26. Chapter 26
Chapter 26
S ophie had prepared meticulously for today’s interviews. Opting for a touch of nostalgia, she’d donned a retro ensemble: a T-shirt emblazoned with Dreamer at Work , paired with flared bell-bottom pants and chunky platform shoes. She figured the standout outfit would make her a memorable sight—enough so that any would-be kidnapper might think twice.
Despite Stone’s explicit wishes that she refrain from conducting interviews during his absence, Sophie had ultimately discarded his request. Mainly because of his offhand remark, as he’d left her apartment, about possibly not returning soon. Who knew how long securing a replacement for him might take? Moreover, the excitement of uncovering new book-boyfriend possibilities was too enticing to postpone. Plus, she was on a deadline. Yes. That’s the one she would lead with should he demand an explanation upon his return. Which he would because he was the broody sort who wouldn’t appreciate his wishes being ignored.
Besides, it wasn’t like any of today’s interviews posed potential threats. They’d all been nominated by people who either worked at Naked Runway or were known by someone who worked there.
Now she sat in the reception area of a funky start-up company, waiting to meet a guy who mirrored the hero from Claire Kingsley’s novel, Falling for My Enemy .
“Mr. Drool will see you now,” the receptionist announced with a straight face.
Sophie couldn’t suppress a snicker. The surname was just too perfect for a prospective living, breathing book boyfriend. As she stood to approach the office, the door swung open.
“Hi,” greeted a man with a crooked grin that instantly charmed her. “I’m Howie Drool, and you must be Sophie E. Clark, the woman who got my name by accident.”
Sophie shook his hand. “Not by accident. You were nominated, and trust me, the nominator was vetted.”
He gestured for her to take a seat in a chair across from his sleek, minimalist desk, then circled around to sit himself. “May I ask who put my name in the hat for this—farce?”
“I’m afraid that is confidential,” Sophie replied, deciding not to be insulted, “If we told certain candidates who nominated them, it might not go over so well for the person.”
“I see. Well, I understand someone thinks that I’m book boyfriend material,” Howie remarked, his tone mixed with amusement and disbelief. “Beyond that, my receptionist seemed to be in the dark.”
Sophie leaned forward. “You see, here’s the deal—I’m featuring men who embody the essence of literary romantic heroes for my upcoming columns in Naked Runway . You’ve been flagged as a hot nerd archetype.” Her voice was tinged with an eagerness she couldn’t quite conceal.
“A hot nerd?” Howie echoed, arching his eyebrows as if the concept was utterly foreign. “I’m pretty sure that’s a joke. Sorry to say, someone’s playing you.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. You’re smart, right?” Sophie challenged, tilting her head.
“Well, I do own this place,” he conceded, a flicker of pride passing through his eyes.
“And I can vouch you’re cute. So, the only other thing left to know is—are you single?”
He sighed, a hint of resignation in his expression. “It appears that way.”
Sophie forced a smile, her mind drifting back to Stone. Despite her resolve to push forward, the uncertainty of his return lingered, making her feel more alone than she cared to admit. The thrill of the interview was tainted by a gnawing sense of abandonment. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was dancing on the edge of something fragile, and without Stone’s steady presence, it felt dangerously close to breaking.
Sophie caught a glimpse of something deeper, a hint of sadness in Howie’s eyes, suggesting a recent heartbreak. “Would you be open to staying single until the end of the year? And quite possibly participating in a bachelor’s auction for charity?”
“You want me to agree to be auctioned off?” Howie asked, his tone laced with skepticism, his eyes reflecting total horror at the idea.
“It’s for a fantastic cause—Childhood Cancer Research.”
Howie scratched the back of his neck. “Damn. How about I just donate a large sum instead?”
“Or you could embrace a bit of adventure and do both. Who knows, maybe you’ll find the love of your life in the process,” Sophie suggested, twinkling with happiness because she knew she had another book boyfriend on the hook.
He scoffed, shaking his head. “That would be a long shot. My idiosyncrasies seem to be a bit much for women to handle.”
“Somehow, I doubt that’s true for every woman,” Sophie countered, challenging his self-deprecation. “It sounds like you’ve just been focusing on the wrong women. Trust me, there are plenty out there who are searching for their very own nerd in shining armor.”
“Are you one of them?” Howie asked.
“I am single, if that’s what you’re asking,” Sophie replied, maintaining a professional tone that would have made Stone proud. “But my contract explicitly states I cannot date any of the men I feature, at least not until after the auction is over.”
“If I agree to participate, will you then tell me who nominated me?” he queried, leaning forward slightly.
“Sorry, no. But I have the feeling it’s someone who really cares about you and wants to see you happy.”
“That would be my mother,” Howie remarked, a resigned chuckle escaping him.
Sophie laughed. “How about I get a photo first, and then I’ll interview you?”
One hour later, Sophie found herself in the bustling lobby of her next interview location. “Hi, I’m here to see Mr. Orvil,” she announced to the receptionist. “I’m—”
“Sophie E. Clark, President of Book Boyfriend Connoisseurs,” chirped the receptionist, a perky redhead with an infectious smile. “I’m Taylor. I’m a huge fan of yours. I belong to the club but haven’t made it to a meeting yet. Every time I plan to go, he”—she nodded toward a stern-looking closed door— “invents some urgent task that absolutely requires me to work late.”
“Hi, Taylor, it’s great to meet a fellow club member. I really do hope you can make it to our next meeting. I’ll look forward to seeing you there,” Sophie replied warmly.
Taylor leaned closer. “Before I tell him you’re here,” she said in a low conspiratorial whisper, “I just need to know…you’re not going to tell him I nominated him for the Bosshole Book Boyfriend hero, are you?” Her eyes darted nervously toward the same closed door.
Sophie made a motion of zipping her lips. “Mum’s the word.”
“Okay. Here’s the scoop: he’s undeniably sexy, pays fabulously, and is super generous at Christmas. Loves his mom, too—all signs of a redeemable guy. But as a boss… Well, he’s pretty much a classic bosshole. For instance, he barks orders like a crusty drill sergeant, he’s grumpier than any cat I’ve ever owned, and he expects me to purchase gifts for his revolving door of women,” Taylor finished in a tone of resignation.
Sophie grinned. “Sounds like he is a perfect candidate for the boyfriend trope.”
Taylor’s expression brightened. “I was bummed to miss the club meeting where you discussed the rom-com with that trope. I had so much I could have added to the conversation.”
“We should definitely talk book boyfriends over a drink sometime then,” Sophie offered. “I’m always game for a book chat.”
“Thanks. I’d love that,” Taylor replied, her eyes grateful. “Back to my bosshole dilemma, though. I’m just filling in for his regular admin, who must have been a saint because nothing I do ever meets the mark. She’s on a year’s sabbatical, and here I am, six months deep in this madness. My neighbor pushed me to apply for this job—never again will I take career advice from an eighty-year-old, that’s for sure.”
**
Twenty minutes later, Sophie was sitting in Orvil’s office, wrapping up her conversation with him. He turned out to be surprisingly charming and genuinely funny, a far cry from the bosshole persona Taylor had described.
He had burst into laughter when Sophie revealed the category under which he had been nominated and quickly surmised that it must have been his newest hire who put his name forward. Sophie maintained her professionalism, neither confirming nor denying his guess, which only seemed to amuse him further.
He not only agreed to be featured in her column but expressed a commitment to improving his management style and participating in the auction.
“Guess it’s a good wake-up call, isn’t it?” he’d joked during their conversation.
Sophie found herself genuinely liking him; his self-awareness and easy-going humor were disarming. By the end of their meeting, it was clear that Orvil was more than willing to embrace the challenge, promising to strive for a less bosshole-like reputation.
The last interview of the day took Sophie to an unlikely venue—a gritty biker bar in the East Village, known for its rough charm and secretive patrons. The person she was meeting reportedly had a secret so compelling that the nominator thought it was high time it was shared with the world. Sophie herself was in the dark about the nature of the secret, which added an element of suspense to the task.
As she pushed open the heavy door of the bar at two in the afternoon, the sound of a bell echoed sharply through the air.
“Not open yet,” a gruff voice announced from somewhere within the dimly lit interior.
“I’m not here to drink,” Sophie responded, scanning the shadows to locate the source of the voice.
Her question was quickly answered when a man stepped out from a hallway, his presence commanding immediate attention. He could have been a character straight from the thriller she and Stone had been reading, with tattoos covering every visible inch of his skin, including his bald head, creating a striking montage of ink and muscle.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, his tone guarded. “You seem a bit lost.”
“Umm. I’m here to speak to a Connor Jenkins,” Sophie stated, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
“My friends call me Con,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he sized her up. “Since you’re not a friend yet, you can call me Jenks. It helps me keep my friends and…acquaintances…separate.”
“Fair enough,” Sophie replied, offering a small smile. “I hope before I leave, you might consider me more friend than foe.”
“I’m listening,” he said, folding his arms.
Sophie smiled prettily, eager to make a good impression. “My name is Sophie E. Clark, and I’m a professional daydreamer.”
He grunted out a laugh. “Ain’t nobody ever told me that was a job option when I was growing up. If they had, I might have chosen a different career path than… Well, the one I ended up on.”
Someone who uses the words career path in a sentence couldn’t be all bad. “I’m currently writing feature stories about gentlemen who have been nominated as swoon-worthy, breathing book boyfriends.” Sophie’s gut told her that to get him to say yes, she’d really have to emphasize the romantic allure of being nominated. Appeal to his male ego. “Someone thinks you’re super cute.”
“Cute is a fighting word where I come from,” Jenks retorted. “You didn’t just walk into my bar to pick a fight, did you?”
“Or sexy,” Sophie corrected quickly. “They probably thought of you as sexy, which is definitely more fitting for a biker than cute.”
“Let me save you some time. I’ve sworn off romance. And I ain’t interested in associating with a fluff piece who calls herself a professional daydreamer. No offense,” Jenks said dismissively.
“Some taken,” Sophie replied, keeping her tone calm and professional while not being a pushover. “Is there any way I can persuade you to reconsider? The person who nominated you mentioned that you were both book boyfriend-worthy and harboring a secret that needed to be shared.”
“What the fuck did you say?” Jenks snapped, his demeanor shifting instantly.
“I said, whoever nominated you mentioned you have a secret that needs to be told,” Sophie repeated, sensing the sudden escalation. “Not a bad secret. More like a secret that gets in the way of romance blooming.”
“Who the fuck told you that?” he demanded, swiftly pulling a gun from behind the counter and aiming it squarely at her.
Sophie squeaked, stepping back and groping for the door handle. “I genuinely have no idea. I only show up to do the interviews based on the nominations.”
“Well, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Jenks growled, his voice low and threatening. “You’re gonna walk out of here alive because I like your gumption walking into a biker bar alone wearing that. But if I so much as hear a whisper about my secret getting out, I’ll hold you personally responsible. You do not want to be on my enemy list, darling.”
“That’s fair,” Sophie managed to say, her voice trembling. “But I promise, if your secret does get out, it won’t be from me. I don’t even know what it is. If I did, I might have reconsidered this visit because it seems like it’s a doozy.”
He chuckled darkly. “Doesn’t matter if you know or not. Now get out, before I change my mind.”
Sophie didn’t need to be told twice. She turned and fled, not stopping until she was safely out of the bar and several blocks away. Gasping for breath, shaking from adrenaline, she very much regretted not having Stone by her side today. What had she been thinking, asking a man like Jenks to agree to tell his secret? A smart person would have taken one look, known he was bad news, and spewed something about having the wrong address.
As Sophie continued to distance herself from the bar, the tension from her encounter clung to her like a skunk fart. She could still feel the chill from his threat and the seriousness of the situation.
How had his name been allowed to stay on her list of men to interview? Someone at Naked Runway must have messed up. Must have thought he was attached to someone reliable, but he obviously was not.
Her phone vibrated with an incoming call. For a terrifying moment, she thought it might be Jenks. When she saw it was Stone, a wave of relief washed over her, almost bringing tears to her eyes. “Stone.” Her voice sounded more unsteady than she intended, betraying the fear still coursing through her veins.
“Tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing,” Stone replied bluntly, his voice a lifeline she desperately clung to.
“I wasn’t expecting you back this early,” she said, sounding guilty as charged, her heart pounding.
“What have you done?” The weight of his disappointment was palpable, cutting through her like a knife.
“I decided to cross off a few of the interviews I needed to do. And before you say anything, I chose the ones I knew wouldn’t put me in harm’s way.” Her voice wavered, the memory of Jenks’s threat still fresh.
Silence, the kind that nobody likes, greeted her. The kind that makes you glad you’re not enduring it in person, but it still felt suffocating.
“I never promised I wouldn’t,” she blurted, when she couldn’t stand it any longer, desperation creeping into her tone.
“I’m sending you an address. Meet me there.” His tone held no room for argument, his concern wrapping around her like a protective shield.
She glanced at her watch. “When?”
“Now.”