Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
SOPHIE
When I get back from powdering my nose, the hotel ballroom is filled with Charleston’s finest, all dressed to the nines and making awkward small talk, waiting for the moment that the string quartet stops playing so they can actually sit down.
The staff members at WVFY haven’t been allocated our own tables – which is just as well since each table of ten costs twenty thousand dollars.
Instead, our job is to sit at a different table for each course and make sure everybody is having a good time.
For the first course – carrot and coriander soup – I’m put with a table of old school Charleston grandees.
One of the men on my left takes pity on me and asks me what I do.
“I present the weather on WVFY,” I tell him.
“Ah, you’re on television,” he says. “I don’t watch that. Prefer the radio, always have.”
“Ah, she’d be wasted on the radio,” the man on my other side says. “Too pretty for that.”
He’s at least eighty and there’s nothing lecherous in his words. He’s just trying to be a gentleman, so I smile at him.
“I worked on the radio when I was a student,” I tell him. “It’s a lot harder to do a forecast when you don’t have a map behind you.”
“I wouldn’t be looking at the map anyway,” he says. Then the woman next to him slaps his arm. “Sorry, darling,” he mumbles. She shakes her head then smiles at me.
“I think you’re wonderful,” she tells me. “You haven’t steered me wrong yet. You were the only one who said it was going to rain last weekend, and you were right.”
This isn’t strictly true, but I take it anyway. And as I’m about to ask them if they’re planning on bidding on the auction tonight I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“Can I have a word?” Michael asks. He looks annoyed. I can only imagine that he’s seen the auction list.
“I’m busy,” I tell him with a whisper, pointing at the table. As soon as he sees nine other pairs of eyes looking at him, he puts on an easy smile. All trace of annoyance disappears into the air.
“Hello,” he says to them. “So sorry to interrupt you, I just need Sophie for a moment.” He lifts a brow. “You don’t mind, do you? It’s to do with the auction.”
“Of course we don’t mind,” the man on my right says, patting my hand. “You go ahead, dear. We’ll finish our soup.”
Michael lifts a brow at me, and I recognize that gesture. And now I’m the one annoyed because I really don’t want to go with him, but I don’t want to make a scene in front of our donors either.
I don’t know what I was thinking really. Of course he was going to look at the list before the auction started.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell them, standing reluctantly.
“We’ll make sure nobody steals your soup,” the man says.
“Follow me.” That’s all Michael says for the next minute as we walk across the ballroom to the little area behind the stage where the production team is setting things up for the auction. Still not talking to me, Michael picks up one of the lists and shoves it toward me.
“What’s this?” he asks.
“I don’t know.” I shrug, determined not to make a scene here either. I have to work with these people and they’re all avidly watching us.
“Get back to work,” Michael snaps at them.
It’s grimly satisfying to see there are people other than me who he doesn’t lay on the charm for.
When they start shuffling about again he turns back to me.
“I asked you to be auctioned for a dinner,” he tells me.
“What’s this nonsense about a personal weather forecast? ”
I square my shoulders. “You asked me to be put up for auction and this is what I want to auction off. It’s a much better prize than dinner. Somebody gets three months’ worth of data just for them.”
“And you think that’s a good idea? Do you realize how much work that’s going to take? WVFY is trying to make money, not pay for you to be somebody’s weather slave.”
“I’ll do it on my own time,” I say stubbornly.
“Just go out for dinner, Sophie,” he hisses. He grabs a pen from his pocket and strikes a line through my auction lot, scribbling something above it.
“You can’t do that,” I protest. “Everybody has the paper on their tables.”
“I’ll explain you made a mistake.”
I shake my head, furious. “No you won’t. My auction is staying as it’s printed.”
“You’ll make more money for charity if you just go out for dinner.” He waves his hand toward the stage. “These guys don’t give a shit about a forecast. They just want to take you out for dinner, have you look pretty, and maybe cop a feel or two on the way home.”
God I hate him. And I’m so aware that the production team is still listening in as he berates me. But I’m not going to get emotional this time, I’m just not.
Because that way he wins and I’m not going to let him.
“It stays,” I say again.
“Maybe you can explain to the kids why we haven’t raised the money we need then,” he spits out.
“If I don’t make enough on the auction I’ll make a donation.” There, that should do it.
But instead of conceding he starts to laugh. “You can’t afford it. Jesus, Sophie, how stupid are you?”
I ignore his jibe because it’s embarrassing. “Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?” I ask, my voice tight. “Or can I go back to dinner? My soup is going cold.”
He shoots me an angry glance but says nothing. So I take the opportunity to pick my dress up a little and step over the wiring and boxes the production team has finished setting up.
There’s no way I can keep working with this man without losing my mind. Tonight proves it.
My arm brushes one of the team, but I’m looking down at my feet because I’m not planning on tripping again. And by the time I get back to the table there are about two minutes left to eat my soup before we all have to rotate.
And I try to be sociable and make small talk, because this really is for a good cause. But inside I’m imagining the slow and painful demise of Michael Rimmer.
LIAM
Her arm brushes mine and for a moment I panic that she’s going to see me, so I step back into the shadows to make sure she doesn’t know I’m here.
Watching that asshole talk down to her like she’s an idiot has sent my blood pressure sky high, and when I look down my hands are curled into fists like I want to punch something.
Not something. Somebody.
This man who talked to Sophie like she was a piece of crap.
She’d be mortified if she knew I heard, that much is clear. I shouldn’t be here at all. But when she walked past the table, that guy practically manhandling her, I excused myself and followed them.
Not that she needed my help because she can clearly hold her own. She gives as good as she gets, one of the things that I admire about her.
The asshole who was reaming her out goes to pass me, so I step out in front of him. He looks up, surprised, then puts on a fake smile.
“Excuse me,” he says, trying to sidestep me.
I sidestep the same way he does, still blocking his way. The smile on his face wavers.
“Your name?” I ask, my voice low.
“I’m sorry?” He blinks, looking confused.
“What’s your name?” I say slowly. There’s no mistaking the annoyance in my voice. And the confusion on his face deepens.
He shifts his feet, not quite looking me in the eye. Like bullies everywhere he’s actually scared of being confronted. “It’s Michael Rimmer,” he mumbles.
“And you work for WVFY?”
He nods.
“Well, Michael Rimmer,” I say slowly, “Let’s get one thing straight. If I ever hear you talking to Sophie like that again you can say goodbye to your job. And any chance of finding another.”
He narrows his eyes. “Who are you to be telling me what to do?”
“A friend of your boss.” I tell him. “Well actually your boss’ boss’ boss.” I lift a brow. “A very good friend.” It’s not really true. I know Donald to say hello to but not much more than that. But I know cowards like this man in front of me and a little threat usually does the trick.
I just want him to leave her the fuck alone.
There’s a battle raging between his eyes as he tries to think the information through. For a moment I wonder if he’s actually going to square up to me.
And part of me wants that.
The other part would hate that. Because Sophie would find out and she doesn’t need to know about this. She’s proud and she pretty much hates me. I can deal with that.
I just can’t deal with the way she looked when she was being shouted at.
“Twenty minutes until the auction,” somebody shouts out. “Mr. Rimmer, we need to go through a few things with you.”
Michael lifts his hand to his face. It’s actually shaking. “I need to go.”
“Of course,” I say smoothly. “Are we all clear?”
“I… ah…”
“Are. We. All. Clear?”
He nods rapidly. “Yes, absolutely.”
“Good.” I step back and it’s a relief. Because my fists are still curled and my body is still on high alert. “Have a nice evening,” I tell him, my voice deceptively casual.
He blinks. “Thank you. You, too.”
I don’t say anymore. Just turn on my heel and walk away from the mayhem of backstage, toward the table my brother paid an ungodly amount for. When I slide into my chair there’s a waiter pouring coffee and I hold out my cup as he pours.
“Everything all right?” Myles asks me. “You were gone a while.”
“Just talking business,” I tell him, my expression neutral.
“Don’t you ever take a night off?” Ava asks, shaking her head.
“Work always comes first,” I murmur, lifting my coffee cup and taking a sip. From the corner of my eye I can see Sophie sitting at a table a few rows down. She’s smiling and chatting, but her body is stiff.
I could relax you in three minutes, baby.
As though she can hear my thoughts, she lifts her head and her gaze catches mine. Her head tilts slightly, a lock of hair escaping from her elaborate updo. Her lips part and all I can think of is how good they’d feel. On my mouth, on my body. All fucking over.