The Billionaire's Pretend Wife (Isabella)
Chapter 29 Twenty Nine

Since the owner of the shop had appeared, Isabelle had been stuck in a stupor. When he showed up, she had expected him to inquire what was going on, and she was curious as to how Jacob was going to engage with him.

Instead, when the man appeared, he immediately took their side before listening to his staff's explanations. What followed, him asking the staff to apologise and then firing them, even shocked her further. Not to mention him saying that they could shop whatever clothes they wanted for free. It was all so unexpected.

It wasn't until he left, after being curiously respectful towards Jacob, that she was able to snap out of her astonishment.

"What just happened?" she asked Jacob, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Jacob shrugged and shoved his hands into his trouser's pockets, looking relaxed. "I suppose he's really concerned about the store's reputation, so he solved the issue as quickly as he could."

She nodded, but couldn't help frowning too. It's true that the owner was concerned that his staff would ruin the store's reputation, but shouldn't he have been curious about what had happened? Also, wasn't offering them everything they wanted for free a bit of a stretch? "I can't believe he said we can take the clothes we want for free."

"He must be a very kind man," Jacob replied.

Kind? It was still business...

"Or maybe he didn't want to mess with you," she said. "You were so domineering, you sounded like the real owner of the store. If I didn't know you, I would think you are." To say that she was impressed with how he had stood up to the manager and demanded that he call the boss would be an understatement. At the end of it all, everybody looked intimidated by him. And when the assistants scurried away in shame after apologising, she felt that justice had been served.

"Was I convincing?" Jacob asked. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

"Very." She gave him a thumbs up. "You handled it very well."

He laughed and took her hand in his. "I was just putting on an act, otherwise they wouldn't have listened to me. Do you want to resume shopping now?"

"Yes, let's go!"

***

The two ended up choosing several outfits for each other, and this time around, the price tags weren't a deterrent. The assistants assigned to them by the boss were also super helpful.

They not only showed them the clothes they were interested in, but also gave input on the outfits, making suggestions on what would look good together. It happened that their initial assistant had been doing the bare minimum of her job.

At the end of it all, they left the store in high spirits and shopping bags loaded with new clothing. Since it was already evening, they decided to go to a restaurant to have dinner before heading home. Jacob saw that Isabelle was very happy, and it made him content. She ordered a lot of dishes and a bottle of expensive wine, insisting that they should celebrate the day. He didn't stop her-since they didn't spend any money at the store, she still had the cash she had meant to spend.

By the time they were done with dinner, she was not only quite full but also drunk. When it was time to leave, she insisted that she could walk, but when she got to her feet, she staggered and he had to catch her in his arms.

Jacob picked her up in his arms and carried her out of the restaurant as she slurred that she wasn't drunk. He couldn't help but chuckle at her drunken behaviour. Her face was flushed red and she could barely keep her eyes open, but she still claimed to not be drunk. He smiled when he remembered how during dinner, she had poured herself glass after glass of wine, saying that she had a high alcohol tolerance. When he emerged in the street, he found that Kevin was already there waiting with the car. When he had realised during dinner that Isabelle was getting drunk, he had sent a message to Kevin to ask him to come and get them. He knew that in her current state, she wasn't aware of what was going on around her and wouldn't ask questions about the car and driver. Even if she did, he would claim it was a hired car. Upon seeing them, Kevin hurried to open the backdoor. When Jacob got to him, he came to a stop and said, "I want you to inspect all the clothing stores of the Larson Group tomorrow and report to me. Investigate the staff secretly and report everything to me."

If there was any other staff member in any of his stores who behaved like the trio from that afternoon, he wanted to get rid of them as soon as possible. That would be a lesson to all other staff about the right conduct and how to treat customers when working for the Larson Group.

"Yes sir," Kevin agreed with a nod.

Jacob then gently placed Isabelle inside the car and got in after her. Kevin shut the door after them and climbed into the driver's seat.

As the car started moving, Isabelle stirred in her seat and reached for her coat lapels. "It's so hot," she mumbled, trying to get rid of her coat. She managed to pull her arms free, and the coat dropped to reveal the camisole she was wearing inside.

Jacob knew that it was the alcohol making her feel like that, since it wasn't hot in the car. He thought she must be feeling very uncomfortable and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "We'll get home soon," he told her, hoping to comfort her.

Isabelle writhed in his arms and then leaned against his chest, resting her head on his shoulder. "Too hot," she mumbled, still not relieved after removing her coat. Jacob made a mental note to never let her drink so much again if she ended up in such discomfort.

As she continued moving restlessly in his arms, her hand ended up on his throat, her fingers pressing against his Adams' apple. He froze and looked down at her, her action catching him by surprise. As watched her face closely, she moved her hand, caressing his throat and not making a move to let him go. Was she still in her drunken stupor, or was she doing this consciously?

His breath quickened the more she clung to him. Her chest was pressing against his own, and he couldn't ignore how her soft feminine flesh felt against him. With her head on his shoulder, the sweet fragrance of her hair assaulted his nostrils, seeming stronger than even the scent of the wine she had imbibed.

He knew that if he continued holding her like that, he wouldn't be able to stop the desire that was building in him. He reached up to pull her arm from him, but just then, she brushed the back of her fingers across his throat and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck firmly.

At the same time, a low sound like a moan slipped past her lips, and he abandoned his attempt to salvage the situation. There wasn't a need to-he was sure she was doing it consciously. And who was he to disappoint her?

His self-control broken, he bent his head towards her face and pressed his lips against hers. When he began moving his lips gently, she did the same, kissing him back. With her response, he became even more certain that she had taken the initiative to get close to him. All he could think was that she didn't need to put up a drunken show to get him to kiss her if that's what she wanted all along.

Placing one hand beneath her chin, he angled her head to change the angle of the kiss, allowing him to kiss her deeper. Her soft lips gave in beneath his demanding ones, and he felt like he could keep at it until morning. Her upper body completely relaxed into his, and when she moaned right after, he thought she too must be enjoying the kiss as much as he was.

He himself was starting to feel hot, and he wondered whether he too should remove his coat. He was definitely wearing way too many layers compared to her camisole.

If only they were somewhere else and not in a car. The amount of passion running through his veins could not be released in a simple kiss, no matter how hard he kissed her.

He wanted to feel her skin under his touch, her body beneath his. And he wanted to hear her make those sweet moans of hers over and over again until they were stuck in his head like a symphony.

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