22. Sophie
Chapter 22
Sophie
G iovanni's is exactly the kind of restaurant that should've set off warning bells.
The kind of place where the ma?tre d' looks at my carefully chosen black dress like he knows it's from last season's clearance rack. Where crystal wine glasses catch the low lighting, creating shadows that make everyone look like they're plotting something. Where private tables hidden by velvet curtains whisper of deals and secrets and things better left unsaid.
I smooth my hands over my skirt, wishing I hadn't let Cynthia talk me into heels. They make me feel like I'm playing dress-up, trying to look more sophisticated than I am. More like someone who belongs here.
Clark Ellis certainly belongs here. He rises as I approach our table, every inch the successful agent in his perfectly tailored suit and Italian leather shoes. His smile is practiced, polished— and the kind that never quite reaches his eyes.
"Sophie." He gestures to the chair a server pulls out. "You look lovely. That dress is..."
"Last season," I finish dryly, feeling even more self-conscious. "I know."
"Charming." His smile sharpens slightly. "Direct. Just like your writing."
I settle into my seat, trying not to feel overwhelmed by the multiple forks laid out before me or the wine list longer than my feature drafts. The velvet curtains partially screening our table from view make everything feel intimate and almost conspiratorial.
This is definitely dangerous.
"You look nervous," Clark observes, gesturing to my untouched wine. "Not your usual scene?"
"I prefer places that don't require a mortgage downpayment for the appetizers."
He laughs like I've said something charming instead of borderline rude, but there's an edge to it. There’s a calculation in his eyes that reminds me why I'm really here. Why I shouldn't be here at all.
"You remind me of someone," he says, swirling his scotch—something presumably expensive and aged. "Young, ambitious...not afraid to say what she thinks."
My heart stops. "Chelsea?"
The name slips out before I can stop it, hanging in the air between us.
His smile turns sharp, predatory. Like he's been waiting for this opening. "So, you know about her?"
"I know she was Evan's wife."
"Ex-wife." He takes another sip of scotch. "Though that's probably for the best. Evan never could handle strong women. Always trying to control everything, protect everyone..."
"He's protective of his family," I say carefully. "That's not a bad thing."
"Is that what he tells you? That he's protecting them?" Clark leans forward. "Did he tell you why his marriage really ended?"
Yes. No. Sort of.
I think about all the times Evan almost opened up. All the pain in his eyes whenever Chelsea was mentioned. All the walls he built to keep everyone out.
To keep me out.
"That's not why I'm here," I say instead of answering. "I want to talk about Ryland's prospects at camp."
"Of course you do." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Just like you want to talk about team dynamics and development strategies and all those other safe topics that won't upset Evan Daniels."
"This isn't about Evan."
"Isn't it?" He signals for another drink. "Tell me something, Sophie. How does it feel being his latest project? His newest person to protect?"
"I'm not his project."
"No? Then why are you really here?" He studies me over the rim of his glass. "Because we both know it's not about Ryland's hockey career."
I take a sip of wine to buy time, wishing I'd ordered something stronger.
"Ryland has real talent," I say finally. "He deserves good representation."
"And you think his uncle can provide that? A man so wrapped up in his own issues he can't see past them?"
"Evan's been nothing but supportive…"
"Supportive?" Clark barks out a laugh. "Is that what you call trying to control every aspect of the kid's career? Keeping him away from better opportunities because of his own paranoia?"
"Better opportunities like you?"
"I know how to build careers, Sophie. How to take raw talent and make it shine." His smile turns predatory. "Just ask Chelsea."
Something in his tone makes my stomach turn. "What does she have to do with this?"
"Everything. Nothing." He shrugs elegantly. "Let's just say I have experience helping people reach their full potential. Even if others try to hold them back."
"The way Evan held Chelsea back?"
"The way he's holding you back." Clark leans forward. "Come on, Sophie. We both know this feature could be bigger. Better. The kind of story that launches careers."
"That's not what I want."
"No? Then why are you here?" He gestures around the restaurant. "Why meet with me if not to get the real story? The one Evan won't tell you?"
Because I'm hurt. Because I'm angry. Because I want to understand why Evan pushed me away.
Because maybe if I understand what happened before, I can fix what's happening now.
"I'm here because…"
"Because you're just like her," Clark interrupts. "Ambitious. Talented. Too good to be stuck in Evan Daniel’s shadow."
"I'm nothing like Chelsea."
"No?" His smile turns cruel. "Then why are you having dinner with the man who slept with his wife?"
The words nearly make me double over.
Because suddenly everything makes sense. All of it. Every damn bit.
Evan's reaction to Clark, his fear of mixing personal and business, his walls...
"You..." My voice shakes. "You and Chelsea?"
"Oh, did he not tell you that part?" Clark's laugh is ugly now. "About how his perfect marriage ended because his wife chose me? Because I could give her what he couldn't?"
"And what was that?"
"Freedom. Opportunity. A chance to be more than just the Ice Man's wife." He drains his scotch. "The same things I could give you."
"What are you talking about?"
"This feature you're writing? It could be explosive. The real story of hockey's most notorious family. All their dirty secrets laid bare..." He pulls out a business card and lays it on the table in front of me. "I could help you tell it. Make sure it gets the right attention."
I stare at the card, feeling sick. "You want me to exploit them?"
"I want you to tell the truth. All of it." His smile is all teeth. "Starting with how the Ice Man's new girlfriend was seen having intimate dinners with his ex-wife's lover."
"Is that what this is? A setup?"
"This is an opportunity, Sophie. The kind that only comes once." He slides the card closer to me. "The question is: are you smart enough to take it?"
I stand up so fast my chair nearly tips. "Go to hell."
"Careful." His voice hardens. "You don't want to make an enemy of me. Just ask Evan how that worked out for him."
"Actually," a familiar voice growls from behind me, "why don't you tell her yourself?"
I turn to find Evan standing there, looking more dangerous than I've ever seen him.
Clark's smile doesn't waver. "Well, well. Just like old times, my friend. Come to protect another woman from my evil influence?"
"Come to finish what I should have done three years ago."
What happens next feels like slow motion…
Clark stands, straightening his tie. "You always were dramatic. Tell me, does Sophie know why you really didn't fight the divorce? Why you let Chelsea walk away with…"
He doesn't finish the sentence.
Because Evan's fist connects with his jaw, sending him sprawling across the table.
Crystal shatters. Wine spills. Someone screams.
And I stand there, frozen, watching Evan live up to his reputation in the worst possible way.
"Evan," I manage, reaching for him. "Stop!"
But he's already backing away, chest heaving, eyes wild.
"I trusted you," he says, and the betrayal in his voice breaks something in my chest. "I let you in, and you...you went to him?"
"It's not what you think…"
"It never is." He looks around at the chaos—the overturned table, the gathering crowd, Clark groaning on the floor. "Congratulations, Sophie. You just got your story."
He walks out before I can explain, leaving me standing in the wreckage of everything we could have been.
Clark laughs heartily from the floor, blood staining his perfect tie.
"See?" He wipes his mouth. "Always has to be the hero. The protector. Never allowing anyone to make their own choices."
I look at him—really look at him—and see what Evan must have seen years ago: a man who destroys things just because he can.
"You're wrong," I say quietly, watching the chaos unfold around us.
The ma?tre d' is rushing over, phone in hand. Other diners have their phones out too, capturing the aftermath. Tomorrow's headlines practically write themselves: ICE MAN LOSES COOL. HOCKEY STAR DECKS AGENT.
Clark pushes himself to his feet, using a nearby chair for support. His perfect suit is stained with wine, his jaw already showing signs of bruising. But his eyes—his eyes are triumphant.
"Am I?" He straightens his ruined tie. "Because from where I'm standing—or was standing—he just proved everything I said about him. Hot-headed. Controlling. Unable to let anyone make their own choices."
"No." I step closer, anger replacing my shock. "He proved he'll do anything to protect his family from people like you. People who use them. Who twist things to suit their own agenda."
"People like me?" His laugh is ugly. "You mean people like you? The reporter who got too close? Who made him trust her just to…"
"I never used him."
"No? Then why are you here?" He gestures at the destruction around us. "Why meet with me if not to get the real story? The one he won't tell you?"
Because I was hurt. Because I was scared. Because I thought understanding his past might help me fix his future.
Our future.
But looking at the mess around us—the total wreckage and the shocked faces of other diners—I realize something: some stories aren't worth the price. Even if they could make my career. Even if they could explain everything.
Even if they might help me understand why Evan builds walls so high.
"Well," Clark adjusts his jacket, wincing, "I'd say dinner was a success. Got exactly what I wanted."
I stare at him. "What?"
"Proof that the Ice Man hasn't changed." He flashes a wicked smile despite his swollen jaw. "That he's still the same hothead who couldn't keep his wife. Who can't trust anyone. Who…"
"Who loves his family enough to risk everything protecting them." I gather my things. "Even his reputation."
"Is that what you think this was? Love?" He laughs. "This was possession. Control. The same things that drove Chelsea away."
"No." I drop enough cash on the table to cover my untouched wine. "This was you. Again. Destroying something good just because you can."
I walk out, leaving him to explain the mess to the approaching manager.
Because some stories aren't worth telling. Even if they could make my career. Even if they could explain everything. Even if they might help me understand why Evan builds walls so high.
My phone buzzes as I step into the cool night air.
Cynthia: Did you seriously just witness the Ice Man deck someone at Giovanni's??? It's all over Twitter!
Perfect. Just perfect.
Another buzz.
Brad: Please tell me you're not going to write about this.
And finally, one from Julia: He's hurting. But so are you. Maybe that means something.
I look down the street where Evan disappeared, then at the restaurant where Clark is probably already spinning this into another scandal.
The way he spun Chelsea.
The way he's trying to spin me.
But I'm not Chelsea. And maybe that's the problem. Because I don't want a story. I want...Evan. All of him—walls and scars and trust issues included.
Too bad I just proved him right about everything he fears. Too bad I let Clark Ellis manipulate me into becoming exactly what Evan thought I was: just another reporter looking for a story.
Even if that's the last thing I ever wanted to be.