Sophia

 

 

He'll be in touch? What the hell does that mean?

"He said he'll be in touch with me?" I question Gabriel. "You're sure Nicholas used those words?"

"I realize it's not my place to ask, Sophia, but is there something personal going on between you two?"

My eyes drop to the book that's open on the desk in front of him. He summoned me to his office when he returned from lunch. I didn't know what to expect when I gave him that card with the address Nicholas had written down when I was sitting next to him on the subway. All I knew was that I wanted Gabriel to have that book, but I didn’t want to be the one to get it for him, so I copied the address into the generic birthday card I bought on my way to work, drew a happy face on the envelope and gave it to my boss at noon. I wasn't even sure Nicholas would still be waiting for me by the time Gabriel got to the bistro.

Last night after I got home I did what any single woman should do before she goes to meet a virtual stranger for lunch. I did an online search. Typing Nicholas Wolf's name into Google yielded tens of thousands of results. The top result was his website, the rest of the listings on the first page were reviews of his books.

It wasn't until I clicked on the image search that I uncovered a treasure trove of information. It seems that Nicholas Wolf has one standard sorry approach that he uses to pick up women. It's not only weak, but it borders on narcissism in its worst form.

The second I saw a picture of a woman holding a book in her hands with an address in the West Village written in it, I knew I'd never step foot in the place. When I spotted a second image with a different woman holding a book with the same address, I cursed aloud.

The guy I met on the subway last night uses his own books to pick up women. He writes down the address of that bistro in a copy of his book, meets for lunch and then probably takes them to the hotel around the corner for a quickie.

I suppose the book is a parting gift of sorts.

Thanks for the fuck. Here's a copy of the book I wrote so you can remember our mid-day roll in the hay.

That might not be exactly what he says to the women he has sex with, but it has to be close.

"Nothing is going on between the two of us." I shake my head vigorously. "I met him on the subway when I was on my way to his book signing, sir."

"You must have made quite the impression on him." He smiles. "You coerced him into giving me a book that hasn't been released yet. I don't know how you did it, but I'm forever grateful."

I tricked him. No special skills required.

"I told him you enjoyed his work and he offered the book." Under the pretense that I'd show up at the place he met both of those women who posted pictures of his invitation on their dating blogs.

I don't have a dating blog. You have to actively date to have one of those. What I do have is a book that technically belongs to Mr. Foster in my desk drawer. I wonder if he'd notice if I ripped out the page with the restaurant's address written on it and the personal invitation Nicholas offered to me.

I somehow managed to get out of this without my boss being aware that I sent him on a mission to get his own birthday present.  I don't want to press my luck by showing him the book that Nicholas used as date bait to try to lure me in. I need to pick up a new copy of Burden's Proof on my way home and give that to Mr. Foster tomorrow.

I'll burn the other copy. I got what I wanted. That means I never have to see Nicholas Wolf or speak to him again.

 

***

 

"Is that you, Sophia?" A now familiar voice asks as the man, that I stood up at lunch, approaches from my left. "What are you doing in here?"

I saw him enter the bookstore a few minutes after I did. I might not have noticed him if it wasn't for the loud gasp that came from the female store clerk when he walked past the check-out desk. Apparently, she knows exactly who Nicholas Wolf is.

"I'm buying one of Andrew Star's novels," I drawl as I adjust the books in my hand. "I've heard it's one of the best detective mysteries ever written."

"The only person who would have told you that is Andrew Star."

I roll my eyes. "I doubt that he's the only one who enjoys his work."

"His mother might but I met her at one of my signings last year so it's doubtful."

"As much as I'd like to stand here and listen to you talk about how great you are all night, I have some place I need to be." I take a step to the right, my ponytail swaying with the movement.

He moves to block my path. "You had to be some place this afternoon and you blew that off. You can blow off whatever your plans are now to talk to me."

"I didn't blow you off." My cheeks flush, not just from the burst of anger I feel but from the double meaning of the words. "I sent Gabriel to get his gift because I knew it would mean a lot to him to meet you."

A smile teases his mouth at my small admission. "So you admit that I have some talent? Gabriel strikes me as an educated, cultured man. If he likes my work it must have some merit, agreed?"

"There's a guy in Times Square who wears boxers and paints his entire body silver every day. Then he acts like a robot for tips. Gabriel took a selfie with him one day. Perceived talent is all in the eye of the beholder."

"You're comparing my work to a guy who parades around in his underwear?"

"I guess I am." I nod. "I don't like his work either but plenty of people are fans, including my boss."

"Are you actually going to read Star's book?" He dips his chin toward my hands. "I can summarize it for you on the spot and save you the money."

I'm not planning on reading either of the two books I'm currently holding. I only picked up Andrew Star's book when I spotted Nicholas heading my way. Right now, it's covering the copy of Burden's Proof that I came in here to buy.

"This is a spoiler free zone." I circle my elbow in the air. "I want to savor every page of Mr. Star's masterpiece."

"I thought detective novels weren't your thing." He rubs his jaw. "If I remember correctly your exact words were that you've never read a detective novel in your life."

"There's no time like the present to start." I nudge past him, my shoulder rubbing against the heavy gray sweater he's wearing. "I might as well do it with the best."

"The best?" He grabs my arm, his breath whispering over my cheek. "If you want to start with the best, Sophia, open the copy of Burden's Proof that you've been trying to hide since I walked in."

Shit.

Double shit.

I turn quickly so I'm facing him directly. I look up into his face. Christ, the man is handsome. He's also ripped under those clothes. I saw a few pictures of him shirtless last night.

There was one meme about uncovering the mystery beneath his gym shorts. My eyes drop to the front of his jeans before I level my gaze on his mouth.

"The book isn't for me. It's for Mr. Foster. You ruined the copy his wife gave to me so I need to replace it."

"Ruined? How?"

"You wrote that address in it."

"I wouldn't call that ruined."

"I don't want him to know that you were expecting to meet me at the restaurant. He would be pissed if he knew I set that up without either of you knowing what was going on. It would humiliate him and he's not the kind of man you humiliate."

"You could have come with him." His gaze pins me in place. "Why didn't you?"

My fingers flex over the books. I should be honest and tell him that I didn't want to fall prey to his charms like countless other women probably have. I could have gone to that restaurant and followed him wherever he wanted to go.

I'm due for an earth shattering orgasm but I'd hate myself after it was over. I'd feel used and regret it. The only person who can protect my self-esteem is me and a man like Nicholas can smash it apart by taking me to bed and then pushing me out the door.

I don't need a marriage proposal after sex, but I need a conversation or two. Experience has taught me that. It's also taught me to trust my instinct about whether a man seems the post fuck discussion type. I'd be surprised if Nicholas takes the time to engage in anything other than a quick goodbye once he's had his fill of a woman.

I don’t want to feel used by a man ever again.

"All I wanted today was that book. Once I decided to send Gabriel to meet you I didn't see a point in tagging along."

"You only wanted the book?" His gaze narrows.

"Yes," I admit. "That's all I wanted."

He straightens. "I'll have my publicist send a new copy of Burden's Proof to your office tomorrow. Don't bother with Star's book, Sophia. It's shit."

"I can buy your book." I fish in my purse for my wallet. "I don't expect any favors."

"Consider it a thank you gift."

I stop moving. "For what?"

"For being brutally honest with me about my work."

"Honesty is the best policy, right? If you knew anything about my work, I'd expect you to be honest with me. It's the right thing to do." It's also the rude thing but I'm past that. I insulted his work and I can't say I regret it.

His mouth twitches. "Do you want my honest opinion on your work?"

I force back a laugh but a smile escapes me. "You can't critique something you know nothing about. The only thing you know about me is the fact that I don't like your book."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, that's so." I widen my stance.

"I know that you're too talented of a designer to be sitting behind a desk answering phones all day. You're an assistant at Foster Enterprises when you should be the head of their design department."

"Who told you that?" I ask trying to hide the sudden surprise I feel.

"Your work speaks for itself." He opens the browser on his phone and types in my website address.

My eyes flutter over the screen and the images of my two most recent designs. They're maternity dresses, made specifically for Cadence. She's the model although no one would know that. I've always cropped out her face because I don't want her brand to become tangled with mine. My best friend is not only engaged to one of the most talented chefs in all of Manhattan, but she's also a rising culinary star in her own right. She's the host of a weekly food segment on a national morning show. If the world knew that she was the one and only model on my website, it would create a conflict of interest for her.

One of the contractual requirements of her job is that she has to wear an outfit from Bluenix when she's on air. It's a new boutique on Fifth Avenue that's as aggressive with their marketing as they are with their designs. Most of the outfits Cadence has worn have been created by Evlin Dawn. She left Arilia two years ago to launch her own line and she's never looked back. She's only one year older than I am but she's living my dream.

"Why are you an executive assistant?" Nicholas raises his chin and looks down his nose at me. "I'm not a fashion expert but everything on here is stellar. You're wasting your talent."

"It's not that simple." I frown in frustration. "It takes work to be a designer. It can take years to hone your craft. That's what I'm doing now."

"You're hiding behind a poorly designed website. What are you afraid of, Sophia?"

My blood boils, as much for the anger I'm feeling as the embarrassment. He's right. He's hit the nail directly on the head. I'm scared. I'm terrified that my designs will fail. I'm petrified that no one, other than Cadence, will see any value in them.

"I'm not afraid of anything," I lie. "I told you that you know nothing about me. This proves it."

He tugs both books from my hand. "All this proves is that you're an awful liar. You need to learn how to take a leap of faith."

"I know how to do that." I gaze down at the books. "Writing fiction is nothing like designing clothing. You have no right to tell me what I should or shouldn't be doing with my career."

"I have an obligation to speak up when I feel that another artist is doing a disservice to themselves."

"I'm not doing myself a disservice," I hiss. "Maybe you should focus on what you do best and let me focus on what I do best."

"What I do best?" he mimics me, his voice rising to a shrill pitch. "What exactly is that since you don't think I can write a book worth shit?"

"You're a genius at being an asshole." The sight of several women entering the store catches my eye. One is holding a large poster board with pictures of Nicholas attached. A hand-drawn heart surrounds one image of his face. "Your fan club is here, Mark Twain. I'll leave you to it."

"Mark Twain?" He smirks. "Cute, Sophia. They're not my fan club. I asked them to meet me here because the store closed last night before I could sign their books."

I thought I was safe coming to this bookstore since he spent hours here yesterday. This is the last place I expected to see him. "They're obviously eager. You should give them the attention they deserve."

"I'll have that book sent to your office tomorrow." He places both of the books in his hand back on the table. "I hope I'll run into you again, Sophia Reese."

I hate that he knows my name. I hate that he spent time researching me and that he found my website. I mostly hate that knowing that he's that interested in me makes me that much more interested in him.