Sophie

I went back to California. I went back to the empty house. I went back to Wells and Anderson, to my life.

I’d only taken two days’ leave, but the lawyers had doubled the work waiting for me on my desk in my absence, as if in punishment. As I slaved through piles of paperwork my first morning back, wondering how I would get it all done, Anna dropped by my desk. “I hope you had a nice few days off?”

“What?” I said absently, looking up at her. “Oh, sure, yes. Fine.”

She stared at me, and I itched to get back to work. “A word of advice, if you don’t mind,” she said. “I wouldn’t pull a stunt like that again. You haven’t been here long, and the partners need someone who is reliable.”

“I’m reliable,” I said, stung. “It was two days.”

“Two days you haven’t earned yet,” Anna replied. “You need to pay attention to how you appear, Sophie, especially with your stepbrother in the news. You need to walk a fine line.”

I silently gritted my teeth. “Okay, thanks.”

She walked away, and I dug into my paperwork again, trying not to think of Dex. The things we’d done. The things I’d said to him. The things he’d said to me.

It was nice, but we both have work we need to do.

There was no reason those words should hurt. I’d just said pretty much the same thing to him, hadn’t I? Hadn’t I told him I needed to get back to my life?

I stayed late the first night back, not leaving until after seven. The next day was Saturday, and I went to work then, too, determined to catch up, to get back on track. I was sitting at my desk in the empty Saturday office, eating a granola bar and working, when I heard the door click open and Mr. Mullen, the senior partner, headed across the room to his office. He was wearing an open-throat golf shirt and a pair of pressed, casual pants. He paused in surprise when he saw me.

“Hello, Sophie,” he said.

“Hello, Mr. Mullen.”

“Catching up on a Saturday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “I heard you took a few days off unexpectedly.”

I sighed inwardly. “I did, but I’m back now.”

“I see. I’m on my way to my golf game. I just came to grab a file I forgot from my office.”

“Sure,” I said.

He unlocked his office, went inside, and came out again with a file under his arm. “The work never stops, does it?” he asked with a smile.

I tried to smile back. “No, sir.”

“Have you talked to your brother by marriage?”

We were back to this again—me bringing in Dex as a client. “He’s very busy,” I said. “He has, um, a lot going on right now.”

Mr. Mullen stood waiting, as if he thought I would say more.

“It’s just a bad time to bring it up, I think,” I said.

He smiled again, but this time there was something distinctly cool in it. “We make our own opportunities, Sophie,” he said. “You should learn that if you want to be successful. Take a look at Mr. Carter, if you want an example. I don’t think he got where he is today by waiting for just the right time.”

I wanted to argue with him—Dex got where he was by being better than everyone else, period—but I swallowed my words. “Yes, sir,” I said.

“Think about it,” Mr. Mullen said. He turned to leave, then turned back again. “By the way, it’s nice to see you putting in hours on a Saturday. It would be helpful to see that more often.”

As the door closed behind him I leaned back in my chair, letting out a breath. What did that mean? Was I expected to work every Saturday from now on? They weren’t paying me any extra. Then again, with the workload they’d suddenly dumped on me, I’d probably need the extra time. I pulled my cell phone from my purse and called Dana.

“Don’t tell me your bailing on me,” she said when she answered the phone. “Tell me you’re still coming tonight.”

It was Dana’s birthday, and a group of girls were starting at her house and going out on the town to celebrate. “I don’t know,” I said. “I have all this work to do, and…”

“No,” she said. “No, no, no. We’re going to have fun, remember? Fun. You are not allowed to sit around and mope, and work, or whatever you planned to do. I want the old Sophie back for my birthday.”

She was right, I was being a selfish knob. “Okay, I’m coming. And I’ll have fun.”

“Good,” she said. “And I want to hear details of what happened in New York.”

“No, because what happened in New York was depressing.” Except for the part where I’d had wild sex in a bathroom, then given my first blow job before having crazy, utterly fulfilling sex. I felt a twist in my gut. “He’s such an asshole, Dana. It was horrible. And great. And I miss him. I’m a mess.”

“Oh, my God,” Dana said, her voice sympathetic. “I am getting you so drunk.”

“Would you? I’d really appreciate it.”

“I’m on it.”

I hung up and called my mother. She was delighted to hear from me, and regaled me with details of the weather in New York. “How was Jim’s launch?” I asked her when she finished. The paperwork in front of me seemed to stare accusingly at me, but I wasn’t ready to go back to it yet. “Was it a success?”

“The best ever,” she said. “We’ll be home in a few days. I hope the house is still standing?”

“Ha ha,” I said dryly. This was her little joke, since I was basically the most responsible person in the universe. “I’ve managed to clean the vomit and most of the burn marks. I’ll try to get the male prostitutes to leave before you get back.”

“Oh, you’re awful,” she said, laughing. “You sound like Dex. He’s a bad influence on you.”

I was intensely glad, in that moment, that she couldn’t see me blush over the phone. “How is he? I think it’s been an entire news day without a story about him.”

“He’s gone to Paris,” she said.

My jaw dropped in surprise. “What?”

“He has a meeting with the International League,” Mom explained, excited. “It’s his big chance to play again.”

“He’s going alone?”

“Yes. He left last night. We didn’t even get to see him off. He was just gone.”

Just gone. That sounded about right. That was Dex, through and through. I finished with my mother, then dove back into my paperwork. It was just after noon. I’d work for a few more hours, then get something to eat and get ready for Dana’s party.

I managed another half hour of work before I stopped again, distracted. I’d always pictured Dex with a team of employees and hangers-on, handling everything for him everywhere he went. Now he was gone to beg for his career back, all alone. What was his mood like? Was he excited, confident? Nervous? It was already night in Paris. Had he had the meeting already, or was it tomorrow? What was he doing right now?

I closed my eyes and massaged my fingertips over them. This was exactly what I was trying to avoid—thinking about Dex instead of thinking about myself. He was a big boy. He could take care of himself. He didn’t need me.

I stopped as my heart wrenched. The thing was, he’d sort of said that he did need me. He hadn’t wanted me to leave. Yes, it had been selfish of him, and I’d been right to say no. Yes, he was a spoiled athlete with a lot of money, and I didn’t feel sorry for him. But he was going through something terrible, and I’d told him I didn’t want to be sucked into his vortex.

I’d also told him I’d regretted sleeping with him. And that was such a huge, massive lie that I was ashamed I’d ever said it. Now that I was sitting alone in my office on a Saturday doing paperwork tens of thousands of miles away, with no prospect of ever having sex with him again, I could admit it was the best thing that had ever happened to me. That it had made me feel sexy and happy and hot. That he’d been wild and passionate and patient and kind. That every freaking minute of it had been fantastic. That something about the entire experience had changed me, made me stronger and more confident. I could be grownup enough to admit that much.

I stared at my cell phone, sitting on my desk. I thought of him whispering his tourist’s Italian in my ear, the way he’d looked at me when he was propped over me, making me come. He hadn’t texted me since that night. Maybe he was angry at me. Maybe he’d decide to forget about me and move on. I picked up the phone and texted him, quickly, before I could talk myself out of it.

I hate this, I wrote.

It took fifteen minutes to get an answer. I counted every one of them. Then my phone buzzed.

We’re fine.

I stared at the words, angry at their curtness and relieved at the same time. He meant them, I knew. He meant that whatever had happened between us, there was still an us. Maybe not the same as before—he needed some distance, and I’d told him I did too. But he was still there, on the other end of the phone. Dex was still there. We were still friends, maybe.

I pushed away the thought that I wanted more than that. It wouldn’t work—there was no way. But I looked at the firm’s letterhead on a piece of paper in front of me, and the work phone on my desk, and suddenly I had an idea of something I could do for him. Something that didn’t mean getting on a plane and ditching my life.

It took me ten minutes of Googling to find out who Sebastian Santos’s agent was. I called the agency’s main number from my office phone, knowing that a display on the other end would show that the call was coming from Wells and Anderson. “My name is Sophie Breen,” I said to the receptionist, making my voice sound arch and confident. “I’m calling from Wells and Anderson in California for Mr. Montgomery, please.” Tom Montgomery was Santos’s agent.

“And what is this regarding?” the receptionist asked.

“I am Dex Carter’s legal representative, and I’d like to speak about a confidential matter.”

Incredibly, this worked. I didn’t realize why until Tom Montgomery came on the line. “Listen,” he said to me. “I told you people, the last time you called, we’re not interested. We have no plans to sue Dex Carter.”

I swallowed air for a second, shocked. The implications hit me hard. Wells and Anderson had been trying to woo Sebastian Santos as a client, too? To sue Dex?

“Hello?” Montgomery said.

“Yes, sorry,” I said, trying to sound like a confident lawyer and not a flabbergasted law clerk. “I beg your pardon. I’m actually calling about a different matter. I represent Mr. Carter, and I’d like to speak to Mr. Santos about something on Mr. Carter’s behalf.”

“What did you say your name was?”

“Sophie Breen.” Shit. Why hadn’t I come up with a fake name? I was such a terrible con artist. I didn’t think anything would come up about my being Dex’s stepsister if someone Googled my name, but I’d never done it myself, so I couldn’t be sure. What an idiot.

“Well, Miss Breen,” Montgomery said. He didn’t seem to find my name familiar. “Anything Dex has to propose to Sebastian has to go through me.”

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Santos directly, if you don’t mind.” I couldn’t believe those words had just left my mouth, so I followed them with, “If you could pass him the message and my number, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Right,” he said. “I’ll do that.” And he hung up on me.

I put down the phone. My armpits were damp, and sweat was trickling down my forehead. I’d never thought I could do something like that in my life—just pick up the phone and try to bluff my way into talking to one of the world’s top soccer stars. It hadn’t worked, but oh well. I was amazed at myself.

And angry at my bosses.

I couldn’t believe they’d pressured me into roping Dex in as a client while they were playing both sides of the fence. Was that even ethical? Did I want to get into it with them? Did I want to complain, or quit? What the hell was I supposed to do?

I was still pondering this when my desk phone rang. I picked it up. “This is Sophie Breen,” I said.

“This is Sebastian Santos.”

I was struck dumb for the second time in ten minutes.

“Didn’t think I’d call, did you?” he said into my silence.

I was so stunned that I said the truth. “No, I didn’t think you would.”

“Tom didn’t want me to,” Santos said. He was on a cell phone somewhere, the buzz of street noise in the background. His voice was smooth and cocky. Oh great, another cocky soccer star, I thought. At least I have some practice in handling those.

“I got that impression,” I said.

“He wouldn’t even have told me about it, except that I was sitting in his office when you called. He thinks you’re a crackpot who’s going to waste my time. I didn’t even tell him I was going to do it.”

“So why did you?” I asked. “Why did you call me back?”

“Because you’re Sophie.”

“What?”

“You’re her,” he said simply. “I knew as soon as I heard the name. You’re not his lawyer at all. You’re his stepsister, the one he texts. You’re Sophie.”

My brain neurons were firing in all directions. “How did you—how do you know who I am?”

“He told me about you.”

“How is that even possible? You’re not friends. You’re rivals. You don’t even play on the same team.”

“You think we haven’t met?” he said. He laughed, the sound of it full of ego. He was enjoying my shock. “We play the same sport, honey. We travel the same circuit, stay in the same hotels, take the same flights, go to the same press conferences and parties. We’d even fuck the same girls, if that was Dex’s scene.”

“Okay,” I said. That made some kind of sense—they were both players at a high level, and their paths would cross. I wasn’t going to get into the fucking girls comment. “That doesn’t explain how you know about me.”

“It’s a long story,” he said. “Let’s just say I got hold of his phone once, and I saw your name on it. We were in an airport and I was bored, so I bugged him until he told me who you were. There were so many texts between the two of you, and I knew he didn’t have a girl. It was four o’clock in the morning, he’d just beat me the day before, and I wanted to get on his nerves.”

Getting on someone’s nerves sounded, so far, like something Sebastian Santos was good at. “So he told you who I was?”

“Sure, why not? He was all casual about it, all cool, but fuck—I know Dex better than he thinks I do. I figured you must be pretty hot to get under his skin like that. So what do you say, Sophie? I want to know. Are you hot?”

For a second I was distracted by the idea that I’d gotten under Dex’s skin. Then I wised up. “Wait a minute,” I said. “You called me back to come on to me?”

“No, I called you back because I’m curious. But if you’re hot and you want to hook up, I’m fucking down. It would drive Dex absolutely batshit, which at the moment would make me happy.”

I ran a hand through my hair. Having a conversation with Sebastian Santos, so far, was like riding a bucking bronco. “I called you about Dex,” I said. “That part was true.”

“Oh yeah? What does that asswipe want?”

I had to remember that Dex had broken this man’s nose, so maybe the hostility was warranted. “He’s meeting with the League to ask to be reinstated.”

“Good luck. What does that have to do with me?”

“A good word from you would help his case.”

There was a moment of silence. I’d actually managed to surprise him—score one for Sophie.

Then Santos laughed. It was that same ego laugh again. He was amused. “You actually think I’ll vouch for him?”

“You’ve had the most publicity of your entire career since this happened, and all of it has been good.” Every news story had portrayed Santos as a victim who had done nothing wrong. “And he apologized to you publicly at the press conference.”

“That’s true,” he admitted, “except for the fact that, you know, he broke my fucking nose.”

“I’m sorry,” I said icily. “Does it sting?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Santos said, his voice going low. “You are sexy, aren’t you? Now I know why Dex has you on speed dial. Let me come to California and show you a good time. I promise you’ll forget his name.”

What was it with soccer players? Did they breathe testosterone instead of air? “That’s not on the table,” I said. “There’s another reason you should put in a word for him.”

“You have thirty seconds.”

So I told him how Dex’s agent had wanted him to get reinstated by trampling Santos’s reputation. And how Dex had said no, and had lost his agent as a result. “He’s doing this on his own because he wouldn’t lie about you to save his own skin.”

“Okay,” Santos said. “That’s almost not shitty. Almost. I’ll think about it.”

I let out a breath. “Thank you.”

“You have balls, Sexy Sophie. I’ll give you that. He doesn’t deserve you.”

I didn’t want to get in to the exact status of our relationship, so I said, “I’ll give him the message.”

“You do that,” he said, and hung up.

I slumped in my chair. What, exactly, had just happened? Had I just asked Sebastian Santos a favor, right after he hit on me?

You’re her. You’re Sophie. Dex cared about me. Even the player who hated him the most knew it.

We’re good.

I stared at the piles of paperwork that still sat in front of me, waiting to be done.

“Screw it,” I said. I was Sexy Sophie, after all. I picked up my purse and left for Dana’s party. It was time to go have fun.