Cold on the Inside
Boyd
and left me in her wake, contemplating her offer. I’ve never considered working at McNamara Enterprises, but I’d be foolish to pass up getting my foot in the door. My LPP will take until April to complete, then I have to wait for the call to the bar. If they’re willing to hold a position for me until then, it could be a good option.
The entire morning, I’ve been sidetracked, weighing the pros and cons. The greatest pro? Seeing Sophie every day. The greatest con? Seeing Sophie every day.
Monica has asked no less than eighty questions about Sophie—most of which I don’t have answers to. I told Monica that Sophie rejected me when I asked her out, but never explained more than that. At the time, she told me she was glad I put myself out there, but I disagree. I would have preferred to stay in my comfort zone. It’s comfortable there.
Sophie walks into the café at 5:20, looking unsure, but as soon as I meet her gaze, she straightens and pulls her shoulders back—a habit I’ve noticed. She does it often, as if she’s putting on a persona.
I nod her over to bypass the line. “Already have your drink. I’ll be out in a second. Do you want anything to eat?”
She stretches herself to look at the pastry displays around the corner. “Oh, no thanks. Too much crème brûlée last night.”
“Kay. Give me thirty seconds.”
I turn to remove my apron and grab our drinks I made moments ago, then inform Monica I’m taking a break. She smirks as her eyes dance between me and Sophie. My expression back to her makes it clear this is not what she thinks it is. That ship has sailed. Never mind. It sank in the harbour… still tied to the dock.
Outside is the perfect temperature to enjoy a coffee. Sophie is at the same table she was seated at when I made my failed attempt at asking her out. I’m assuming she doesn’t see or hear me coming, because she’s furiously scratching her chest as I approach, much like last night. I set our drinks down and sit opposite her, watching as her face turns pink.
“Um, hi. Sorry… I—”
“Don’t let me interrupt… again.” I hold my hands up in surrender, hoping to lessen the unexplainable tension between us.
“That’s embarrassing.” She slides her coffee in front of her, gripping it with both hands. “Okay, moving on. Henry was really impressed by everything Professor Benton had to say about your potential and academic prowess.” She says the last bit through gritted teeth. “He’d like to meet you to discuss job opportunities.”
“Your father?”
She narrows her eyes and presses her lips together, but her face relaxes as fast as it tensed. “My boss, ye—”
“Why didn’t he speak to me himself? It seems a bit weird he’s sent you to fetch me.”
“The big boss never gets his own coffee. He has lackeys to do that.”
“You’re a lackey? I thought you were a senior executive.”
She scoffs. “We’re not here to talk about my job title. I can see you’re committed to your work, which is a necessity in our company. You have to be married to the job. If you have a problem with that, don’t waste time pursuing this further.”
“What about you? Are you married to the job?”
She sets her coffee down hard enough, some splashes out the opening. “I have to be. It’s my legacy. I’m fully committed to my work and this business. So much so, I barely have time for a social life. ” Her eyes shoot wide open, and she stammers, “I mean, every time Brad takes me out, it’s to work events for one of us.”
Who is Brad now?
“You mean Chad? Your boyfriend?”
Her face looks more surprised than it did when I caught her scratching herself. “That’s what I said. Chad.”
“Chad, Brad. Same difference.”
We stare at each other for a moment. She’s avoiding eye contact and I’m struggling to read her. Each time her eyes dart up toward the small canopy over the door, I get a stronger impression she’s lying. Her story has so many holes in it, if it were an alibi, it wouldn’t hold up in court. Failing to make eye contact is a telltale sign someone is being dishonest.
That’s why I press her, like I would with anyone in a mock trial. “So, the guy you came here with is your brother? Chad Brad, the nice, pretty cop, is your boyfriend? And your blonde friend—”
“Ashlyn.” She finally looks at me.
“Ashlyn,” I repeat. “She’s… intense.” That’s the most polite word I can think of.
“Too many endorphins.” She waves with her hand as if she’s wafting away that topic of conversation. “Anyway, what do you say about getting an appointment on the books to meet with Henry? Tomorrow?”
I’m not ready to give up my line of questioning yet. Time for a redirect. “Tell me about Chad. How did you two meet?” I do my best to feign interest in her love life.
She seems even less interested than I am, but she looks at me with confidence in her eyes. “Through Ashlyn. They workout at the same gym. CrossFit.”
That explains why Ashlyn looks like she could bench press me and the iron chair I’m seated in. Chad’s physique was also obvious under his ill-fitting suit, but his personality gives me the impression I’d stand a better chance against him in an arm-wrestle than I would against Ashlyn. She appeared both strong and intelligent. In my experience with lawyers, strategy and intelligence win out over brute force every time.
“What about you? You asked me out, but you and Monica were pretty cozy.”
I lean forward and say softly, “Were you watching me, Sophie?”
“No! I just… noticed.”
“Monica is a good friend. Has been for years. I asked her to tag along to make it less miserable. Like Brad Chad, those things are not my scene.”
“Oh.” She looks like she’s warring with herself over pressing the subject further.
“So, tell me more about your friend Ashlyn. She left me her number, and I think I might give her a call.” I won’t, but I want to circle back around to her connection to Chad and get to the bottom of this.
Sophie’s eyebrows pull together. “She’s engaged. Like final stages of wedding planning, engaged.”
That doesn’t make any sense. Why would she leave me her number, then? I doubt the butt scratches I gave Wilson were enticing enough to call off an engagement. I pull out my phone and open the photo I took of the takeout cup. “See? She left a note for me to call her.”
Sophie looks at my phone, then at me as if she’s studying both. “That’s a baby.”
I spin the phone back to look at the image. Sure enough, a recent photo of Grace covers the screen. “Sorry. Must have swiped by accident.”
“She’s cute. She yours?”
I shake my head, then make a second attempt to show Sophie the message Ashlyn left. “See?”
Sophie examines the number for a split second, and her narrowed eyes return. She mutters, “You can delete it. Trust me. That number won’t do you any good. Jim is her soulmate.”
Something about her reaction tells me I should hang on to it.
“Anyway, you’re not inspiring a lot of hope with your legal genius, Boyd. You can’t stick to the topic at hand.”
“On the contrary. My legal genius has helped me redirect the conversation back to what I want to talk about.”
“If you’re not interested in the job, I’m wasting my time here. You could have just said that from the get go.” She attempts to stand, but the heavy chair trips her up, so she drops back into the seat. Before she can shimmy out, I place a hand on her forearm.
Our eyes zero in on the contact, then I refocus on her face. She draws her gaze up from my hand and gives me a questioning glance.
“Sorry. It’s not that I’m not interested, but I’ve heard murmurings about your father, and I’m not sure it will be the right fit for me.”
“Murmurings?”
“You can’t be blind to his reputation. He’s cut-throat and not well liked. That’s not the kind of company culture I want to get sucked into.” I hope she doesn’t take offence to my very watered down description of her father’s reputation.
She blows out a breath, then tips her cup to drain the contents—though I’m certain it was already empty. “I know what people say. My only concern right now is what you’re going to say to my request.”
Props to her for staying on point. I commend her determination. But if she wants something from me, I want something from her first. I don’t know why I care, but I ask anyway, “What’s the deal with you and Brad Chad? Honestly.”