Chapter Fifteen

Nick’s fingers drummed the steering wheel as he drove to the office. Why would Heather answer his cell phone and then neglect to give him the message? She didn’t know about his personal involvement with Sophie.

Although his sister was convinced his office manager had designs on him, he’d doubted it was true. She’d always been professional. Well, until he’d caught her ogling him. What could possibly be her motivation?

The situation pissed him off. He didn’t need drama.

Entering the office, he saw that Heather’s office door was closed. Impatient and still irritated, he barked out her name.

She opened her door immediately and smiled at him. “Good morning. How are you today?” When she noticed his stern expression, her smile faded. “Is something the matter?”

“You tell me. Come into my office and sit down. We need to talk.”

He strode into his office without looking back, assuming she would be right behind him.

“Nick?” she asked as she sank into the chair. “Did something happen with the hospital contract?”

“No. How many times have you answered my cell phone?” He wouldn’t waste time on small talk. She’d tell him what the hell was going on.

“Um, what do you mean?” She shrank back into her seat.

“The question is straightforward. I’ll repeat it for you. Have you been answering my cell when I’m not around?”

“Well…I did answer it a few times. I thought that it might be something important regarding a deal or the status of the Pritzker Prize and didn’t want us to miss out on anything.” She leaned forward in her seat.

“A few times? How many? Who called? For how long?”

She shifted back again and took a moment to smooth her hands down her skirt—and apparently gather her thoughts. “Let me think. Maybe just once or twice? I know it wasn’t anything important.” Her gaze flicked around the office, looking anywhere but at him.

“Heather.” At the end of his patience, he ground his teeth. How had he never noticed she could be evasive? What else had she lied about?

“Oh, okay, now I remember.” She laughed nervously. “Your tenant called the other day. Ms. Barnes? It must have slipped my mind. Why? Was there a problem at the cottage?”

“I’ve never known anything to slip your mind before, but now I’m starting to wonder. Regardless, you had no right to answer my cell phone, and if I find you doing it one more time, I’m going to have to let you go.”

Hell would have frozen over at the ice in his tone.

“I’m so sorry. I was in your office looking for some plans, and it was just instinct. Don’t you think firing me over answering your phone is a little extreme?” The color drained from her cheeks.

“No, I don’t. You know I value honesty and privacy above everything. Is there anything else you need to share with me?” There damn well better not be.

She shook her head.

“Okay. If you weren’t so great at your job, you’d be packing up your office right now. And if Sophie Barnes calls on my office phone, you page me immediately. Are we clear?” He shuffled papers on his desk, signaling her dismissal.

She glanced down at her clasped hands, but not before he caught a glimpse of her expression, which looked like she’d sucked on a lemon. Perhaps his sister’s instincts were correct about Heather. How had he missed it before? What else was she hiding underneath the perfect-office-manager cloak she’d been wearing?

Nick didn’t believe she’d forgotten to pass along the message. Why had she answered the phone and failed to give him Sophie’s message? She’d referred to her as his tenant, so she didn’t appear to have a clue they were a couple. Was she purposefully deceiving him?

In the eighteen months she’d worked for him, she’d been conscientious and forthright. It still didn’t add up. Her connections for aiding him with the Pritzker were critical.

Shit, he couldn’t lose the Pritzker when he was so close. He’d worked for it for years. But he had to trust whoever worked for him. Now he wasn’t sure about her.

“Nick…”

“You can go.” He kept his gaze fixed on the file in front of him.

Heather left the office, closing the door softly behind her.

He redirected his focus back to work.

****

Sophie hummed as she organized her desk. The phone rang with an unfamiliar number, although she recognized the New York City area code.

“May I please speak with Sophie Barnes?” a woman’s voice inquired.

“This is Sophie.” She didn’t recognize the voice.

“Hi, it’s Melissa Martin, from college. You sent me an e-mail last week?”

“Hi. So great to hear from you.” A frisson of excitement shot through her. Her former classmate was now a literary agent in New York. She’d e-mailed her for guidance and advice about finding an agent and a publisher.

They chatted, with Melissa sharing insights on effective ways to contact agents, get her book noticed, and avoid burnout. Her firm wasn’t currently accepting fiction projects, but she said she’d be happy to help steer Sophie in the right direction.

Melissa informed Sophie she’d need to have her book completed prior to querying agents.

“I’m happy to critique your letter when the time comes, but can I be honest with you? I’m not sure what prompted you to quit your job before writing your book, but do you have any idea how competitive it is? Last year, I received thirty thousand query letters and only took on four new clients. It’s cutthroat.”

Sophie sucked in a deep inhale as her heart sank. Four out of thirty thousand? Those numbers sounded like finding a needle in a haystack. Was she dreaming?

Melissa’s discouraging tone echoed her mother’s words, her coworkers’ cynicism, even Kelly’s questioning of the wisdom of quitting her job before she’d finished the book and found an agent.

Damn it.

“Well, I was at a crossroads and had some money saved. So I figured I’d put all my effort into writing this first book without the distractions of my full-time gig.” Melissa didn’t need to know all the sordid details.

“I understand, and I’m not trying to dissuade you. But if I were you, I’d definitely try to get your job back if you can. The economy is tough right now, and I hate to think of you unemployed and unpublished.”

“Thanks. I appreciate your opinion. I’m still set on my path for now. I’ll send you an e-mail when I’ve finished and have a query together. Thanks again.”

Sophie powered the phone off and crumpled onto the couch. Damn, damn, damn. Zack leapt up into her lap, butting his head against her hand, demanding to be petted. She smooched his furry head and huffed out a disappointed breath.

In a perfect world, Melissa would’ve asked for her query or a few chapters, called her back, and immediately offered her a million-dollar contract. Ah, the fantasy world. But the next person who advised her to return to her day job would get an earful.

Doubters could go jump in a lake.

Hell, she’d questioned herself since she was a child. Vague memories of her father’s leaving them and her mother’s subsequent despair. Somehow, she’d taken it upon herself to be the perfect child—straight A’s, captain of cheerleading, excellent college, all of it. None of it appeased her mother’s critical nature nor brought her father back to them.

No more. She’d live up to her own expectations. Follow her own dreams. Stop trying to please her mother, her boss, her stupid cheating troll of an ex.

She was a writer. Damn it. She would write her book.

Time to plant her butt in her chair and walk the walk.

After a few hours, she stood up to stretch out her legs. The words were flowing amazingly well, thank you very much. At the click of the mailbox on the porch, she headed out to fetch the mail. She smiled up into the cloudless blue sky, filled with happiness.

Rifling through the stack of mail, she saw the envelope from Healthy Woman. Odd. She’d received her final paycheck, transferred her insurance, and wasn’t planning on writing any freelance articles for the foreseeable future. She tore the letter open, and shock filled her.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. Elizabeth, her former boss, had written to let her know she was considering moving out of state for another job opportunity and she wanted Sophie to return to San Diego and take over the editor-in-chief position.

Sophie had assumed the masthead position would be the pinnacle of her publishing career. No longer. She’d buried her true desire for years, spending time editing others’ work and writing nonfiction articles while craving an outlet for her creativity. If she caved at the first job opportunity, she’d become one of the “if only” people. If only I hadn’t had to work full-time, I’d have written a book. If only I’d had time…

Not a chance.

She dialed the phone number by memory.

“Sophie. Tell me you’re going to be my replacement so that I can feel good about leaving.” Elizabeth answered without preamble.

“Hi, Elizabeth. Slow down.” She couldn’t help but laugh at her former boss’s excitement. “No, I’m not going to take your job, I’m sorry. I am flattered that you thought of me, but I’m committed to taking this time to write my book and I’m not going to give up.” And she’d really hated her job.

“Oh shoot, I thought you might be bored already and dying to come back to the business world. You’re such a great editor and such a people person. Everyone misses you here.”

“Thanks for saying that. I do miss you guys, but I love writing.” Funny, Elizabeth hadn’t been so free with compliments when she’d worked for her.

“You can still write on the side. And if you get published, then you can consider quitting and living the high life. Aren’t you worried about finances now that you’re on your own?”

Sophie gritted her teeth. Thanks for the vote of confidence with the “if” instead of “when” regarding her publishing chances. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not taking the job. If at the end of this year I haven’t accomplished what I want, I’ll reconsider.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to come out so harshly. The job opportunity won’t be here then—the time is now. I respect your decision, but you can’t blame me for trying to win you back.”

“Thanks. I appreciate your confidence.” Was she crazy to turn this down? She could write on the side, right?

Wrong.

“Okay, fine, I’ll accept your answer. But there is something else I need to tell you. Your ex came by here a few weeks back demanding that I give him your new address. He seemed determined to find you. Of course, I didn’t give it to him. I was actually surprised to see him after everything that happened. He’s not bugging you, is he?”

Her hand tightened on the phone. Elizabeth, like everyone else in her life, was aware of Doug’s infidelity and the wedding that never was. She squirmed at the thought of her ex barging into her former workplace. Hadn’t he embarrassed her enough?

“No. Well, not really. He did call me the other day. I know I should change my phone number, but I’ve had it for years and shouldn’t have to change it because he can’t get and stay lost.”

“What did he want?”

“Astoundingly enough, he had the nerve to ask to see me and discuss getting back together. Can you believe that?” She snorted.

“Seriously? After cheating on you and ditching you on your wedding day? I hope you told him to go to hell.” Elizabeth’s outrage carried over the phone.

“Ha. Something like that. It’s baffling that he’d bother contacting me. Jerk. If he comes around again, I’d really appreciate it if you don’t give out my address or where I’ve moved.”

“Of course not. Well, if you change your mind about coming back to the magazine in any capacity, please call me. I’ll let you know who ends up filling my role so you’re still in the loop. Good luck and take care of yourself.”

Sophie hung up and twirled around the room. She’d resisted the knee-jerk reaction to give up and take the sure-thing career position. Another obstacle out of the way.

Time to celebrate.

Who better to celebrate with than Nick? She’d surprise him at the office.

After a quick shower and change into a casual-yet-cute ensemble of dark skinny jeans, faux-snakeskin flats, and a striped slouchy T-shirt she was ready. She found the address to his firm and googled the directions. On impulse, she grabbed the bottle of Cristal champagne she’d been saving for a special day and headed into the village of Laguna.

Driving down the winding roads into town, she grinned at how easy they were to navigate now as opposed to her white-knuckle experience arriving a few weeks ago. Today she sang to the radio and enjoyed the hairpin turns and heavy foliage framing the street leading into town.

His office was easy to find, and she admired the strong, simple lines of the stand-alone building and the Morgan Designs sign. Had he created it? She pulled into a parking spot in front of the entrance.

The foyer appeared deserted. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen his car, or should she say one of his cars, out front. Crap, maybe she should have called first. It was a beautiful space—imagine that for an architect—with tons of windows and light, modern and spare furniture, and some gorgeous bamboo lending an overall feel of nature and simplicity.

“Nick, are you here?” she called toward the closed office doors on either side of the entryway.

The door to the left of the reception area opened, and Heather appeared. Marvelous.

“Mr. Morgan isn’t in the office right now. Did you have an appointment?” Heather wore a distinctly nasty expression on her face.

Why was she so hostile? What was wrong with her? Sophie refused to be intimidated by this horrible woman. Was Alyssa right? Did Heather have the hots for Nick?

Well, too bad. He was hers, and she wasn’t going to hide that one moment longer.

Time to clear the air.

“Hello, Heather. I don’t need an appointment to see Nick as this is a personal visit. Where is he?” She rolled her shoulders back and straightened her spine. Prepping for battle.

“You consider renting his cottage to be a personal relationship? Hardly. If it were so personal, you would have known that he wasn’t in the office and wouldn’t show up like a desperate teenager in the throes of puppy love.” She smirked.

Sophie’s jaw dropped. Nobody had spoken so rudely to her before, and she was momentarily stunned into silence. Lord knows she would come up with a zinger of a comeback in an hour or so when it was too late. She’d take the high road, though, despite wanting to tell this woman to go to hell.

“We both know that you have no clue about Nick’s personal life, or you would have known how angry he’d be when you answered his cell phone and then conveniently forgot to pass along my message. Don’t worry. I’ll just give him a call. I’m sure he won’t leave his cell here anymore.” She pasted what she prayed was a serene expression on her face, turning to leave.

“Don’t be so sure. I could make one phone call, and he’d be out of contention for the Pritzker. Nick needs me for his lifelong dream. I’ll be recognized forever as his right-hand person. And not just on the professional level. He knows it.

“Do you think you’re the first bimbo he’s strung along? You are aware of his nickname, right? You’re just one more in a long line for him. He’ll be bored of you soon, and I’ll be the one waiting.” Heather slammed the door.

Sophie sucked in an unsteady breath, pressing her hand to her churning stomach. Despite maintaining her composure in front of Heather, she was shaken. What a witch. Nonetheless, her barbs hit home. Nick had made it clear to her that winning the Pritzker was his deepest desire. What if Heather were true to her word? Ruined his chances?

And he did have a reputation. He’d told her he’d never been in a serious relationship.

She’d hopped into bed with Nick before she knew his middle name. Trusted her gut. But he loved her, didn’t he? He’d said so. He’d shown her.

Damn it.

Bile rose in her throat as she half-ran to her car. Needing to escape far away. Plunged back into the space from a few months ago when she’d questioned everything about her judgment.

No, she wasn’t going down this road again. Couldn’t be used again.

The light faded from the once-vivid afternoon. Her shoulders slumped. Drinking champagne with Nick no longer appealed.