Bachelor's Bait Page 2

  While Sophie loved her father, it was her mother who’d done the lion’s share of parenting when she was younger. Her mother, the sweetest woman to ever walk the planet, had been killed by a drunk driver when Sophie was thirteen and, at that point, Dad apparently decided she was old enough to finish the child-rearing by herself. He gave her everything she needed—a roof over her head, stylish clothing, a good education, birthday gifts galore and even a fancy sports car. The only thing he’d never seemed able to spare was time.

  There was no way Sophie would let her own children grow up with a part-time father. She knew from firsthand experience, it sucked.

  “Earth to Soph.” Stephanie waved her hand in front of Sophie’s face. She jerked herself out of her thoughts and back to the conversation at hand. “What’s up with you today? You keep zoning out.”

  Sophie shrugged, picking up the beer their lone patron had ordered. “Just tired, I guess.” She spun to deliver the drink—and ran straight into Marc.

  The beer she was carrying splashed up and out of the glass like a mini geyser, covering them both in foamy suds.

  “Why are you always in my way?” she snapped, looking at her drenched t-shirt.

  Marc frowned, swiping at the beer covering his dress shirt. “Why are you always rushing everywhere without looking where you’re going?”

  Stephanie stepped between them with a couple of bar towels. “I take it this is the cell guy. I’m Stephanie. We spoke earlier.”

  Marc accepted her offer of a towel with a friendly smile. Sophie tried to ignore the fact that all she’d managed to get from the man were smirks and scowls.

  “Marc Garrett.”

  “I’m Jayne.” Jayne gave him a quick wave as she produced a mop to clean up the floor.

  “There’s a bathroom down that hall,” Stephanie said, gesturing toward the back. She returned to the bar and grabbed a Books and Brew t-shirt, handing it to him. “Here. It’s nice and dry. At least until Sophie bumps into you again.”

  “You’re hilarious, Steph.” Sophie grabbed another one of the clean t-shirts for herself then gestured for Marc to follow. Despite the fact he was soaked in beer, he didn’t seem as annoyed as he had when they’d collided on the street.

  She pointed to a door. “That’s the men’s room. You can change in there.”

  “Thanks.” He entered the room, the door closing behind him.

  Sophie tried to shake from her mind the image of his shirt clinging to some fairly impressive pecs. What was wrong with her today? While her libido was far from inactive, something about the cocky lawyer set it off in grand style.

  She walked into the ladies’ room and stripped off her wet shirt. Grabbing some paper towels, she dampened them and tried to wash away the smell of beer from her skin. Luckily the shirt had soaked up most of the liquid, so her bra was fairly dry. Tugging the new shirt over her head, she splashed some cold water on her cheeks and returned to the hallway. She’d only taken a few steps when Marc’s head poked out of the doorway. He didn’t bother to leave the men’s room.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He gave her shit-eating grin. “Making sure the coast is clear. Trying to avoid being run over by the society princess for a third time today.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

  He joined her in the hall. “Aw, Soph. That hurts.”

  She tried to tell herself she didn’t like him using the nickname generally reserved for her best friends. She reached into her pocket and pulled out his phone. “Here. Let’s make the swap and then you can be on your way. I’m sure there must be a list of women a mile long hoping to spend the evening with a guy like you.”

  “Like me?”

  “One who fairly oozes with charming wit.”

  “Oh. I’m that man, am I?” He took his phone but made no move to return hers, even though her hand remained outstretched.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “The night’s young and it doesn’t look very busy here. I’ve had a hell of a day. I was thinking I might stick around for a drink.”

  Sophie tried to ignore the way her body heated under his rather sexy perusal of her. “Fine. You can just sit anywhere and I’ll—”

  “I was hoping you’d join me.”

  “Why on earth would I want to have a drink with you?”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  Sophie’s eyebrows lifted. “Should I make a list?”

  He grasped her hand, forcing her to shake his. “Let’s start over. I’m Marc Garrett. And you are?”

  “Sophie Kennedy.”

  “Sophie. I’ve had a very long, rather painful day thanks to you and your father. The least you could do is have a drink with me.”

  She dropped his hand. “What does my dad have to do with anything?”

  He tilted his head and she got the impression he was trying to read something in her face. “Nothing, apparently.”

  Once more he took her hand, but this time he used it to tug her toward a corner table. Stephanie had poured and delivered a new beer to their only customer. It appeared Jayne had decided to go home for a brief respite after all.

  Stephanie came over as soon as they sat down. “Aw. This is sweet. You two decided to play nice. You want something to drink, Marc?”

  He nodded. “I’d love a Heineken. What about you, Sophie? My treat.”

  “I’m working.”

  Stephanie scoffed. “Like that’s ever stopped us from having a cold one on slow afternoons. I’ll get you your usual.”

  Stephanie returned to the bar to get their drinks.

  “What’s your usual?”

  She didn’t want to say, afraid Marc would read too much into it. Of course, her silence didn’t matter when Stephanie returned to the table and placed two bottles of Heineken and frosty mugs in front of them.

  “On the house,” Stephanie said before returning to the bar.

  Marc raised his eyebrows when he saw her beer of choice. He lifted his bottle and tapped it against hers. “To good taste.”

  She acknowledged his toast with a slight nod then took a sip of the cool brew. It went down far too easy after the crazy day she’d had. Her long sigh must have given that away.

  “Sounds like you’ve had a day and a half too.” If she’d thought Marc was handsome when he was frowning, his face now—as he offered a friendly smile—was drop-dead gorgeous.

  She nodded. “It’s been an interesting one.” It had started with an early phone call from her father, asking how his latest attempt at matchmaking had fared. She’d lied, telling Dad his golfing buddy—a world-renowned neurosurgeon—was very nice. In reality, the man had bored her to tears over the pre-dinner drinks and appetizer, spent most of the main course on the phone conferring about a patient then tried to grope her during dessert. Hell would freeze over before she’d consent to another date, but she hadn’t confessed as much to her father. Better to play the duck-and-dodge game, avoiding phone calls and making up excuses until the guy stopped calling.

  She’d become a master at giving the illusion of being “interested but busy”.

  “You don’t have plans for the holiday?” Marc took another drink of his beer.

  She shook her head. If Stephanie hadn’t said something earlier, she would have forgotten all about the Fourth of July. “Nope. Just work. I know it doesn’t look like it now, but we’ll actually do very good business later as folks roll in to kick off the holiday.”

  “I imagine you will. You’re in the perfect part of town for a business like this. So how is it a debutante such as yourself ended up waiting tables in a bar?”

  Sophie’s temper spiked. “It’s amazing how you can irritate me with just one question. Number one, I’m not a debutante. Number two—and not that it’s any of your damn business—I’m part owner of this place. In addition to waiting tables and helping out on the bookstore side, I’m in charge of marketing and special events.”
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  “Ah. So you plan parties for a living. Now it’s all starting to make sense.”

  Sophie narrowed her eyes. “Did I do something to piss you off? Something more than bumping into you a couple times?”

  Marc leaned back and released a long breath. “I think it’s your name that gets under my skin. You’re not exactly what I was expecting after reading about you in the society pages and knowing who your father is.”

  “Again with my father. What do you have against him?”

  Marc didn’t reply immediately and again she was struck by the feeling he was sizing her up, trying to decide something, though she didn’t have a clue what that could be.

  Finally, he said, “I sort of thought you ran into me on purpose today.”

  She frowned. “Why the hell would I do that?”

  “I was late for an important meeting. With your father’s lawyers and a judge.”

  Sophie knew very little about her father’s business, but it was obvious Marc didn’t realize that. Dad’s sole use for her was for entertaining purposes. He didn’t think she was interested in learning the details of his professional life. At least, she told herself he assumed a lack of interest. It was simply too painful to consider the idea that he felt her intelligence was deficient.

  “Are you suing my father?”

  He shook his head. “Not exactly. I’m fighting to save something your father doesn’t want saved.”

  “What?”

  Marc didn’t reply. Instead, he changed the subject. “So you’re part owner of Books and Brew?” He looked around the room, nodding approvingly. “It’s a cool place. I’ve walked by here a few times but I’ve never come in. I’m sorry about that now. I love the idea of booze and books.”

  His impressed assessment only partially appeased her curiosity. What the hell was up between Dad and Marc? Rather than call him on it, she let his dodge stick. “The bar part was Stephanie’s idea. She said if she was going to a bookstore, she preferred to drink a cold beer or a glass of wine rather than a cup of damn coffee.”

  “Stephanie’s very wise,” Marc joked.

  “She has her moments. Few and far between though they may be. She and I were roommates in college. Jordan and Jayne, the other partners, were our suitemates. After two years in the dorm, the four of us found an apartment off campus for our junior and senior terms. We were only a few weeks away from graduation when we came up with the idea for this place. It took a few years of saving and scrambling to get the investment money, but with the four of us pooling our resources, it worked out eventually. Jayne’s parents helped her. Jordan and Stephanie saved up some of the capital then managed to get small-business loans. My mother left me money in her will, a small trust fund that I invested in the business.”

  Marc listened intently as she spoke and Sophie wondered why she was sharing so much. The man confused her, left her hot and bothered, trying to decide if she was mad or horny.

  She cleared her throat. “Well, long story short—too late, right?—we all committed to three years of making the place a success, and that means working holidays, waiting tables, stocking shelves and playing busboy.”

  Marc tipped his bottle, finishing the beer before putting it back on the table. “Sounds like you’re off to a great start. Color me impressed.”

  “So enough of the stalling. Why are you and my dear old dad at odds?”

  Marc frowned. “He’s trying to close down the community center.”

  His response knocked Sophie off guard. “No,” she said, more to herself than to Marc. She looked at the attorney and shook her head. “No. My dad wouldn’t do that.”

  Her mother had taken her to dance classes and piano lessons at the community center when she was younger. The place was an institution in the city—a gathering place for senior citizens and a safe harbor for latchkey kids, after school and in the summer. It offered classes in everything from knitting to ballroom dancing. Her mother had served on the board for years, keeping the center running by planning some of the programs and helping to raise funds to keep it solvent.

  Dad knew how much the place had meant to her mother…and to Sophie. He’d never allow it to close.

  Marc didn’t respond, but she sensed her face had answered an unspoken question for him. “You really didn’t know?”

  She shook her head again. “I didn’t know because it’s not happening. You’re wrong.”

  Marc tapped his fingers on the table lightly, the sound of the fast rhythm capturing her attention. It made her realize her own nervous habit—bouncing her leg whenever she was stressed out—was commencing full speed beneath the table. She forced herself to still the motion.

  Again, she got a sense he was trying to make a decision about her. “It’s not exactly common knowledge yet. It hasn’t hit the papers or anything. I was approached a few weeks ago by the chairman of the board of trustees at the center, Rich Gregory. There had been some anonymous inquiries in regards to the condition of the building over the past year. As a result, the center was subjected to a visit from the building inspector and threatened with some hefty fines if they didn’t make repairs.”

  “It’s an old building—” she started, but Marc continued.

  “Then there was an audit of the books after someone sent a letter to the IRS, alleging that the trustees were misappropriating funds. They weren’t, of course, but getting all the files in order has been time-consuming and costly. Rich came to me because he’s afraid someone is trying to sabotage the center. Paying the accounting firm for help on the audit has left the center strapped for cash. The money to make the repairs needed to keep the building open isn’t there.”

  Sophie didn’t like the accusation Marc was making. “None of this implicates my father. All the complaints lodged were anonymous. It’s pretty ballsy of you to accuse my dad with no more proof than—”

  “A few weeks ago, your dad made the center an offer,” Marc interrupted.

  “An offer or a donation?” Sophie knew for a fact her father had contributed huge amounts of money to the center in the past. Clearly Marc and Rich were misreading the situation. Looking for a villain.

  “It was an offer, Sophie. He wants to buy the property. At first, Rich was hopeful that your dad was planning to purchase the center with the intention of improving the place. He thought Jasper was digging them out of their hole. After the string of bad luck and growing debt, the idea of privatizing the center had almost seemed like the answer to a prayer for the trustees. The center is in big trouble financially.”

  “So my dad’s offer is a good one. He’ll buy the center and fix it up, make it better than ever.”

  It was Marc’s turn to shake his head “Rich caught wind of your dad’s plans. He has a friend on the zoning committee who learned Jasper was interested in acquiring the property for a more profitable purpose. He intends to tear the center down and build a shopping mall. That’s when Rich called me.”

  Sophie’s temper snapped. “No. Dad would never do that. How can you sit here and spread gossip around like it’s the gospel truth? This is slander! It’s unfair and—”

  “Your father’s lawyers confirmed today that was indeed the plan.”

  He had a bad habit of interrupting her. Sophie’s face flushed with anger and frustration.

  Marc leaned forward. She tried to ignore the almost sympathetic look in his eyes. How dare he sit there and spew lie after lie then act as if he felt sorry for her!

  “The community center has sixty days to come up with the money to make the repairs or they’ll be forced to close their doors. And with the bad building inspection hanging over their heads, the trustees will be forced to accept your dad’s offer, which is less than generous. I think your father actually feels like he’s doing the community a service by taking the ‘eyesore’ off their hands and replacing it with something new and shiny.”

  Sophie swallowed heavily, desperate to prove her father’s innocence. Unfortunately, Marc’s last comment triggered a memory.
Dad had once bought some riverfront property, tearing down the beautiful homes that had stood there for well over a hundred years to build a new subdivision full of McMansions. He’d called the old homes “eyesores”, an affront to people with good taste.

  The comment had actually led to a huge disagreement between them—something they rarely had. Eventually she’d given up the fight, deciding it wasn’t important. Once her father set his mind on a goal, he pursued it with the force of a two-ton tank and it was clear her opinion wouldn’t sway him.

  But the community center was different. They hadn’t lived in the riverfront homes, so she’d had no personal attachment to them. Her mother had given countless hours to the center and it had played a major role in Sophie’s happy memories of childhood. She loved the place dearly—and her father knew it.

  It wasn’t an eyesore. It was as necessary to the city as clean water, sanitation and fresh air.

  “Soph?” Marc prodded when the silence between them lasted too long.

  “My name is Sophia. And you’re wrong about all of this.” Her tone was biting, bitchy. There was a lump in her throat and she was fighting desperately to keep her eyes dry when all she wanted to do was cry. “I think you should leave.”

  Marc nodded, rising slowly. He took her phone out of his pocket and placed it on the table. “I hope I am wrong. Goodbye, Sophie.”

  Marc left the bar. Once again he’d gotten the last word, but Sophie was suddenly too exhausted to give a shit.

  Her long day had officially given way to an endless evening.

  Chapter Two

  Sophie cursed her shoe choice. While she was no stranger to high heels, she’d misjudged exactly how much time she’d be on her feet tonight. Usually she had her shit together when it came to the charity events she helped organize, but the last week had been particularly rough.

  Her father had gone out of the country the morning after her conversation with Marc about the community center. She’d tried to call Dad several times, but between the time change and his business meetings, she kept getting his voicemail.

  On top of her concerns regarding the center, her girlfriend Jordan had chosen the past week to dive back into the dating world after a very long hiatus. Much to Sophie’s delight, her friend had sparked the interest of two different guys. While Sophie was thrilled that Jordan was having such good fortune on the dating front, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. The lucky bitch had two guys fighting for her attention while Sophie was experiencing a long, painful string of bad first dates.