Chapter 1
Chapter One
S ophie Kennedy dashed out of the manicurist’s shop feeling like a jackass. She was barefoot with cotton stuffed between each of her toes, thanks to her unfinished pedicure. She glanced left then right, trying to recall which direction Patricia Butler–Baines had gone.
“No good deed goes unpunished,” she muttered under her breath, mentally flipping a coin and heading to the right. She lifted her iPhone and awkwardly tried to find Patricia’s name in her list of contacts. God knew it would be an easier task if she wasn’t running with a freaking toy poodle named Pookie in the bag hanging over her shoulder.
Patricia, one of the most annoying women in the world, had spotted her while Sophie was getting the pedicure. Sophie had just dipped her feet into the cool soaking solution and closed her eyes, grateful for a few minutes of relaxing quiet. That quiet had lasted exactly twenty-four seconds before Patricia burst into the shop. She’d made a beeline straight for Sophie, giving her an earful about everything that was going wrong with the huge birthday bash Patricia was throwing for herself.
Sophie had listened with a sympathetic ear—since she certainly couldn’t get a word in edgewise—to Patricia’s ridiculously long tale of woe. The highlights included the caterer quitting at the last minute (who could blame him), the rental company daring to deliver a tent that wasn’t completely pristine white (apparently there were two dark smudges on one hem) and the florist failing to find hydrangeas that exactly matched the color of Patricia’s eyes.
Sweet Jesus. Really?
Desperate for silence, Sophie had foolishly agreed to speak to another caterer on Patricia’s behalf. She’d suggested someone try soap and water to get the smudges out of the tent. Finally, she assured the woman that nature could never hope to capture the beauty of her eyes, and it was foolish to even try to find flowers that matched. As Sophie expected, Patricia’s vanity was sufficiently stroked by the compliment. Not that it mattered to Sophie. She was just hoping to give the florist a break from the insanity.
Patricia, appeased, left with as much fanfare as she’d entered, waving to acquaintances and oohing and aahing loudly over some new shade of nail polish, assuming everyone in the place would want to know her opinion. It wasn’t until the pedicurist came over, dried Sophie’s feet and began to apply the polish that they noticed Pookie whimpering in her case.
“That dog needs to pee,” the woman stated matter-of-factly.
Sophie agreed.
“You’d better find the lady and give her back her dog.”
So now Sophie was rushing barefoot down the sidewalk with a freaking dog in a purse, trying to text Patricia, the last person on Earth she wanted to see for even three more seconds today.
She picked up her pace when she thought she saw the back of Patricia’s blonde head turning a corner ahead. Sophie was texting the word “wait” when she was knocked roughly off-balance.
She juggled her cell phone for a few seconds before giving up as Pookie began sliding off her shoulder. The man she’d collided with dropped the files he’d been carrying, papers flying everywhere. His phone hit the sidewalk next to hers.
“Shit!” they cried in unison.
Sophie hastily knelt to help him save the papers as a breeze threatened to blow them all away.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you about the dangers of texting and walking?” he asked angrily.
Sophie was in no mood to be chastised by anyone. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you to look both ways before crossing the street?”
“This is a sidewalk.”
“Same difference.” She stuffed the papers she’d recovered into a file folder. “Dammit,” she said as she handed it to him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I broke a nail.” She hadn’t even paid for the freaking manicure yet.
“Sorry to hear that, princess.”
His sardonic tone was the last straw.
Sophie narrowed her eyes. “Is sarcasm your first language or are you bilingual?”
Before the man could answer, Pookie wiggled free from the case, walked toward the building the man had just exited, lifted her leg and peed.
Sophie giggled when the man scowled. “Your dog is pissing on my office door.”
She shrugged. “So sue me.”
The man’s face instantly morphed into a grin Sophie didn’t trust. He raised his finger, pointing to the sign on the window.
Market Street Free Legal Aid, Marc Garrett, Attorney at Law.
Sophie grabbed her phone, stuffing it in her back jeans pocket as she stood. Her manicure was ruined, her relaxing pedicure over and she still had the damn dog in her possession. She returned his smile as she picked up Pookie and returned her to the case. “My name is Patricia Butler–Baines. Do your worst.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he said before she could get out of earshot.
Turning, she headed toward The Nail Gallery without a backward glance. The man—Marc, she assumed—didn’t bother to follow her.
She tried to ignore the odd part of her that was strangely disappointed. Asshole or not, he was pretty freaking hot. She blew out a long breath and shook off the feeling. The guy was a prick, and chances were good she’d never see him again.
Good riddance.
When she returned to the shop, she opened the door to discover Patricia waiting for her.
“Pookie!” Patricia cried, acting as if Sophie had kidnapped the silly mutt. Pookie barked as she was returned to her owner. Patricia, in true dramatic fashion, snuggled and kissed the dog as though they’d been separated for years rather than twenty minutes.
The mani-pedi Sophie had allotted sixty minutes for actually ate up two hours of her afternoon, since she’d essentially had to start over. By the time she dragged herself into Books and Brew for work, she was done in.
“You’re late,” Stephanie called out from behind the bar.
“Bite me.” Sophie walked straight to the storeroom to stash her purse. She was part owner of the bookstore-slash-bar with her three best friends, Stephanie, Jordan and Jayne. They were closer than sisters. Therefore the need to mince words and pretend to play nice had disappeared long ago.
“I tried to call you a couple times,” Stephanie said while Sophie grabbed an apron.
Sophie frowned and reached into her pocket to pull out her cell. “My phone never rang.”
“I know. That’s because you currently don’t have your phone.”
The second Sophie saw it she knew Stephanie was telling the truth. She’d picked up the asshole’s phone instead of her own. “Shit.”
“That’s what the guy who answered your phone said. Mr. Garrett is coming by tonight to make the switch with you.”
“You told him where to find me?”
Stephanie frowned. “I figured you’d want your phone back. Who is this guy? And why did you tell him your name is Patricia Butt–Bitch?” Stephanie never called Patricia by her given name.
Sophie sighed. “Nobody. Just some guy I ran into on the sidewalk.”
Literally.
“He sounded nice enough to me, though a bit frustrated with the phone mix-up. What’s his problem? Nerdy? Annoying?”
“Asshole,” Sophie supplied easily, though she wasn’t sure it was fair to keep labeling him as such, given they’d only talked a couple of minutes at most.
“Ah. If you want to hide in the back when he gets here, I can make the swap for you. Unfortunately, I don’t know exactly what time he’s coming. Said something about stopping by after a meeting with a judge. You think he’s in trouble with the law? Wonder what he did.”
“He’s a free-aid lawyer. His office is near The Nail Gallery.”
“Oh. Well, he can’t be all bad then, can he? I mean, rather than using his law degree to make a bundle of cash, he’s putting his talents to use to help the less fortunate. Jared said those free legal aid clinics do some really good things for domestic violence victims and the community as a whole.”
Stephanie, who served as the bartender at Books and Brew, had recently fallen head over heels for Jared, a local cop. The woman who’d always sworn off relationships had been bitten hard by the love bug, and Sophie couldn’t be happier for her.
Sophie found her first impression of Marc wavering in the face of Stephanie’s argument. Before she could admit it, the phone in her hand started ringing. Justin Timberlake’s SNL song “Dick in a Box” sounded loud enough that everyone in the place turned to look at her, then laughed.
“Ugh,” she groaned. “See?” She gestured to the phone as Stephanie grinned widely. “Asshole.”
Sophie answered the phone when she saw her own cell number on the screen. “’Dick in a Box’? Really? What’s wrong with you?”
Marc laughed on the other end. “It’s called humor, Sophie. You should give it a try.”
She forced herself to take a deep breath—then realized he’d called her by her real name. “Stephanie told you who I was.”
“I knew who you were the second I saw you on the sidewalk. Sort of hard not to recognize one of society’s darlings. Your picture’s in the paper all the time.”
She noticed a distinct tone of disdain in his voice. Unfortunately, she couldn’t refute that statement. He was right. Her father was one of the wealthiest businessmen in the state. A widower, he often looked to Sophie, his only daughter, to serve as hostess for his high-society shindigs. Jasper Kennedy did nothing in half measures, so as a result, the press often covered his black-tie affairs with rabid interests, the public dying to see how he would top himself with each event.
“When are you coming by? I need my phone.”
“I’ll be stuck in this meeting for a little while longer. We’re on a short break because the judge needed to look over some paperwork. I wanted to see how long you planned to hang out at that bar.”
“I’m not hanging out. I work here.”
Silence met her from the other end of the line. Sophie took a sick sense of pride in shocking the attorney. He clearly thought he had her figured out, placing her in the high-society-bitch category along with the Patricia Butler–Baineses of the world.
“You work in a bar?” he finally asked.
“Yep. Waiting tables tonight until close.”
“You’re a waitress ?”
She didn’t bother to explain she was part owner. She sort of liked keeping the cocky man in a state of ignorance. It felt good to shatter his preconceived illusions.
Sophie herself was actually struggling to find an identity that fit, though she’d certainly never admit it to Marc Garrett. She knew she didn’t want to live in her father’s world, hanging out at the country club and attending benefits and balls with the sole purpose of becoming someone’s trophy wife, but at the same time, she certainly hadn’t intended to wait tables for the rest of her life.
She’d always thought she’d put her bachelor’s degree in marketing to work, making Books and Brew a huge success. Sadly, those skills seemed to be more useful to her father and his big parties. She didn’t bring much more to the business she shared with her friends than serving drinks. Sophie was anxious to change that…somehow.
She wanted to be successful, wanted her life to serve some purpose. As to what that purpose should be, she didn’t have a clue. But for now…
“Yes, Marc. I’m a waitress. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No. No problem. Just trying to figure out why. Your father has more money than God. Why the hell do you need to work for minimum wage and tips? Daddy not footing the bill for your pedicures?”
“Are you always this rude?”
“Sweetheart, you’ve caught me on a good day. I haven’t even started to be rude yet.”
“That sounds like my cue to hang up. See you later.”
She clicked off before Marc could say anything else. She felt a sense of accomplishment in getting the last word. No doubt that was something Marc took pride in achieving more often than not.
The phone rang again, the damn “Dick in a Box” song blasting through the bar. Her own number taunted her once more. While she wanted to ignore the call, she wanted to make the song end just as quickly.
“What?” she said into the receiver.
“It’s rude to hang up on someone.”
As if to prove his point, Marc did just that, the phone going dead before she could issue a retort.
“ Asshole ,” she muttered. She silenced the phone and shoved it in her pocket, trying to push Marc Garrett’s face and voice from her mind.
That was easier said than done. If work had been even the slightest bit busy, she’d have been able to keep from thinking about the handsome, infuriating lawyer’s blue eyes. She wouldn’t have had so many hours to consider the muscular arms his dress shirt couldn’t conceal.
Instead, the afternoon trudged by at a snail’s pace, offering her too much time to fantasize. Typically Thursday was a busy day for them, what with Jayne’s Romantic Hearts book club normally filling the seating area of the bar for their discussion, but the group had taken a hiatus this week since tomorrow was the Fourth of July. Many of the book group members were mothers with small children, so they’d be preparing for picnics and fireworks or heading out of town for the holiday weekend.
Jayne sat at the end of the bar looking as tired as Sophie felt. “Why don’t you go home, Jayne? You’ve had a hell of a day.” Jayne volunteered at the local library. She’d spent the morning helping with an Independence Day party for local preschoolers, dressing up in red, white and blue, reading history-themed children’s books and serving cookies in the shape of the American flag. According to Jayne, the party had been a big, noisy success.
Jayne stifled a yawn. “I’m too tired to move off this stool to make the trek home. Remind me again why we didn’t close for the holiday?”
Stephanie busied herself wiping glasses, hanging them on the rack behind the bar. “Because this place will fill up later tonight when folks shake off work and get ready to celebrate the long weekend. Don’t you remember last year? The bar was packed. It was one of our best nights all year, profit-wise.”
Sophie nodded. “Yep. She’s right. This is the calm before the storm. No one will be here until after dark.”
Jayne sighed. “Then I probably shouldn’t go home. You’ll need me later.”
Stephanie shrugged. “It’s not even five yet. What if you go home for a few hours, put your feet up and come back to work until close? Sophie and I can handle things until then. Jordan said she’d be back at eight to help with the holiday partiers.”
The beauty of owning their own business was the ability to come and go as they wanted. Jordan worked the most conventional hours of the four, opting to do her bookkeeper and office manager duties during the traditional nine-to-five workday. However, on nights as busy as tonight was likely to be, she’d help wait tables or man the cash register on the bookstore side.
Stephanie, the night owl, loved working the late shift, not willing to give up her morning sleep-ins. Sophie and Jayne sort of made up the rest of the time, sometimes coming in early, other days working the later hours. They’d agreed to commit three years to building the business and growing a decent profit before they considered hiring full-time help.
So far they’d been able to keep things rolling on their own, but it had impacted their social lives. Stephanie was the only one of the four with a boyfriend, but as a detective, Jared’s hours were as odd as Stephanie’s. Somehow they managed to make it work, living together and designating Wednesdays as their “date night”.
Sophie really didn’t struggle too hard for dates. She had plenty of offers, and she accepted more often than not. The trick was finding a guy she wanted to go on a second date with. Her father tended to be the driving force behind her offers, introducing her to doctors and businessmen who ran in his social circles. Dad was determined to find her a “good husband”. She played the dutiful daughter and honestly gave the men a fair shot. Unfortunately, her idea of the perfect man and her father’s were as similar as thoroughbred horses and pack mules.
She didn’t want a man whose singular goal was to acquire as much money and power as possible. She wanted a man with a career that wasn’t the sole focus of his life, who’d come home at a reasonable hour, who wanted to have a family he’d be around to help raise.
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.”
“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.