Page 51 of Any Cowboy of Mine
Drew coughed again, this one sounding more nervous than before, now that Brad had turned to face him with all the wrath of the FBI protagonist he’d written inJewel Thiefwhen he’d discovered his mistress was cheating on him and simultaneously robbing the homes of the men she slept with. “I, um, I hate to interrupt, but Sophie, I need to talk to you.”
It was Brad’s turn to be shocked mute, his jaw clenched shut and his eyes huge. This guy had some nerve. He turned to Sophie, whose face matched Drew’s in its conflict. She swallowed hard and her lips twitched. Was she actually considering leaving now? When Brad had just told her the truth about him and Julia? When they still had to get to the bottom of his mother’s deception?
“Drew, this really isn’t a good time.”
Drew took a step closer to them, his jaw set and eyes narrow. Brad would have been impressed by his gall if he wasn’t worried Sophie was taking him seriously. He could see what she’d meant the night of the wedding when she’d told him Drew was a force to be reckoned with. He commanded, you obeyed, she’d told him. Brad wasn’t buying any of it, though. All he saw was an over-confident, pompous, slightly balding-in-the-back man who hid his insecurities behind a three-thousand-dollar suit jacket. Drew was every sniveling lawyer joke he’d heard come to life, threatening to ruin Brad’s chances with the woman of his dreams just because he didn’t like to lose. Screw that. It did remind him he needed to talk to Sophie about his recent injunction, though. He’d completely forgotten about all of that when he’d seen her in the entranceway of Steve’s apartment.
“There really isn’t a choice, Sophie. I need to see you. Now. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t of the utmost importance.”
“You heard her,” Brad said. “This isn’t a good time.”
“This doesn’t concern you,” Drew told Brad, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “What I’m dealing with is more important than you could ever be. No matter how famous you are.” So, Drew had done his homework. Then he should know Brad was tenacious, and a force to be reckoned with as well. He wasn’t going to give up Sophie without a fight.
Brad turned back to Sophie, the bottom half of his jaw trembling with anger.
“You’re not seriously buying this crap, are you, Sophie?” he asked. She nodded, her eyes on Drew, and his heart thumped to the bottom of his chest, his stomach rising to meet it. He felt like he might be sick. He was on the edge of a cliff, just waiting to see which side he was going to fall off.
“I’ll tell you again, this really is none of your business,” Drew told him, another flourish of his hand dismissing Brad, his eyes on Sophie. “This is between Sophie and myself and I’d thank you to stay out of it. I’ll talk to you another time. Maybe we can meet at my office.”
“Stay out of it?” Brad began, but Sophie put her hand on his chest, stopping him. And why the hell would he ever meet Drew at his office? Unless it was some old-fashioned fight-for-the-woman-on-my-turf thing Brad was unaware of.
“Brad, I’m sorry, I am, but I need to talk to Drew. Please give us a minute. I promise I’ll find you when we’re done, and we can finish this conversation. But please…” she begged. Her voice cracked, and her hand on him trembled.
Brad stared at her, hoping she would look him in the eyes, give him a reason for walking away right then, because he didn’t see any reason why they didn’t belong together, not now that their miscommunication was cleared up, or would be as soon as he could get his dad on the phone. He knew, in the now-silent and crushed heart of his that Sophie felt the same about him as he did her. So what could she possibly gain by talking to Drew?
Still, the way she looked at Brad, he’d be damned if he wouldn’t give her anything he thought she wanted. Even though he didn’t understand it, she wanted this, so he wouldn’t get in the way.
“I’ll be downstairs,” he mumbled, his hands finding their way deep in his pockets, his head hung low so he wouldn’t be tempted to do anything rash to Drew on his way out if the smug bastard looked at him wrong. And frankly, any way he’d have looked at Brad would have been wrong just then.
Brad went straight to the bar Steve had set up in the old living room, noticing the pool table had been relocated there as well, and that the bar was more than just a party rental for the evening. As Brad got closer, he realized it was made of mahogany and was complete with gorgeous, ornate carvings on the pillars. It was a work of art. Brad wondered where he’d gotten it, strangely jealous as he realized that Jackie hadn’t completely changed his friend but had actually helped him turn the crappy bachelor pad into something classy. Brad ran his hand along the smooth wood, marveling again at the craftsmanship.
Maybe they weren’t crazy after all.
“Can I get you something?” the man behind the bar asked.
“Three fingers of whiskey. No ice,” he muttered, not caring that it was the last thing he’d ever order, never mind drink, on any other night. Tonight was going to shit, and no amount of lemon drop shots could turn it around for him at this point.
“Any particular brand?” the bartender asked. The condescension in his voice was thicker than the simple syrup he poured in another drink. Brad had no clue about brands of whiskey, nor did he care.
“Surprise me,” he replied, matching the bartender’s snark. He wasn’t proud of the way he was acting or feeling right then, but he didn’t think he could stop, either. What was taking Sophie so long? Was Drew trying to win her back? The most pervasive thought playing on a loop was her believing Drew, embracing and kissing him back into her life, manipulated again by his lawyerly charms.
His overactive writer’s brain imagined the worst.
Halfway through his drink, feeling it already, heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs. More than one person was racing down. He hoped to see Sophie hurrying down, away from Drew, him hot at her heels with some hackney response to her refusal of him, but what happened instead threw him back into his spiral.
Drew came down the stairs first, Sophie trailing him, her coat in her hand, her purse slung over her shoulder. Brad didn’t remember seeing her with either of them earlier, but now, if he didn’t know better, she looked like she was readying to leave. He took a step toward her, his hand outstretched as if to grab her, to tie her back down to reality—a reality where she didn’t leave with Drew, but with Brad, the way it was supposed to happen.
She shrugged away his arm, shaking her head.
“No, Brad. I’m sorry. I really am, but I have to go. I hope you understand.” She paused, and for a second Brad thought maybe she reconsidered. She looked him in the eyes, and he could see that she’d been crying. What the hell had Drew done? “Happy New Year, Brad,” she said, and then she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek, a soft and delicate touch that lingered long after her lips and legs and little black dress were gone.
Brad shook his head free of the cobwebs that clouded his thoughts and stomped over to where Steve and Jackie sat, arms around each other, noses touching.
“What the hell, Steve?” he demanded, getting a look in response that registered not only surprise, but mild annoyance.
“I’ll need a bit more from you before I dignify that with a response, Brad,” Steve teased, nuzzling back up against Jackie.
“I mean, what the hell did you invite that idiot, that stuffy, over-dressed buffoon, for?”
