Page 20 of The Forces of Love

But Mitch was determined.

It was like the time he offered to give Chiara a shoulder massage in drama class. Mitch had simply thrown caution to the wind, and the next thing he knew, he was backstage, making out with the most popular girl in school. Of course, he’d then jumped about a thousand steps ahead of himself and gotten passed over for Jamie fucking Williams, but that was then, and this was now.

Sophie was polite, but cagey. A stereotypical attribute of a single kid raised by a single parent. He knew “stray cat syndrome” better than anybody.

Except Sophie was an island. Immovable and unstoppable. It was what made her so goddamn sexy. She owned every room she walked into, and he had no doubt she had her pick of partners, but it wasn’t her blatant sex appeal that he couldn’t get out of his head.

He’d spied the jar of peanut butter she kept in her drawer and had seen her sneaking spoonfuls of it when she thought he wasn’t looking. It was beyond cute, and one of the few windows into who Sophie was when she wasn’t threatening to claw his eyes out with that cool, emerald glare of hers.

Jesus, even that look got him hot.

After a month of working in a confined space for forty-five hours a week, and especially after the way she’d sighed against his cheek in that death trap they called an elevator, he’d realized something.

Beneath the drawer snacks and the neon “not here to make friends” sign on her forehead and the nuggets of humor he could coax from her? She worked quietly and tirelessly. Sure, she complained when the scanner jammed or when Jerri from People & Capability had another urgent, cannot be ignored, request at 4:58p.m. on a Friday, but she never directed this frustration at their customers.

Somehow, the grumpy kitten who never ran out of eye rolls was also a consummate professional. She was polite and downrightpleasantwhen she hit reply.

And he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“I’m just saying, maybe if you invited her to somewhere that wasn’t a club, she might say yes. You don’t know that she hates brunch. Who hates brunch? Mimosas are the bomb.”

Annette tapped her foot while the coffee machine hummed in the background, and Colin stood in wait beside her. It wasn’t unusual to find them here on a self-imposed break from Rufus, and honestly, Mitch couldn’t blame them. That guy put far too much effort into being awful.

“Hey, Mitch, how’s it hanging?”

“Got a dozen cartons arriving today, all packed in the nineties, so you know there’ll be no logs and the ink will be smudged or missing. My hands will be husks by the time I’m through sorting them all.”

“I’ve got some moisturizer you can borrow if it gets bad.”

The way Sophie operated, he thought the rest of the team would rather eat dirt than say hello to him, but they’d welcomed him from day one. Colin was harmless, if overenthusiastic, Annette was brash and political, and he’d liked her immediately. She always had the best gossip.

“Thanks, I might take you up on that.” He popped his cup beside the machine. “You talking about Sophie?” It wasn’t meant to come out accusing, but the idea of them — of anyone — bitching about her got him riled up. If they had a problem with her, they could go through him.

Annette nodded. “Weather wizard here has been trying to get her to come to drinks for months now, but no dice. I keep telling him she’s too cool to hang with us, but he’s determined.”

Mitch knew the feeling.

Colin grabbed the carafe before she could, earning a grumble. “I suggest mini golfone time.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“She turned up at Bar Clara, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, and immediately left with that hottie in the skintight leather.” Annette filled her cup and wasted no time bringing it to her lips. “Christ,” she moaned at the first sip. “Every damn time I think I should give up coffee, I remember how good this stuff is. I still can’t work out who keeps ordering it.”

Colin sighed the sigh of a man who had heard this rant one too many times.

Annette clearly felt passionately about coffee. Sounded familiar. “I looked it up. It ain’t cheap either, but no one’ll own up to doing it. Not that I’m complaining. That swill from corporate was worse than licking an ashtray filled with toilet water.”

“Gross, Annette.”

“What? It’s true.”

Mitch laughed, cradling his cup as he walked out. The delivery guy would arrive any second, and the sooner he started, the sooner he’d finish. Before he left the kitchen, though, he paused and spun back around. “If you find anything to do with ’90s pop music, she’d probably say yes. Got a thing for Hanson and the Spice Girls, if that helps.”

As he wandered back to the Vault, he really hoped he’d survive if, or probably more likely,whenthat backfired.

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