Redeeming Rogue (Fox & Falcon Securities #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

SOFIA

Please don’t come over here.

Just keep minding your own business, I silently beg, checking your phone, texting friends, ordering takeout for tonight, anything but coming over to take the empty seat next to me.

And if you really want to approach a woman on the subway, there are plenty more on the train to choose from. Like that cute blonde six seats down, or the statuesque brunette sitting right by the doors. They’re prettier than me, and probably younger, too.

No. That’s not fair. Just because this guy across the aisle has been staring at me for the last ten minutes doesn’t mean I want him to bother some other unsuspecting woman instead—interrupting their pleasant ride home, making them feel uncomfortable, possibly even unsafe.

Okay, just stay in your seat, I amend. Watch some videos. Heck, go on an online dating app. Find a woman to hit on there. Just don’t bother me. Please.

The ridiculousness of my inner dialogue hits me, and I snort softly at myself.

Here I am, a fully-grown, thirty-five year old woman, holding a one-sided conversation with the stranger sitting across from me. Silently bargaining with him to leave me alone instead of following up on the interest he’s not even trying to hide.

It wouldn’t be the first time a strange man has approached me. Far from it.

And it’s not like I can’t handle myself. I’m trained in self-defense. I carry pepper spray and a personal safety alarm in my bag. Plus, there are plenty of other people on the train who would hopefully spring to my aid if I was in trouble.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to politely but firmly turn down a man’s advances.

No, I’m not some drop-dead-gorgeous model type.

But I’m attractive enough, I think. I have shiny brown-black hair and hazel eyes that I’ve been complimented on for as long as I can remember.

And I try to keep in shape, running on my treadmill and lifting free weights at least three or four times a week.

So I’ve had practice turning men down without making them feel rejected.

I’ll offer up excuses like, Oh, I’m so flattered, but I’m just on my way to the jewelry store to pick up my engagement ring after having it resized.

Or, I’d love to go out with you, but I’m leaving on a work trip to Japan tomorrow.

I won’t be back for at least six months.

It’s just that I’m not in the mood to deal with this right now.

Given the uncomfortable conversation I’m certain is awaiting me once I reach my destination, I don’t have the mental energy left for anything else. I just want to be left alone to wallow in painful memories that keep getting bigger and more vivid the closer I get to the city.

I know I don’t have to do this.

I could get off the train and turn right back around.

In an hour or so, I could be back at my apartment in Hoboken, preparing for an uneventful night of leftover pizza and searching for something to watch on TV.

I could work on the new jigsaw puzzle that was delivered today; the one that’s still sitting outside my front door, waiting for me.

I could try to put this whole thing out of my mind, rather than putting myself through a confrontation that’s already stirring up memories I wish I could forget.

I don’t have to talk to Nico about this.

After all, I don’t owe him anything.

As I rummage in my messenger bag for my phone, a little voice in my head reasons, He’s put you through enough. Just go home. You don’t need to do this.

A beat later, another thought strikes me.

Maybe he won’t talk to me at all.

Maybe I’ll show up at Nico’s condo and he’ll turn me away.

Maybe this trip is all for nothing.

But what if it isn’t? another, different voice whispers. What if your gut is right, and he’s not involved?

That voice is almost wistful. It’s the voice that makes itself known when the good memories intrude—memories of me and Nico before everything was ruined.

Argh.

Before I can stop myself, I let out an irritated huff.

The woman to my right gives me an odd look and shifts a few inches away from me.

Great. Now I’m making her uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “Bad day.” Then I try to work my features into a more pleasant I’m really not a weirdo on the subway expression and flash a quick smile at her.

From inside my messenger bag, my phone buzzes. Glad for the distraction, I rummage through the mess I keep meaning to organize—do I really need the sewing kit my aunt insisted I carry? And three containers of hand sanitizer?—and snatch up my phone.

On the screen, there’s a message from my old boss and mentor, Brian.

Hey, it’s been a while. Just wanted to check in. How’s it going?

I hesitate for a few seconds before responding.

Really good. Got three new cases this week. Weather’s still FREEZING. I think you had the right idea moving down south.

The three dots on the screen blink momentarily.

It’s not that warm. The high was only sixty-seven today.

I smile at his response. Brian retired two years ago and moved to Sarasota so he could be closer to his son, Ethan, and his two little grandsons. And somehow, in just two years, Brian’s forgotten how stinking cold it is in New York City in January.

Only sixty-seven? It was twenty-seven when I left for work. Anyway, how’s the family?

A few seconds pass before his reply appears.

They’re amazing. Ethan and I took the boys to a race the other day. They loved it.

My smile expands. Though I still miss Brian, I’m glad he’s enjoying his retirement. It was a blow at first, when he told me about his plans to retire to Florida and turn over the business to me.

We’d been working together for over ten years, ever since he took me on as an assistant in his PI agency straight out of college.

Brian taught me everything I know about the business.

He believed in me when I wasn’t sure I could believe in myself.

And the idea of running A-1 Investigations without him was intimidating.

“You can do it,” he insisted back then. “You’re ready. And you know all about this computer stuff. You can take A-1 Investigations to the next level, if you want to.”

Two years on, I’m not sure I’ve taken it to the next level yet. But the business is still afloat. It might be a struggle sometimes doing it all on my own, save for a monthly appointment with the accountant, but I haven’t let Brian down yet.

I’m halfway through typing my response when a voice above me draws my attention.

“Hey. Mind if I sit here?”

Oh, no.

It’s the staring guy from across the aisle.

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond, just plops down into the empty seat to my left. His cologne hits me smack in the nose, the strong aroma making my eyes water a little.

“You have a beautiful smile,” he continues. “A beautiful smile for a beautiful girl.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, for lack of a better reply. Then I fix my attention back on my phone, hoping he’ll get the message.

He doesn’t.

“You have beautiful hair, too,” he adds. “Kind of like Snow White. In the kids’s story. You know?”

“I do know Snow White,” I tell him. “And thank you. But if you don’t mind, I was texting—”

“Where are you headed?” he interrupts. “I’m getting off at Eighty-sixth. There’s a decent bar near the station. Want to grab a drink with me?”

I study the man for a second. He’s attractive enough in a conventional way.

Blond hair, brown eyes, square features—I can imagine him picking up a woman in a bar without too much trouble.

Not me, though. If I was looking for a man, which I’m not, I’d want someone with dark hair and bright blue eyes and a strong jaw.

A man well over six feet, with muscles to spare, and—

“What do you think?” he presses. “A drink?”

“Sorry,” I reply. “I’ve got plans tonight. But thanks for asking.”

So much for creative excuses.

His smile fades. “Come on. You’re single, aren’t you? I don’t see a ring.”

Irritation surges through me. Do I need to wear a fake engagement ring just to be left alone?

Or would that still not be enough? My friend from college, Maria, who’s engaged and living out in Nashville, told me recently that a guy took her ring as a challenge.

He liked the idea of trying to ‘woo’ her away from her fiancé, in his words.

“It doesn’t matter,” I reply sharply. “I’m not interested. Have a good night.”

With relief, I realize the train is coming up on my stop. So I gather up my bag and start making my way to the doors.

Behind me, he mutters, “Bitch. No wonder you’re single.”

My teeth grind together.

Part of me wants to turn around and give him a piece of my mind.

Part of me wants to tell him that men like him are the reason I’m single.

But I don’t. I just grab hold of the bar and wait, swaying along with the movement of the train, until we jerk to a stop and the doors blessedly open.

I hurry from the train and make a beeline for the stairs, joining the crowd of people headed up them. As I emerge from the stairwell and onto the sidewalk, I take a deep breath, letting the icy air clear the scent of lingering cologne.

Glancing around, I take a second to get my bearings.

It’s been a while since I’ve ventured to the Upper West Side, and while most of it looks the same as I remember, there are differences, too.

On one corner, the old bodega has been replaced by a bubble tea shop.

A few doors down, a make-your-own-charcuterie-board cafe is where the Italian bakery used to be.

Not unexpected changes, but reminders of how quickly things can change in the city.

I pull the paper with Nico’s address jotted on it from my pocket, as if I’ve somehow forgotten it.

I haven’t. Not that I expected I would. Not after looking it up online, and studying the street view and concierge services and floor plans of the different condos inside. All of which are incredible, with sweeping views of the city, expansive terraces, and top-of-the-line finishes.