Sophia

 

 

"Are you the same Sophia Reese who texted me an hour ago to say she was going to a book signing?" My best friend, Cadence Sutton, thinks she's funny. I can tell by the huge smile on her face.

"I decided to skip it. I thought you could use the company since Tyler is at work." I peer past her into the living room of the apartment she shares with her fiancé. "I brought you some ice cream from that place you like. I was going to stop at the deli to get a kosher pickle, but I know you have a nine month supply in your refrigerator."

She rubs her small belly. "I'm trying to cut back on the pickles this week, Soph. Tyler's worried that the sodium content is too much for the baby. My new, healthier, craving is banana chips."

"My brother cracked a tooth on one of those when we were kids. You might need to steer the craving train onto another track. What about regular bananas?"

She steps aside to let me in before she closes the door behind me. "I had a banana craving right after I found out I was pregnant. Tyler called me Monkey for two weeks straight."

"That's not some awkward segue into your sex life again, is it? If it is, I'm bowing out now and heading back to my place."

Technically, my place belongs to Cadence. I moved in with her shortly after I landed in New York from Florida. Since she's taken up residence with the love of her life, I've had two different roommate-from-hell experiences. I'm living alone now but hopefully, I can find someone to fill the empty bedroom soon. Cadence never complains about the fact that I pay next to nothing for rent each month. She's told me I can live alone as long as I want, but it's too large of a place for just one person. Besides, I'm always looking for someone I can use as a human mannequin to model my latest creations for me.

"You're not going anywhere." She runs her hand through her shoulder length blonde hair. "Come inside and tell me why you ditched the book signing. Did you realize on your way there that you don't read books?"

"The line for the signing was too long and for your information, I read books," I protest through a smile. "I'm always reading."

"Fashion magazines don't count."

I step into the living room and look beyond the wall of glass at the lights that dot the evening skyline.  "I wasn't talking about Vogue or Glamour. I meant that book on the history of fashion. I read it from cover-to-cover last summer. Twice."

"Now that you mention it, I do remember you burying your nose in that book." She reaches for the pint of strawberry ice cream in my hands. "When my baby is our age, people will be writing not only articles about your designs, Soph; they'll be writing entire books about you."

Grateful, I dart up to my tiptoes to softly kiss her cheek. Even though I'm wearing three-inch heels, my best friend still has a few inches on me. It doesn't help that I stopped growing mid-teens when I reached the five foot two-inch mark. "You make me feel like I can accomplish anything, Den."

"You need to start believing more in your talent, Soph. Your designs are going to take the world by storm as soon as you catch the eye of someone with influence. I keep telling you to show Mr. Foster the lookbook on your website. You know if you did that, he'd move you over to the creative department on the spot."

I don't know that. Mr. Foster has a vision for all three divisions that fall under the Foster fashion umbrella. I haven't tried my hand at designing anything for men or any lingerie, so if I'm going to make a pitch to him, it would be for the women's line. I've kept a constant eye on everything they've released since I started working as his assistant.

The line, and the boutiques the clothing is sold at is named Arilia and although my stuff would fit, it's not an ideal match. My ultimate dream is to have my own collection, but for now, if I could get a few pieces accepted into Arilia boutiques, I'd have a solid base to build on.

"When I decide on which designs to pitch him, I'll do it," I say honestly as I shrug off my vintage white wool coat before I fold it over the back of a chair. "The way I see it is I get one chance to impress the man. I know what he likes so once I create something that he can't say no to, I'll be in his office with a sample to show him."

"I could choose at least twenty pieces right now. Why don't we meet at your place for lunch tomorrow instead of here? We'll skip the wedding planning and pick out some of your designs so you can show your boss that his assistant is the next big name in fashion. I'll make your favorite sandwich and that raspberry lemonade you love."

A smile tugs at my lips. When Cadence asked me to be her maid of honor, I cried. Tomorrow is our first official wedding planning session. I'm supposed to meet her here at noon sharp so she can cook me something decadent for lunch while we discuss the venue, the guest list and flowers. One of the perks of having a professional chef for a best friend is delicious lunch meetings.

I silently follow her into the kitchen and watch as she scoops the pale pink ice cream into two white ceramic bowls. "Which one do you want?"

I laugh as I reach for the half-filled bowl. "You can have the overflowing one, Den. You're eating for you and the little mister. I'll take this one."

"You're a gem." She slides a spoon of the frozen treat into her mouth. "This is so good. No one in this city makes ice cream like Cremza."

I take her word for it because I try to avoid anything too sweet. I gingerly eat a spoonful before I break the news to her. "I can't do lunch tomorrow. I met a guy on the train tonight. He asked me to meet him at a place in the West Village at noon."

She stops just as another spoon of ice cream nears her lips. "You met a guy? As in, a guy you're going on a date with tomorrow?"

"Lunch isn't a date. It's a casual meeting."

That's where my dating barometer has been set for years. If a guy asks me out for coffee or lunch that's a sign of mild interest. If his first invitation is for dinner I know he's into me. There was one guy who asked if I wanted to go home with him while I was waiting in line to renew my driver's license at the DMV back in Florida. I didn't take him up on his offer but judging by the erection that was straining against his thin sweat pants, his interest in me was off the charts. At least it was until I told him I wasn't looking for a random hook-up and he started flirting with the woman behind him in line.

"What's his name?" Cadence runs her index finger over the corner of her mouth to catch a dribble of melting ice cream.

As tempted as I am to tell her every detail of my exchange on the subway with Nicholas Wolf, I don't. Den would recognize his name immediately. A copy of one of his books has been sitting on the coffee table in her living room for the past few months. It was a birthday gift from her mom. She hasn't read the book yet. The only time it's moved is when the table is dusted.

If I confess that he's the man I'm meeting, she'll make it into a bigger deal than it is. I know that from experience.

A picture of me talking to the very available star pitcher of the New York Yankees went viral six months ago. A gossip blog picked it up from a photographer who happened to be trailing him. There was nothing between us other than a brief exchange on a corner in Midtown when he asked me if I knew where a certain two-star hotel was. I pointed him in the right direction and then he kissed my hand in a token of gratitude before he darted across the street. I turned to watch him go and the photographer zeroed in on my face.

That brief encounter made my picture the trending topic on social media for an entire twelve hours. I wore the hashtag of #halesbabe for less than a day until someone from work recognized me and tagged me in one of the posts. I tweeted that I didn't know Trey Hale and that I'd never been to a baseball game.

Cadence thought it was fate, so she bought two tickets to a game and a Hale jersey for me. I fought her on it but we ended up at the ballpark bored out of our minds.

Any mention of Nicholas Wolf's name now and I'll stir up the matchmaker in her again. I don't need that. I'm more than capable of finding a man to date on my own when I'm ready. Preferably it'll be one who doesn't have a fan club.

"I asked what his name is." She picks up my bowl of ice cream and finishes the last scoop. "The guy you're meeting for lunch. Tell me his name."

"Nick," I say clearly. "It's Nicholas."

"Nick," she repeats back. "I like it. Where did you meet him?"

"On the subway."

"That's either romantic or creepy."

"It's neither. I sat next to him, we talked and tomorrow we'll meet him for a quick lunch."

"You don't seem excited." She narrows her eyes. "What's wrong with him?"

His ego is the size of Long Island and he blackmailed me into meeting him. Other than that he's perfect.

"I don't know him so I can't say what's wrong with him." I manage to plaster a fake grin on my face. "Ask me again tomorrow afternoon and I'll tell you."