Page 3 of Chasing Sophia

“You are better off without a man who doesn’t even stand for his girl and scurries like a rat at the first sight of conflict,” he carelessly drawls, as if he has done me a huge service and not otherwise, causing irritation to flare inside me.

“I’m not his girl, you idiot. You don’t know what you’ve done.” My throat chokes as I stare ahead, hoping for Jeremey to return, at least for the food. I can convince him to be my fake date again. I’m sure of it.

“Then join me inside. We’ll start afresh and you can tell me why a pretty girl like you needs a fake date. Andmaybeyou’ll find a better prospect.”

I’m lost for words. Just after sending my date packing, he has the gall to invite me for dinner.

I’m not a short girl by any measure. My five feet eight inches have given my fellow classmates enough occasions to call me by the nickname giraffe. But this man makes me feel short. Hisblack tux isn’t loaned like my clothes. The phrase well fitted has lost its meaning. It seems someone sewed the suit on him. My stomach flips when my gaze returns to his face. A knowing smile and an arched eyebrow adorn his face. The words entitledandcockyare written all over him, from his neat hair to his shiny Oxfords.

“Let me guess, thatprospectwould be you?”

“If you think so, I can volunteer my services.”

Anger and pleasure mingle together, leaving me restless and jittery. I’m still staring at him when his head jerks toward the hall.

His lips purse into a thin line, but due to his towering height, I’m unable to look beyond him and identify what caused that smile to slip before he says, “Let me make it easier for you.” I don’t get a chance to understand his words as he dips his head and cups my face, his lips landing over mine.

In a flash, he does make it easier. Anger surges, drowning pleasure in its wake. I step back and leave, but not before my palm meets his beautiful face.

3

ASHCROFT

“I askedfor the complete list. How hard can it fucking be?”

“This is the complete guest list from that night, Mr. Miller.” My executive assistant, Larry, glances at the pages spread out on my desk. “I’ve spoken to the hotel manager, sir. He assured me there is no mistake.”

“Are you trying to tell me we no longer care who gets an entry into the most elite and exclusive hotel? Because the name I’m searching for isn’t here.” I grind my teeth together. When Larry’s chin lowers to his chest, incompetence etched all over his pale face, I know he’s of no more help to me. “Get me the manager of The Queen’s. I want to see him in person”

I make a mental note: find my fiery fairy first, and fire Larry next.

“I’ll call him right now, sir, and explain the whole situation,” Larry says before closing my office door behind him.

Two hours later, the manager who doesn’t look a day older than me, is sitting in my office.

“Mr. Miller, I apologize if my staff made a mistake.” The strong voice of the man gives me some hope. He’s dressed in a conventional dress code of black suit, white shirt, and black tie. Even though he’s shorter than me, he has a presence that cannoteasily be ignored. I’m sure he’s often confused with one of the high-paying guests at The Queen’s.

“The guest list.” I point toward the paper on my table. It’s been two days now, and with every passing second, a foreign fear grows that she’s slipping away from me. No fucking way. “It’s missing a name.” My voice comes out as a growl, but it doesn’t deter the manager.

“I can personally assure you that everyone who made a booking that night has their name on this list, Mr. Miller.”

“So did I imagine her? Do you think I’m hallucinating, Mr. Manager?”

His shoulders push back with a hint of displeasure at my stern voice, hinting he wasn’t always in the hospitality business. “Sir, it isn’t uncommon for ladies to not give their real name to… unfamiliar gentlemen.”

“Believe me, it was a real name.” Because she hadn’t given it to me. Her fake date had called her by that name—Sophia. A name that has haunted my last two nights, and the bluest of blue eyes that have pervaded my every waking moment.

“If I may ask, did you meet her at the bar or a table?”

I’m quiet, waiting for him to explain more.

“Whenever a booking request comes in, we attach it to a table, making sure we’re never overbooked. We might be able to find the name used for the booking.”

Hope peeks out from behind my exhaustion. “I can show you the table. Right now.”

A flare of surprise sparks in his eyes, but he recovers quickly. “Very well, sir.” He follows me as I march out of my office, and we take the elevator.

“What’s your name?” I ask as the manager matches my stride in the parking lot of my office building.

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