5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
S tone hesitated outside Sophie’s apartment. A pastel pink plaque hung on the door. On it, written in a swirling white cursive, were the words: Beware: Unattended Book Boyfriends May Be Claimed.
He grunted. It was because of her damn hard-on for book boyfriends that he’d just endured a makeover by Naked Runway’s Glam Team which had ended with a wig being glued to his scalp before he’d had a chance to say hell no .
Never in his life had he loathed something as much as he’d loathed that experience. This coming from a man who had grown up in the foster system for a big chunk of his young childhood.
Right now, he had one goal and one goal only. Convince Sophie that making him look like a cinnamon roll hero hadn’t worked. It was a look he could not pull off.
If she didn’t burst out laughing and wholeheartedly agree the moment she opened the door, then she was totally warped by her ideals versus reality.
The snug pastel sweater that had been foisted upon him by a dude named Ziggy, along with the comment that it would “soften Stone’s rugged masculinity,” would no doubt show up in Stone’s next nightmare. And don’t even get him started on what he thought of Alberto’s underhanded tactics.
Prepared to be laughed at, he raised his fist and rapped his knuckles against the door.
As if she’d been standing on the other side, waiting for him to knock, Sophie immediately answered. Only she didn’t laugh. With a perfectly blank expression, she looked him over like he was a new piece at an art gallery.
“Well?” Why in the hell didn’t she look shocked? “Are you ready to admit you were wrong? I cannot pull off this whole pastry boyfriend thing.”
“It’s called a cinnamon roll hero, and I’ll admit nothing of the sort.” She slowly cocked her head to the left. “Pink is a nice color on you.”
He narrowed his eyes. Suspicion built inside him. Why didn’t she look even a little startled? “Were you looking at me through the peephole? Did you get all your laughing out of your system before you answered the door?”
“Of course not. I was reading when you knocked.” She held up a book, VOGUEish , as if for proof.
“Then I take it you’re in shock,” he said. “And the laughter will come any minute now.”
“I’m not feeling any laughter building.”
He shuddered. “Trust me when I tell you, you can’t be any more appalled than I was when they finally let me see myself.”
She rolled her blue eyes. “Stop carrying on like an ungrateful slug. I’d give anything to be done over by the Glam Team. I mean, look at what they’ve accomplished with you. You’re a total dreamboat in a cardigan and wig.”
He yanked at the piece on his head. The damn thing still didn’t budge. “Good God, you actually approve of this idiocy?” Why was he surprised? She wore a damn T-shirt with the words My Book Boyfriend Is Better Than Yours emblazoned across the front. Her grip on reality was blurred by her endless quest for fictional perfection. He’d need a unicorn and his magic wand just to compete.
“Full approval,” she said, before quickly glancing away.
“May I come in?” he asked gruffly, irritation fueling his already sour mood.
“Oh. Of course. Sorry.” She took a step back and absently gestured for him to come inside, all while continuing to tilt her head from side to side, studying him like a hero who’d just jumped off the pages of a not-yet-released, highly coveted new romance novel.
He moved into the cramped space and took stock. A person’s home was a testament to how they thought. Hers was cozy to the point of being cluttered, with books and notes scattered about. Sophie E. Clark had a very busy mind, as opposed to his brain, which processed with a cool, analytical approach. His thoughts rarely wandered. He’d be willing to bet Sophie’s seldom stayed in one place.
“Thank you for agreeing to morph into my idea of the perfect guy.”
He had to unclench his jaw before he could answer. “I look ridiculous. Like someone who’d be more at home at a knitting circle than doing bodyguard detail. And don’t even get me started on the damn hairpiece.”
She eyeballed it. “I have to admit, I’m sort of surprised you didn’t ditch it the minute you left the Glam Team.”
“I would have, but it’s glued in place and won’t fucking budge.”
Sophie bit her lip, her gaze flitting away for a moment as if considering her next words carefully. “It’s… perfection,” she said dreamily. “Exactly like… a guy I would date.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You can’t possibly find this hot.”
“It’s not nice to mock a girl’s taste in men,” she chided softly.
“My apologies.” It was time to attack the plan from a place of common sense. “But Sophie, I’ve been hired to intimidate men into leaving you alone. That will not happen with my looking like this.”
She scrunched her nose. “Agree to disagree.”
“On what grounds? Look at me. I’m wearing pastel socks with hearts.”
“Stone, the men I interview will leave me alone out of respect for the fact I’m in a relationship,” she said. “And the less you look like a bodyguard, the less likely anyone will suspect you’re a fake.”
It was time to counter with a compromise. “Can we at least change your type to the grumpy billionaire? That one is way more doable than this.”
She fluttered her long, thick lashes, casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. “But that’s not my type.”
“I thought every woman liked their men flush. Didn’t you rattle off, like, a bazillion billionaire tropes on your list?”
“I’m not into yachts and private jets. I’m into books and whimsy. A filthy rich grump is not going to appreciate my quirks, nor I his wallet.”
As Sophie’s words hung in the air, Stone felt an unexpected twinge in his chest, a reaction that startled him. Her candid confession about her tastes—not the flashy, shallow kind, but something deeper, something real—struck a chord. He had been trained to be observant, to read people like open books, yet here he was, confronted with a complexity he hadn’t anticipated.
For a moment, temptation urged him to let his guard down, to tell her that he, too, had little care for superficial things. But that wasn’t his role here—he was the bodyguard, not a man to share his personal reflections.
He turned his gaze away and focused on a spot on her bookshelf that was crowded with well-worn novels and trinkets. Clarabelle had asked him not to screw this up. To follow through and complete the mission because she’d assured Ms. Birdie that he could complete any assignment…not just the ones where bullets were flying.
Tightening his jaw, he turned back toward Sophie. “Noted.” The only thing that made this all bearable was that Ryder had been coerced by Clarabelle into being Sophie’s first subject for her Find Your Book Boyfriend column. Ryder had fought a good battle but faced with Clarabelle’s strong will, he’d finally caved—not without words for Stone, who’d made it known it had been his idea.
Sophie’s smile came quickly, catching him off guard. What had he said to earn that dimple-inducing grin?
“Then you’ll do it?” she asked. “You won’t tank my dream?”
The earnest question kept him from scowling. This was a job. He was undercover. There was no reason for him to continue to rain on her parade by trying to change the rules of engagement.
He touched his hair and promised revenge someday against Alberto, who’d plopped it on there and glued it in place before Stone had known what was going on. “I won’t tank it, but I would remind you of Ms. Birdie’s mention of possibly hiring a female protector. Someone who could easily be passed off as your best friend. My feelings won’t be hurt if you decide to go that route.”
Sophie moved closer, her small apartment making even this small distance seem intimate. “Upon hearing that option, Frankie mentioned dumping the whole plan.” She spoke quietly, almost to herself.
He’d first heard about Frankie from the Prince of Shiretopia while working security detail at his wedding reception. According to Scott, the woman was a loose cannon. Not to be trusted to act rationally in any given situation. “I believe Frankie likes to hate on any ideas that are not her own. I wouldn’t worry too much about her.”
“You may be right,” Sophie said. “But you may also be absolutely wrong, and I’m not willing to take that chance.”
“You’d prefer to take a chance on my pulling off a cinnamon roll boyfriend ruse? A ruse that may fail despite our best efforts?”
“It won’t fail. The Glam Team has given you the look. Now, all that’s left is my teaching you the body language and actions that are consistent with the hero type.”
Stone looked around the tiny apartment, at the stacks of romantic novels lining the shelves, bookmarks sticking out of several. A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. When was the last time—other than with Clarabelle—that he had been bested in an argument? By someone who believed book heroes could come to life?
“All right,” he conceded, “let’s see how this goes. But if I start getting invited to book clubs and brunches, I’m going to shoot someone.”
Sophie’s laughter, genuine and relieved, filled the room, easing the tension. “Fair enough.”
“And, once I manage to get this wig off my scalp, it’s not going back on. I’ll let my hair grow out. It grows fast.”
“In that case, let’s get started.”
“Get started?”
“I need for you to see other cinnamon roll guys in action.”
He raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t a bad idea. “And where does one go in Manhattan to see them in the wild? The zoo? The flagship Apple Store? The line at a sample warehouse?” The last he only knew about because Clarabelle had dragged him to one yesterday after they’d had lunch together.
“You’ll see.” Sophie picked up her purse, flipped off the lights, and scooched around him to open the door.
Just as she did, the door across the hall creaked open, revealing an elderly man leaning heavily on his walker, the faint scent of Bengay wafting from him as he peered out. “Sophie, you going out again?” He shot Stone a glance. “And with a different guy tonight?”
Stone glanced at Sophie and waited for her reply. She’d said she was between boyfriends. He’d taken it to mean she’d not been on a date in a while. Obviously, he’d assumed wrong.
“Poppie, I won’t be out long. I promise. When I get back, I’ll fix us both dinner and tell you all about my back-to-back nights out with different gentlemen.” She linked her arm through Stone’s, her grip firm and reassuring, pulling him slightly as she spoke.
The hallway lights flickered.
Stone stiffened.
“I bet our damn landlord didn’t pay the electric bill,” Poppie muttered. “He’s going to try and—”
“Poppie, you and I can grouse about the landlord later. Right now, I’d like for you to meet Stone.”
Stone made a mental note to check into their landlord.
“Stone,” Poppie repeated. “Like a damn rock.”
Sophie sighed. “Yes, but don’t let his name fool you—he’s a big teddy bear. Isn’t that right?” She glanced up at Stone and gave him a cheeky grin.
“Only with you, darling. Only with you. If anyone else asks, I’m a grizzly.” He stepped forward, the old wooden floors groaning under his weight, and offered his hand to the frail-looking man, whose eyes were sharp despite the wrinkles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Poppie.”
“Just Poppie. No mister .” Poppie took his hand, his grip surprisingly firm for such a fragile frame, a hint of old strength lingering in his veins, and squeezed lightly.
Stone, despite his fear of breaking a bone, squeezed back. His instincts told him it was a test of his character. “You’ve got a lovely granddaughter.”
Poppie pointed a gnarled finger at him. “If you hurt her, I’ll do to you what I did to the last, and you can bet your wig he’s not coming back around anytime soon.”
Stone groaned and touched his hair. Was it crooked? Of course it wasn’t. If it could move, it would have been in the bottom of the East River by now. “How’d you know?” he asked Poppie. “I was assured it would be my secret and my secret alone unless I took a woman into my shower and let them watch me remove it with shampoo, warm water, and a witch’s brew.”
Poppie chuckled. “I’d know a wig anywhere. Used to help my wife put hers on before cancer took her. You don’t got cancer, do you?”
“Healthy as a horse. Just trying to impress Sophie. She told me on our first date she prefers her men with hair. Said her last guy had nice hair.”
“You ain’t got much competition with that one. Biggest weasel in Manhattan. And a crybaby at that. Should have heard him caterwauling as he hightailed it down them there stairs over there just ‘cause I was shooting rock at him with my slingshot.”
What exactly had Sophie’s last date done to deserve that? Another person he’d have to run a background check on. “I promise to be nothing but a gentleman with your granddaughter.”
“Good. Because you just might be a keeper. Other than those damn clothes you’re wearing. You look like a preschool boy dressed by his nanny to go to the park.”
Stone, not knowing how to respond, turned his attention back to Sophie. “Perhaps your granddaughter will take me shopping and help me buy clothes more suitable for my build.”
“She’ll do you one better than that. She’ll whip you up a few of her famous T-shirts. Girl sells them like hotcakes. They’ve been paying the bills ever since I went and let myself get weaseled out of all my money.”
Stone filed that information away along with the other tidbits Poppie was dropping all over the place. It was as if he wanted Stone to know everything just in case his granddaughter hadn’t planned on sharing the information on her own.
“Did you need anything before we go?” Sophie asked Poppie, her cheeks tinged with pink, but her lips twitching as if she found it hard to get upset with the man.
He pulled a letter out of his shirt pocket. “Got another one of those damn notices again that I have to come back in for a follow-up session. I swear, any day now, men in white jackets are going to show up at my door and take me somewhere you can’t find me.”
Sophie untangled herself from Stone and went to the elderly man. “I’ve told you, that’s not ever going to happen. You’ll see. In another week, those notices will stop and all will be back to normal. We’re a team, you, and I.”
The guy wiped his eyes. “Listen to me, carrying on while you’re trying to go on a proper date.” He turned his walker and aimed it back inside his apartment. “You forget I said anything and go have yourself a good time,” he said, already shuffling away. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Think I’ll fix myself a sandwich and go to bed early.”
Before Sophie or Stone could say goodnight, he’d shut the door.
“Should we stay here?” Stone asked. “I mean, I can go, and you can stay.”
“It’s okay. If I drop my plans now, he’ll worry about interfering with my love life. I’ll check on him when I return.”
They left the building in silence and headed down the street. Stone’s mind flooded with new insights about Sophie, each one igniting his protective instincts in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Yet, he forced himself to clamp down on the rising tide of questions. Fake relationship aside, theirs was a strictly professional association, and he needed to maintain those boundaries.
What had transpired in the foyer of Sophie’s apartment building—those intimate revelations of her life by Poppie—had nothing to do with his contractual duties.
Besides, despite her fondness for fairy tales, Sophie exuded a resilience that suggested she sought understanding, not rescue. And for Stone, offering understanding might unintentionally invite an intimacy that could unravel both the secrets he guarded and the walls he meticulously maintained around his heart.
“Thanks for going along with being my boyfriend,” Sophie said, drawing his attention to her.
“It doesn’t feel right lying to him,” Stone said. “I wish you would have asked me my thoughts before passing me off as your date to your grandfather.”
“My last boyfriend was a catastrophe. Poppie’s fretted about me ever since. He thinks I let my guard down because I was worried about him, and that’s why I made such an unwise choice in men.”
“And is he right?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Anyway, telling him you are my boyfriend gave him peace of mind. He looked at you and saw what I saw.”
“And that is?”
“A decent human being with really bad fashion taste.”
“Wait.” He slowed his steps. “I thought you loved everything about my new clothes.”
She giggled. “I do…just not on you.” More laughter broke free from her lips. The deep belly kind that had her bending over, clutching her sides.
He jerked to a stop. This was the reaction he’d expected the moment she’d opened the door. He’d been duped. “How did you keep from cracking up when you first saw me?”
She straightened and wiped the tears running down her cheeks. “Ziggy sent me a picture.”
Everything made much more sense now. “I see. I’ll have to have a word with the man.” But even as he said it, he was fighting back a smile.
Sophie’s eyes widened. “Oh, you can’t tell him I told you, because he made me swear to keep it a secret. Frankie will fire him if she finds out.”
Stone’s desire to smile vanished. Sophie had just revealed a man’s secret—one she’d promised to keep—and with no apparent real regret in her eyes at having done so.
He filed away the damning knowledge, stuffed his disappointment out of the equation, and offered her the crook of his elbow. In the scheme of things, her inability to keep a secret wasn’t an issue, thus no need for him to pass judgment. He was a bachelor for life. “Shall we continue?”