Chapter 10
Ten
Sophie
The banister threatened to crack under James’s whitened knuckles as he came back downstairs, his cheeks blotchy.
“What happened?” Sophie asked.
He cleared his throat. “Nothing, really.”
“James—”
A door opened down the hall and Noah emerged, hair damp from a shower. He yawned widely. “Morning.”
She greeted him and narrowed her eyes at James.
Something swam in the recesses of his expression, but he turned away to talk about basketball with Noah.
For the rest of the morning, she kept a careful eye on James, though he cracked jokes and made conversation like nothing was wrong.
Maybe that’s the case. Maybe he just heard something about the meeting he had this morning.
But on their way to the car, his mask had slipped. It was only for a second, but it was enough to confirm new worry and irritation.
The bag of oranges her mom gave them bumped into her ankle as James made a turn onto the highway.
“So, Chloe and Luc, huh?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
Luc had asked for Chloe’s number, yes, but he wouldn’t get anywhere unless he played his cards right.
James hummed. “What do you think? You know, as her best friend?”
“Obviously, I’ll be happy for her whatever she chooses. Chlo definitely thought he was cute,” Sophie said.
“Maybe she needs to go for an eye exam,” James muttered.
Sophie laughed as she glanced at him, debating whether she should ask about the furrow in his brow or not. What if he wasn’t going to open up to her about it? She didn’t have the kind of relationship with him that would warrant her to know.
His gaze met hers for a second. “What is it?”
Sighing, she steeled herself. “What was that call you made this morning? After you got that text.”
“It was work,” he said after a moment. “There’ve been developments in the problem that I came to Covey about.”
She frowned and worried her lip. “Oh. Then we need to call Marilyn.”
Pulling out her phone, Sophie swiped open the appropriate application and stopped.
It would be odd if she knew before Marilyn.
Sure, James could’ve called Sophie, but why? Marilyn was handling his case, not her. It would surely rouse Marilyn’s suspicions that something was going on.
Sophie put her phone away before glancing at James, who wore a stream of identical thoughts on his face.
She frowned. “How are we—”
“It’s fine. I’ve got it handled,” he interjected.
“Okay, but you still need to tell Marilyn.”
“And I will tomorrow.” He flicked his gaze toward Sophie. “But for now, I’ve got someone working on it.”
He left it there, but unease ate away at Sophie’s innards. Why do I feel like he’s not going to tell Marilyn anything?
Sophie squinted at his side profile and snapped into business mode. “James, do I need to remind you that by signing that contract with us, you agreed to let us help you?” She frowned. “That includes all past, present, and future events regarding the issue.”
“I know,” he said. “But the thing is, this could lead nowhere, and since I already have eyes on it, we should let them handle it for now.”
She sighed, considering the point he made. “Fine.”
They drove in silence for some time before they hit traffic.
Glancing at him as they inched forward, she changed the subject. “Uh … so what does the tattoo on your collarbone mean again?”
His lips twitched. “What if I told you I just think Roman numerals are cool?”
She grinned. “Do you?”
“Well, they do look cooler than regular numbers.”
She laughed. “I’ll give you that. Seriously, what does it mean?”
His expression pinched, and something cracked inside of her.
He wasn’t going to tell her, and why would he? Last night had been a fluke, after all. There wasn’t any more profound connection between them just because they had shared the same bed.
Yet, he hadn’t left, and the look he bestowed upon her that morning left her stomach tying itself into intricate knots and releasing a typhoon of butterflies.
“It’s the day my mom left.”
His voice caught her off guard, and she jumped.
“I … I see,” Sophie said.
She stared out the window as they changed lanes. “Oh, about last night … thank you for staying. You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” he said and glanced at her. “On top of that, you were upset. What kind of person would I be if I left you like that?”
Little glowing pockets burst and fizzled in her chest, and her cheeks heated. Her foot tapped incessantly, and she zoned in on her shoe.
“I don’t know why I need it,” she admitted quietly. Dipping her head, she fiddled with her bracelet.
“Need what?” he asked.
She sniffed and reached into the bag. Pulling out an orange, she played with it. “Someone to be there when something like last night happens. Like I said, it wasn’t the first time.”
When she was younger and she had nightmares, her mom’s room was always there. That or she’d hunker in Noah’s room, listening to him tell her fairy tales and silly stories until she laughed the tears away. Regardless, she was never alone, and maybe she’d grown too accustomed to that.
She dug her nail into the orange peel, unleashing the citrusy aroma. Clearing her throat, she shook her head. “I shouldn’t need that, but thank you.”
She could take care of herself. Had done that for years and she wasn’t about to start being needy now.
The car lurched and she grabbed onto the safety handle as they slowed magnificently.
James stared at her, ignoring the honks behind them. “Sophie, what?! In what world is that being needy?” He shook his head before pulling to a stop in the emergency lane. Tossing his emergency lights on, he twisted to face her. “Look, I know what you’re thinking. Believe me, I know.”
She dropped the orange. “How?”
“Because I have them, too.” He took the discarded orange and peeled it. “But you’re not being high maintenance or bothering anyone by asking for comfort. If anything, that’s the least you can do.”
He handed the fruit to her and flicked on his blinker, checking the coast was clear before merging back onto the road.
She stared at the orange. “James …”
“Sophie,” he murmured. “It’s okay. I said it before, and I’ll say it again. Just let me be there for you.”
Brisk, autumn wind whipped, and she hugged herself, cursing the fact she didn’t wear a cardigan.
“Wait.” James shrugged out of his sweatshirt.
An extra layer cloaked her shoulders along with a fresh wave of cologne, as he bundled the fabric around her.
“Thanks.” The too-long sleeves hid her hands. “But you don’t need to give me this. It’s only a few blocks.”
“And it’s a few blocks where you won’t be cold.” He took up a steady pace beside her, keeping his hands in his pockets.
She nodded and curled her hands inside the sleeve, her heart warming.
As they approached the appropriate building, she eased out of the warm fabric. “Thanks. But we don’t need anyone wondering why I’m wearing your clothes once we go in.”
“Dante?” James gestured to the hulking security guard. “He won’t care. But alright.”
He held onto the sweatshirt as he knocked on the door.
Dante let them in and she followed James through the quiet lobby, their steps ricocheting against the shined floor.
The elevator shot them to the top floor, with glass double doors protecting an empty reception desk, and a large logo on the wall behind.
She expected Lotus’s offices to be much bigger than they actually were, though she should’ve foreseen the small size considering the entire staff comprised of fifteen people.
Past the doors, he paused outside the door at the corner of the resulting hallway.
“Like I said, I have some papers to pick up.” He opened the door. “You can either wait out here or come in.”
“What happened to the private tour? Or was that it?” She raised a brow. “If so, you’re a terrible tour guide.”
His lips pulled up. “Well. Good thing I’m not in that business then.”
Ambling into his office, she shut the door after her. “You’re not? Then why did the tour office assign you as my guide?”
He clucked his tongue. “I think they thought you’d enjoy the view.”
“Narcissist.”
He grinned. “Yet you’re not denying I look nice.”
“No, I’m not.” Her lips curved up and she took a seat in his desk chair. Spinning the chair with her toes, her breath flew from her lungs.
Her office at Covey fit a desk and a few other things, but strained to accommodate her squat bookshelf and sparse filing cabinets.
On the other hand, James’s desk was parked in front of a wall of windows, which drowned the room in sunlight.
Extensive wall space on either side allowed for large bookcases and a few chairs.
Across from his desk, two panes of the paneled walls turned to mirrors, the space between them eaten up by filing cabinets.
“Enjoying the view?” He stilled the chair from behind, his lips gracing the shell of her ear.
“Yes.” The sunlight entering the glass blinded her, but she didn’t care. “It’s amazing.”
“I think so, too.”
She turned her head and inhaled sharply.
He looked right at her, a soft expression in his eyes.
Clearing her throat, she turned the chair again from his loose grasp and faced forward. “Why are there mirrors?”
He snorted. “The designer wanted the office to appear bigger, but he failed to realize what you get when the midday sunlight hits those mirrors. Hence why those two shades are pulled.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Yes, because the last thing this place needs is to ‘appear bigger.’”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger. Anyway, those papers I need are on my desk.”
She grinned. “So, take them off.”
Chuckling, he braced his hands on the arms of his chair and inched closer. He trailed his shallow breaths over her neck and along her ear, disrupting stray strands of her messy updo. Body heat radiated off him in waves, and her lungs stopped working.
Brown eyes met hers and he lifted two papers in the sliver between them.
“Got them,” he murmured. “Question is, even though I’m not qualified, do you still want that private tour?”
Cushioning her teeth in her bottom lip, she nodded.