Chapter Five—Sophia
I swipe my hands underneath my eyes, trying to catch the last of the tears that have been leaking out of me since I first got the news.
The bodega fired me. Fired me. As if things haven’t been hard enough these last few weeks. I could feel something had changed, with the new owners coming in and everything, but this? This is the last thing I could have expected. And I don’t know how I’m meant to handle it.
The student support offices are a few buildings over from my dorm, and while I’ve been doing my best to keep my distance from them and prove I can handle everything myself, I don’t see what other choice I have but to beg for their help. I need to find another job so I can keep paying for my dorm room, but I don’t have time to look for it, what with all the work I’m doing to catch up on my classes after those essays went missing. The weight of the world is pressing down on my shoulders, and I have no idea how to shake it loose.
And, of course, the moment I stepped through the door, I found myself face-to-face with the last person on Earth I want to see. That guy. That guy who I snapped at when I was at the Hanna Brown event, the guy who’s been stopping by my coffee shop and observing me from his window seat. I can’t figure out if he despises me or desires me, but I know I don’t want to be having that debate in my head while I’m asking for help.
"I’m Sophia, by the way," I blurt out to him as he sinks into the seat opposite me. He seems utterly unbothered by this, even amused by my presence.
"I know, I got your name when we met," he replies calmly, clasping his hands in front of him. "I’m Blake."
"Good to meet you, Blake," I mutter, though I wish it were under any other circumstances. Or maybe not at all. After the snooty attitude he’d taken with me that night, I feel like he’s just another one of the many rich kids who populate this school. Not that it surprises me, given the reputation this place has, but I didn’t expect the gap between them and me to be quite so... intense.
"So, what can I help you with?" he asks. His eyes remain just as cold as they were the night I met him. I don’t know what someone like this is doing working student support. I can’t think of anyone I would want to come to for help less.
"I just lost my job," I blurt out. "I was... I mean, I’ve been working at a bodega part-time, to try and bring in money, but they just fired me..."
He frowns.
"I thought you worked at the coffee shop."
"I do," I reply. "I work at the bodega, too. Well, worked there. My family doesn’t have enough money to pay for me to come here, so I have to come up with it by myself, and I guess..."
I trail off. I feel like I’m going to throw up. All the stress that has been piling down on me this last month or so, it’s finally getting the better of me. I feel the tears starting to well up in my eyes again, and I glance away, not wanting him to see me like this. There’s something, deep down in my gut, that’s telling me not to let a man like this sense any weakness in me, or I’ll be in some serious trouble.
"Hey, it’s alright," he murmurs, pushing a tissue box across the table toward me. I snatch one up and dab at my eyes quickly.
"I’m sorry, I’m okay," I tell him. "I’m just... it’s been a really tough few weeks, that’s all."
"You can talk to me about it, if you want."
I lift my gaze to meet his. Though his expression is kind, I feel a fizz in my chest as he stares at me. No, I don’t think I want to talk to him about this, no matter what he might be able to do to help.
"No, no, it’s alright. I just... I just need to get another job. I can do that myself—"
"I can help you with that."
I stare at him for a moment. How could he help me get a job?
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I know some places in the city that are always looking for workers," he explains. "A few launderettes, coffee shops, stuff like that. I’m sure you’d be perfect for them."
My heart leaps. I could use all the help I can get right now. Even if it’s from him.
"That would be amazing," I gush before I can stop myself. "I... I’ll do anything in terms of work, honestly. I don’t mind. As long as it’s paying my bills, I don’t care."
"See, that’s the kind of attitude that will get you far," he remarks as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone to fire off a text message. "Let me contact a few of the people I know. See if we can get anything going for you."
I chew my lip as I watch him set about his work. This still doesn’t feel quite right to me. I guess he’s from a rich family and all. Maybe these are places that his parents own? Would he really be willing to go out of his way to help me like this? Perhaps I got the wrong impression of him the first night we met. Maybe I’ve been unfair to him all this time.
"Thank you," I mumble, and he flashes me a grin. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which are dark, like a shark’s.
"You’ll find some way to repay me, I’m sure."
A shiver runs down my spine, and he flicks his tongue across his bottom lip. My gaze is drawn down to his mouth, framed by a carefully cultivated designer stubble, and I draw it away again quickly.
Now isn’t the time to be checking anyone out, Sophia!
"Let me take you for a drink, help you calm down," he suggests. "There’s a bar near here, Flagrantes. You know it?"
I snort.
"I know of it," I reply. "The drinks are too expensive in there for me. I’m more a five-dollar-bottle-of-wine girl."
He chuckles slightly, the sound surprisingly warm.
"On me," he replies. "We can wait to hear back from some of the contacts I have in the city. And besides, you look like you could use a drink."
I don’t know if this is a good idea. I hardly know this man. And my instincts are warning me that there are depths beneath the surface, depths I might not survive traversing. But fuck it. Why shouldn’t I accept his offer? It’s just a drink. One drink. Not like I’m going to get a chance to go to Flagrantes without him, anyway.
"Okay, just one," I reply, and he grins, rising to his feet and grabbing his coat. I can’t help but notice the way his muscles flex beneath his white tee as he moves. He's strong, no doubt about it. Could probably hitch me off my feet if he wanted to. And plant me on this desk, and...
"You okay?"
His voice cuts through my reverie, and I realize I’ve just been standing there as he holds the door for me. I nod quickly and slip outside before he can see the flush on my cheeks.
It’s cool out, and the air bites at my face as he chats to me a little about my work at the coffee shop. Turns out he’s quite a coffee afficionado, and he’s impressed with my barista abilities.
"Not everyone can make a black coffee special, but you know what you’re doing."
"Oh, I think that’s more down to the beans we get in than me," I reply, waving a hand. He cocks an eyebrow at me.
"You have a hard time taking a compliment, don’t you?"
His words catch me off guard. He’s more perceptive than I would have credited someone like him of being capable of. My lips part in surprise, and he chuckles.
"I’m joking," he assures me as we reach the door to Flagrantes. "Come in. It’s too cold out today."
I step inside Flagrantes, and my eyebrows shoot up as I take the place in. With the prices they were charging, I knew this place had to be nice, but this is amazing. Burgundy leather booths line the walls, each with an art deco lamp that looks like it could have come straight from a flapper bar. Low music fills the air, and the immaculately dressed bartender greets Blake with a nod.
Blake approaches the bar, and the bartender is already making his drink by the time he arrives.
"Damon’s here, by the way," she remarks, nodding across to one of the booths toward the back. Blake glances around and grins when he lays eyes on another man around his age. A crop of blond hair frames his sharp blue eyes.
"What do you want?" the bartender asks me. I hesitate as I look at the menu above the bar. It’s all so expensive. I feel like I would be rude to ask for anything. Blake seems to sense my discomfort, though, and he reaches out to touch the small of my back.
"I’m paying."
His touch stills me for a moment as though the whole world has dropped away and the only things that matter are his fingertips brushing my skin. I swallow hard and force myself to pick something.
"I’ll have a white Russian, then," I reply. I’ve never actually tried one before, but I’ve heard of them, and it sounds fancy enough. A few moments later, the bartender has stirred up our drinks for us, and I follow Blake to the booth his friend is sitting in.
Damon—that was his name, right?—eyes me for a long moment, and I shift, slightly uncomfortable beneath his gaze. There’s something about the way he’s looking at me that seems to lodge beneath my skin, and I don’t like it. I always feel so exposed in places like this, as though, at any moment, they’re going to figure out that I don’t belong here.
"Damon, this is Sophia," Blake introduces us. "Sophia, Damon."
A grin spreads across Damon’s face.
"Good to meet you properly," he replies, extending his hand. I take it, a little confused.
"Properly...?"
"I’ve seen you working at the coffee shop," he replies, his eyes darting to Blake, like he’s testing the ground on how much he can say.
"Oh, okay," I mutter, lowering my gaze to my drink. There’s something unspoken in the air right now, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me. I don’t know how to make sense of all of this.
"She’s looking for a new job, actually," Blake explains. He’s sitting next to me at the booth, and I can feel his leg grazing mine beneath the table. Is he aware of it? Does he even care? I don’t know. I can feel a tingle rushing along my thigh at the feel of him so close to me, some part of me responding to him in a way I can’t quite make sense of.
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, Blake said he’d help me get set up with one of the places he knows in the city," I reply. I don’t know if it’s actually going to turn into anything useful, but I need all the help I can get right now, even from someone like him.
To my surprise, Damon snorts with amusement.
"You’ll be working for him?" he remarks.
"Not for me," Blake replies, shooting his friend a look. "Some place where I know the owners."
"Right, of course," Damon replies, grinning. "Good luck with that, Sophia."
"What do you mean?"
Silence falls over the table. Blake is glowering at Damon, signaling to him to shut up. I can tell that, even from where I’m sitting.
"Nothing," Damon mutters as he takes a sip of his wine. "Forget I said anything."
But I can’t forget it. Not when there seems to be so much more going on under the surface than I’m privy to. And not when I’m relying on this guy to get me out of the bind I currently find myself in.
I take another sip of my drink and pray that I haven’t just gotten myself into more of a mess than I can handle.