pile.
Sophie frowned. “What deal?” Was
he reneging on the Boston cream pie?
“The apartment. There’s no way
we’re going to go through with it now. Right?” He cast his husband a raised
brow.
Darren nodded. “Oh, totally. He
can stick his apartment in his incredibly cute backside.”
Both Wayne and Sophie shot him
dark looks. Darren held up his hands. “What? He’s a total jerk, and there’s no
way we’re taking that apartment, but you can’t deny that his butt is
fantastic.”
She gave a soft laugh knowing
that it was true. “You guys are taking that apartment.”
“Soph, no,” Darren replied.
Wayne squeezed her shoulder. “We
don’t have to, Sophie. We’ll find something else.”
“At that price? Hardly. And
anyway, if you’re in there then Henry can’t make more money on it. Think of it
as sticking it to him for me.” She poked a finger into Darren’s chest. “And not
a word from you.”
Wayne’s gave her a skeptical side
glance as he poured them each another glass of wine. “Okay then. To sticking it
to Henry Medina!”
“Hear, hear!” Sophie cheered,
raising the glass to her lips.
***
“I never should have had that
last glass of wine.” Sophie groaned. Her reflection seemed to agree. She looked
terrible. There were dark smudges under her eyes and her skin was a little
pale. Not to mention the fact that her head was throbbing like a particularly
difficult tango beat.
She, Darren, and Wayne had run
through almost every romantic comedy the couple owned and two, maybe three,
bottles of Shiraz. She had awoken that morning sprawled on their couch, still
in her clothes from yesterday. As usual, she was the first one up. Even
hungover, Sophie was an early riser. She’d left her friends a note and gone
home to shower and change.
And then she’d found herself
here. At the closed studio. The place was empty and with all of the lights off
it seemed sad and forlorn. Thankfully, the reporters were no longer crowding
the studio’s entrance. They must have gotten the message that she wasn’t going
to talk.
She sipped her water and took a
deep breath. She’d always done her best thinking while rehearsing so she
cranked up the classical music and began moving through her yoga stretches. She
ignored the world outside her window and just tried to concentrate on herself.
There had to be some way to clear
her name. But no matter how she wracked her brain, no solution came. Except
Henry’s. And there was no way she was going to agree to spend any more time in
that man’s company. Whatever he claimed, he’d meant to push her away when he
handed her that money. She wasn’t about to let him off just because it was
inconvenient for her.
A light knock interrupted her
reverie. She let out her breath and cautiously approached the back door. It was
Darren, surely, or the more persistent of the reporters. But the quickening of
her heartbeat said maybe it was Henry.
But when she pulled the door open
it wasn’t any of those people. Sophie blinked up at the tall form of Carl
Barrett, her mouth hanging open. His cropped blond hair was thinning on top and
the slight paunch of his belly pressed against the grey button-down he wore
tucked into his slacks. But his blue eyes twinkled from their web of lines with
the humor that was his trademark.
“I know,” he said, mouth twisting
wryly. “I get that reaction a lot from women. Can I come inside before you
throw yourself at me? I’m not really big on public displays of affection.”
Sophie hiccuped a surprised
laugh. “Uh. Come in, Mr. Barrett. You know we’re closed, right?” He’d come to
the back door, which seemed to indicate he did. But the news was full of
stories about the odd stunts he pulled. Maybe this was one of them? Was he
looking for a headline too? “Also, I’m really not an escort. So if you’re here
for that...”
Carl chuckled. Heat splashed
Sophie’s cheeks as he stepped past her into the studio. “I am aware of both
Sophie frowned. “What deal?” Was
he reneging on the Boston cream pie?
“The apartment. There’s no way
we’re going to go through with it now. Right?” He cast his husband a raised
brow.
Darren nodded. “Oh, totally. He
can stick his apartment in his incredibly cute backside.”
Both Wayne and Sophie shot him
dark looks. Darren held up his hands. “What? He’s a total jerk, and there’s no
way we’re taking that apartment, but you can’t deny that his butt is
fantastic.”
She gave a soft laugh knowing
that it was true. “You guys are taking that apartment.”
“Soph, no,” Darren replied.
Wayne squeezed her shoulder. “We
don’t have to, Sophie. We’ll find something else.”
“At that price? Hardly. And
anyway, if you’re in there then Henry can’t make more money on it. Think of it
as sticking it to him for me.” She poked a finger into Darren’s chest. “And not
a word from you.”
Wayne’s gave her a skeptical side
glance as he poured them each another glass of wine. “Okay then. To sticking it
to Henry Medina!”
“Hear, hear!” Sophie cheered,
raising the glass to her lips.
***
“I never should have had that
last glass of wine.” Sophie groaned. Her reflection seemed to agree. She looked
terrible. There were dark smudges under her eyes and her skin was a little
pale. Not to mention the fact that her head was throbbing like a particularly
difficult tango beat.
She, Darren, and Wayne had run
through almost every romantic comedy the couple owned and two, maybe three,
bottles of Shiraz. She had awoken that morning sprawled on their couch, still
in her clothes from yesterday. As usual, she was the first one up. Even
hungover, Sophie was an early riser. She’d left her friends a note and gone
home to shower and change.
And then she’d found herself
here. At the closed studio. The place was empty and with all of the lights off
it seemed sad and forlorn. Thankfully, the reporters were no longer crowding
the studio’s entrance. They must have gotten the message that she wasn’t going
to talk.
She sipped her water and took a
deep breath. She’d always done her best thinking while rehearsing so she
cranked up the classical music and began moving through her yoga stretches. She
ignored the world outside her window and just tried to concentrate on herself.
There had to be some way to clear
her name. But no matter how she wracked her brain, no solution came. Except
Henry’s. And there was no way she was going to agree to spend any more time in
that man’s company. Whatever he claimed, he’d meant to push her away when he
handed her that money. She wasn’t about to let him off just because it was
inconvenient for her.
A light knock interrupted her
reverie. She let out her breath and cautiously approached the back door. It was
Darren, surely, or the more persistent of the reporters. But the quickening of
her heartbeat said maybe it was Henry.
But when she pulled the door open
it wasn’t any of those people. Sophie blinked up at the tall form of Carl
Barrett, her mouth hanging open. His cropped blond hair was thinning on top and
the slight paunch of his belly pressed against the grey button-down he wore
tucked into his slacks. But his blue eyes twinkled from their web of lines with
the humor that was his trademark.
“I know,” he said, mouth twisting
wryly. “I get that reaction a lot from women. Can I come inside before you
throw yourself at me? I’m not really big on public displays of affection.”
Sophie hiccuped a surprised
laugh. “Uh. Come in, Mr. Barrett. You know we’re closed, right?” He’d come to
the back door, which seemed to indicate he did. But the news was full of
stories about the odd stunts he pulled. Maybe this was one of them? Was he
looking for a headline too? “Also, I’m really not an escort. So if you’re here
for that...”
Carl chuckled. Heat splashed
Sophie’s cheeks as he stepped past her into the studio. “I am aware of both
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