Page 226 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

I advance, then feel Sophie’s small hand grip my T-shirt. “With all due respect, Sir. If it involves Sophie, it does concern me. She’s not only my employee, she’s my future.” Until that moment, my mind was jumbled about what to do with my feelings for Sophie. As her father speaks to her like a child, my decision is made. And it feels … right. Her gasp rings loudly behind me, and her fingers tighten in the cotton she’s gripping. “She and James are my priority, and I won’t allow anyone to disrespect either of them—even if that person is you. They can live with me if you’re intent on kicking them out. It’s up to you, Mr. Chalmers.” I hold out my hands, non-threateningly.

Damn, I’m making shit up as I go now.

My mind races through potential solutions. Aaron and I have a room we can turn into a bedroom for James, but I probably should check if it’s okay with him first.

I wanted to take her to breakfast to talk about her being a single mom and what that would mean for our relationship moving forward. Instead, I’ve invited her and her son to move into my home without consulting my best friend.

Everything’s moving faster than I had planned, but I’m gonna roll with it.

Sophie releases her grip on my T-shirt and steps out from behind me. “That won’t be necessary,”—she drops her gaze to the floor—“I’ll find somewhere for me and James to live.”

“Soph—” her dad whispers.

Sadness washes through the room with the shake of her head. “It’s time we moved out, anyway. You can’t respect my need for me to be me. I wish it hadn’t come to this, but I’m twenty-six, and I need to live my life without being held back.” She sucks in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry I couldn’t live up to your expectations, but I think it’s time.”

She turns on her ballet flats and leaves us in the living room. I chance a look at her dad to find him wiping beneath his eyes with trembling fingers. “She’s so much like her mother,” he murmurs. “Such a damn spitfire.” He slumps in his chair. “I can’t lose her and James. They’re all I have left,” he murmurs. Silence falls heavy between us, but I don’t feel the need to fill it.

With an air of pride, Sophie returns several minutes later wearing the Dr. Martens I made her keep on the other night, denim shorts that expose her thigh tattoo, a burgundy crop top, messy hair, red-painted lips, and thick black eyeliner around her stunning eyes.

This is the Sophie I recognize.

I’m not sure which version of her is her truth, but I’m equally attracted to both versions. Her father gasps but stays rooted to the spot—his eyes stuck on her thigh tattoo—as she grabs her purse, then turns toward him.

“Can you please collect James from the bus this afternoon? He’s starting summer vacation next week. I’ll work something out so we aren’t reliant on you, but I’d appreciate your help today.” Her shoulders drop a little. “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you, Dad. I want you to know that I tried to squash the real me so I could make you proud, but I was slowly dying inside. It has never been my intention to deceive or hurt you; I was just doing my best to keep you happy.” I watch her throat bob as she twists her fingers together. “I love you, Dad.”

She turns, hiding her face, but not before I notice her tears. I step forward to join her when her dad holds up his hand to stop me.

“Sophie,” he says, his voice softer than I’ve heard. He wheels closer to her and takes her hand in his, stroking his thumb across her knuckles. “I’m sorry. I responded poorly a-a-and I sometimes forget that you’re not my little girl anymore. That you’re a grown woman,”—he gives her a watery smile and I watch her soften—“and you can make your own choices. I sometimes forget that I need to let you go … to find your own sense of self. To find your own path. I-I know I can occasionally be controlling and stifling,”—Sophie blinks quickly and raises her eyebrows at her dad—“okay, maybe more than occasionally.” He chuckles. “But it comes from a place of love. You and James are all I have and I want to keep you safe.” I hear ya, man! “Please don’t move out. This is your home and you’ll always have a place here. I-I-I’ll work on tempering my ways. I love you, Sophie. Please don’t leave.”

She bends down to him, and they wrap each other in a tight embrace which they hold for long moments, her body shuddering. She pulls away with a sniffle. “Thank you, Dad. We’ll stay if you think you can accept me for who I am. I promise this doesn’t make me a bad person. I’m still your Sophie.” He’s nodding before she finishes her sentence. “I’m not giving up my job. I love it too much.” He nods again. “If I’m going to be a good role model for James, he needs to see me following my passion. He needs to see me being authentic to myself. I don’t want him to fit into a box. I want him to know it’s okay to be himself.”

“I know,” he says, his voice dripping with regret. “I’m sorry.” He turns to me. “I still want to have a chat with you, young man.” His voice is full of sharp edges when he addresses me.

I hold out my hands. “Any time. And if you’d like to come down and check out the studio to ease your worry, you’re welcome to do that too.”

“Thank you. I’ll take you up on that. Now you two had better get moving, or you’ll be late and I need to get this next chapter written.”

Sophie leans back down to hug her dad goodbye and we head out to my car.

Twenty-Two

Sophie

I exhale a heavy breath when I sink into the leather of Lincoln’s front seat. It’s been an emotionally exhausting sixteen hours, and I’d prefer to curl up in a ball on my bed and hide beneath the covers. Alas, grown-ups can’t do stuff like that.

I’m too scared to look at Lincoln. I can’t believe he stood up to Dad and told him I’m his future. That James and I are his future like his words were of no consequence. Surely he didn’t mean it. They were just words said in the heat of the moment. Right?

He starts the engine and I’m waiting for him to break the silence, but he doesn’t. I steal a glance his way, tracing my eyes from his hand casually draped over the steering wheel, along his arm with that amazing geometric tattoo, to his bicep which tenses. I continue my path upwards, tracing my eyes over the chain he has around his neck and further up his throat. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, and graze my teeth on my bottom lip as I remember how his scruff-covered cheeks felt against the inside of my thighs.

He’s so freaking hot. But he’s also strong and loyal. Supportive and wonderfully kind.

He turns his gaze toward me and gives me a panty-melting smile—causing crinkles at the corners of his eyes to show—which quickly falls along with his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

“Did you mean what you said?”

Creases form between his brows, and he glances back at the road. “Which part?”

I swallow and dig deep for my bravery. He said it, so I’m not sure why I’m nervous about bringing it up. “About me and James … and … and your future?”

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