.

"You know," he said after a moment, "for someone who claims to be working, you’re spending an awful lot of time on this call."

"I’m multitasking."

"Right. And what exactly are you working on at," he paused, presumably checking the time, "ten minutes to midnight?"

Isabella glanced at her laptop screen, filled with financial reports and board member profiles. "Nothing that can’t wait until morning."

"Isabella Ashworth, postponing work? Should I be concerned?"

"Don’t get used to it."

"Wouldn’t dream of it." He paused again. "You should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow."

"Is that concern I detect?"

"Professional interest. Can’t have you falling asleep during the Westbrook meeting."

She smiled despite herself. "I’ve never fallen asleep in a meeting in my life."

"There was that time in Dubai—"

"That was jet lag, and you know it."

"If you say so."

Isabella glanced at the city lights beyond her window. "Fine. I’ll sleep. But only because I was planning to anyway."

"Of course. Wouldn’t want you thinking I influenced your decision."

"Heaven forbid."

Liam’s voice softened slightly. "Good night, Isabella."

"Good night, Liam."

She ended the call and set her phone down, suddenly aware of the tension that had eased from her shoulders during their conversation. With a sigh, she closed her laptop and stood, stretching muscles stiff from hours of sitting.

As she moved through her nightly routine—removing makeup, brushing teeth, changing into silk pajamas—she found her thoughts drifting not to Seraphina or the board, but to Liam. His concern. His stubbornness. The way he could irritate and comfort her in the same breath.

Her phone chimed with a text as she was settling into bed.

Liam: Forgot to mention. Wear the blue suit tomorrow. The one from Milan. Westbrook’s VP is a sucker for Italian tailoring.

Isabella stared at the message, torn between annoyance at his presumption and appreciation for his attention to detail.

Isabella: Are you styling me now?

Liam: Someone has to. Your fashion sense is almost as dangerous as your business decisions.

She typed back quickly: Says the man who wore mismatched socks to the Peterson merger.

Liam: They were DELIBERATELY mismatched. It’s called fashion, Isabella. Look it up.

She found herself smiling at her phone screen like an idiot.

Isabella: Good night, Liam.

Liam: Blue suit. I mean it.

She put her phone on the nightstand without responding, but as she turned off the light, she made a mental note to have the blue suit pressed in the morning.

Sleep came easier than she’d expected, her dreams mercifully free of board meetings and financial oversight. Instead, she dreamed of city lights and car rides, of shared silences and the comfort of familiar arguments.

Morning arrived with ruthless punctuality, sunlight streaming through the gaps in her curtains. Isabella woke to the sound of her alarm and the immediate weight of the day ahead.

Her phone showed several notifications: an email from her assistant confirming the day’s schedule, a news alert about market fluctuations, and—most notably—nothing from Seraphina.

As she showered and dressed, selecting the blue suit from Milan without acknowledging to herself why, Isabella’s mind returned to its default state of strategic planning. By the time Marcus arrived to drive her to the office, she had outlined three contingency plans in case Seraphina’s solution fell through.

Liam was waiting outside the building when the car pulled up, two coffee cups in hand. He opened the door before Marcus could get out.

"Morning," he said, sliding in beside her and handing her one of the cups. "Blue suit. I’m impressed."

Isabella accepted the coffee, taking a sip before responding. "Don’t read into it. My other suits were at the cleaners."

"Liar."

She glanced at him over the rim of her cup. "Careful, Campbell. I haven’t had enough caffeine to tolerate your smugness yet."

Liam grinned, looking infuriatingly well-rested. "Then drink up. Big day ahead."

As Marcus pulled away from the curb, Isabella found herself studying Liam’s profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He caught her looking and raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

She shook her head, turning her attention back to her coffee. "Nothing. Just wondering how you always manage to look so..."

"Handsome? Brilliant? Intimidatingly competent?"

"I was going to say ’awake,’ but now I’m reconsidering the entire compliment."

Liam laughed, the sound filling the car with a warmth that somehow made the day ahead seem less daunting. "Too late. I’m taking it as a compliment anyway."

Isabella rolled her eyes, but couldn’t quite suppress her smile. "Westbrook meeting at nine. Board update at eleven. And somewhere in between, we need to discuss Seraphina’s proposal when it comes in."

Liam’s smile dimmed slightly at the mention of Seraphina, but he nodded. "Ready when you are."

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