“She’s on the twenty-seventh floor and, as you know, I’m on the twenty-fifth.”
“Are people on twenty-seven not allowed to fraternize with their colleagues on twenty-five?” she asked sweetly.
“Our paths don’t cross very often,” he said.
“That’s a shame.”
“It is,” he said, serious. “I liked her.”
He liked her, Sofia thought. How sweet.
“Things didn’t end well,” he said. “I was clumsy with it, but we had an understanding, or so I thought, anyway.”
The Brazilian had thought they’d had a connection. An amazing connection.
“Try your tea,” Jon said.
She eyed the mug with skepticism and took a small sip, then another. The warm rich liquid worked its way down her throat. “Not bad.” She took another sip and got comfortable. “I like your office. It’s calm.”
Sofia doubted Jon had sacrificed anything by picking the lower floor. The view from his corner office was nothing short of spectacular.
“For all the time I spend here, it has to be.”
“How long are your days?”
“Ten, twelve, fourteen hours, depending on what’s going on.”
Sofia was genuinely stunned. “That long? What happens when you have kids?”
“We’re having kids?” he asked. “How many?”
She couldn’t help but laugh. She laughed freely and happily for the first time in days. Only Jon could change her mood in the crummiest circumstances.
“I’m glad you two are having a good time.”
Sofia looked up. Franco was in the doorway, looking sour and uncomfortable in the suit she’d insisted he wear to avoid looking like a common criminal. Criminals are just people who’ve made bad choices. She rested her mug on a side table. “We’re just killing time.”
He shot her a look that made her wonder if he’d expected them to sit around saying the Rosary until he got back.
“How did the meeting go?” Jon asked.
“Fine,” Franco muttered. “She’s going to get the ball rolling.”
“That’s encouraging,” Sofia said.
“Yeah. I’ll be heading out now.”
Sofia nodded. “Okay.”
Franco’s cheeks lost color. “Bye. I guess.”
“Have Alex validate your parking stub,” Jon said.
Franco turned and exited the office, his back stiff. Sofia’s first impulse was to ask him to stay and talk about his meeting. Jon’s solid presence beside her stomped out that impulse.
“Do you need a ride back to work?” Jon asked.
His unshakable calm was so damn sexy.
“No. We drove in separately.”
“Good. Finish your tea.”
Sofia managed a smile. “I wish you’d taken his case.”
She had a better understanding of how he’d earned his nickname: The Gun.
“Don’t wish that,” he said. “I’m not the lawyer for him.”
“Why? Do you think he’s guilty?”
“You know how the judicial system works, right?”
“Is that something they teach in law school?” she asked. “Talking down to people?”
“The man isn’t guilty of anything. Not yet,” Jon said. “Innocent until proven, and all that.”
“He’s innocent, Jon,” Sofia said.
“How do you know?” Jon asked.
“I know him. He’s not that clever.”
“I won’t dispute that.”
Sofia urged him to be serious for a second. “People go to jail for tax evasion.”
“People go to prison for tax fraud,” Jon corrected her. “It’s a felony in Florida. The laws here are among the toughest in the nation.”
“Jail or prison, he won’t survive a year.”
How could she explain it? She’d wanted Franco out of her life, not incarcerated, and particularly for a crime he hadn’t committed. She was convinced it was all a misunderstanding. A clever lawyer could make it go away.
“Sofia, you came to me for help. You’ve got to trust I won’t let you down.”
“But you didn’t even take the case!” she cried.
“I’ll stay on top of things.”
Sofia reached into her purse for a business card and a pen. She jotted her cell phone number on the back of the card and handed it to him. “Will you keep me on top of things?”
Jon pocketed the card but turned her down. “I won’t discuss him or his case with you. You’re not the client. He is.”
Sofia bit her lip, silenced. She must’ve looked worried because he asked, “Where’s my Sofia?”
She understood the question. Where was the snappy woman he’d come to know and like? Here she was, dressed like a widow and fretting about her ex-fiancé. This was not a hot look under any standards.
“I’m here,” she said. “Just burnt out.”
She told him she was staying with her brother and not sleeping well with the air mattress losing pressure at three in the morning and whatnot.
“If you need to get away, I can arrange that.”
She indulged in the fantasy. What would it feel like to get away, to get lost with Jon? Hand in hand, hot sand under their feet and the sun on their backs. Dancing under the stars. Late night swims. How amazing would that be?
Sofia shot up to her feet, breathing hard and quick. “No, Jon. Thank you.” She grabbed her purse, ready to leave. “You’ve done enough already.”
* * *
What made her think Jon would take no for an answer?
The following week, Sofia stopped by Leila’s agency for a work lunch. Their partnership was proving to be very lucrative and they had several projects queued up. The receptionist greeted her cheerily with a toss of her waist-length blond hair. “Ms. Silva, we’re ordering juice from the bar downstairs. Will you have your usual spinach, apple and banana? Would you like to try adding kale this time? Or coconut water?”
“It’s Sofia, and no kale or coconut.”
“Very good,” she said. “They’re all in the conference room. Go right ahead.”
“Thanks...” Sofia racked her memory and came up with her name. “Minnie.”
“It’s Minerva now.”
“Why now?” Sofia asked.
She sat up straighter. “More professional, I think.”
Sofia gave her a once-over. “Smart girl.”
Leila’s former agency was located in a small bungalow in Miami Beach and there was no conference room to speak of. This new location was an upgrade Sofia approved of. The conference room was large and spare. Its city views stood in contrast to the minimalist office decor. Leila and Brie were at the oval conference table.
“I was promised lunch,” Sofia said. “Not kale juice.”
“We’re detoxing,” Brie said.
Leila waived her in. “Come in. I’ve got news.”
Sofia took a seat at the table and helped herself to a handful of jelly beans from a jar. “What’s up?”
“It’s about Jon Gunther,” Brie said.
Sofia nearly choked on a jelly bean. “Oh?”
“Guess what he did,” Brie said.
This week, Brie’s naturally curly hair was dyed violet, matching her nails. Sofia glanced at her own nails. She could use a manicure. She could use a lot of things.
“I have no idea,” Sofia said.
“Guess!” Brie insisted.
“I didn’t come here for a guessing game, guys! Come out with it.”
“Okay,” Leila said. “Jon bought the house on Alton.”
Sofia couldn’t believe it. “I thought that house was under contract.”
“That deal fell through.” Leila leaned forward and whispered, “I shouldn’t be telling you this—”
Sofia and the others jumped at the sound of Nick’s voice.
“Should we really be discussing our clients’ business?” he asked.
“Sofia is practically a member of our team,” Leila replied. “And she’s been in on this deal from the start.”
Nick picked up a laptop off the table. “Sofia, how’s the Franco situation?”
“Under control,” Sofia replied. She had no idea how Franco’s case was progressing, but she was confident it was under control.
“Tell him I said ‘good luck,’” Nick said, and walked out.
For a short while, they all sat chastised until Minerva called out, “All clear!”
Leila let out a sigh of relief and said, “He called two weeks ago Friday out of the blue and said he wanted the house and the furniture.”
“I thought the furniture wasn’t included,” Sofia said reproachfully, as if it mattered now.
“It wasn’t! It was all new pieces from Italy. I had to hustle hard for that.”
Sofia felt heat rising to her face. Two weeks ago Friday, she and Jon had shared tiramisu and talked fondly about the house they figured had slipped through their fingers. Then, apparently, he’d turned around and bought it. Furniture and all.
Minerva entered with their drinks. Leila asked her to join them. While everyone sipped on their chilled beverages and commented on the miraculous benefits of kale and cayenne pepper, Sofia was swimming in a sea of mixed emotions.
“Back to Jon Gunther,” Brie said.
Sofia agreed. She had a few questions. “Isn’t that too much house for him?”
“It’s a dope house,” Brie said.
“Yeah,” Minerva said. “It’s hot.”
“It’s a solid investment,” Leila said. “That’s why I showed it to him before it hit the market. If he’d put in an offer straight away, he would’ve saved thousands.”
“Three bedrooms?” Sofia said. “For just one person?”
“I see your point, but he won’t be alone for long,” Leila assured her. “Brie is ready to move in and set up a pole in the master suite.”
Brie and Minerva exchanged a high-five. Sofia wasn’t amused. Leila watched her closely, then she cleared the room.
“Back to work, you two,” Leila said. “It’s time for grown women talk.”
Once alone, Leila sorted through a stack of files before her and handed Sofia an envelope. “This is for you.”
Sofia eyed it suspiciously. “What’s in there?”
“We closed on the house this morning. Jon is traveling to Atlanta tonight and he asked me to give this to you.”
Sofia pressed the envelope between her hands and felt the shape of a key.
“He asked if I knew anyone who might be interested in house-sitting and I suggested you.”
If you need to get away, I can arrange that.
The mastermind! He had Leila thinking the whole thing was her idea.
“He’ll be gone for business, and he doesn’t want it to sit empty,” Leila said. “And you two seem to get along—”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing,” Leila said. She brought her straw to her lips to hide a mischievous smile.
“We don’t get along any better than anyone else,” Sofia said.
“Sure,” Leila said. “But seeing that you’re homeless now—”
“Not homeless!”
“Oh, please!” Leila protested. “Crashing at your brother’s house can’t be fun. You should get away. Take a staycation.”
“What would I even do alone in that big house?” Sofia asked.
Leila sipped her kale, pineapple and ginger juice. “I can imagine a hundred things.”
* * *
The conversation turned to work. They reviewed pending projects. Leila even went into detail about a listing on Star Island the agency was coveting. Sofia didn’t miss a beat. She urged Leila to rethink her concept of the open house. “At least for the more ambitious projects,” Sofia said. “We’re competing with multimillion-dollar developers. If we want to attract the top buyers, we have to give them an experience.”
“Within a budget,” Leila said.
“Obviously.”
Leila went on about Star Island but, as far as Sofia was concerned, the meeting was over. She listened, sipping her juice, careful not to make any sudden moves. When Leila wasn’t looking, she slipped the envelope in her purse. And when an appropriate amount of time had passed, she got up, mumbled something about traffic and left. Once in the garage, she rushed to her car and ripped the envelope open. The key fell onto her lap. There was a card with a security code and a cell phone number. A short note read: The house is all yours. Get away.
Chapter 12
At 11:30 p.m., Sofia received a text message. She’d hoped to get to sleep early, but a thunderstorm was making that impossible. The message itself assured she wouldn’t get much sleep that night.
Boarding a plane to ATL. I left the gate unlocked. Make yourself at home.
The envelope with the key to Jon’s new house was sitting on her nightstand. Sofia thought carefully before she typed an answer.
Sorry. Can’t take you up on your offer.
His response came lightning-quick.
Can’t or won’t?
What did it matter?
Shouldn’t.
But you’re dying to.
Seriously? This man!
Is there room for your ego in the overhead compartment?
In first class? There’d better be.
Sofia rolled onto her belly and muffled a laugh in a pillow.
I’ll be gone for a week. Enjoy my house.
She was halfway through typing Not gonna happen when a last message popped up.
Time to switch off electronics. Wish me a safe flight.
She sat up and looked around. Miguel’s desk and workout equipment had been pushed against a wall to make room for her. Here she was sleeping on an air mattress, her little fighter fish in a bowl on the floor, while she had in her possession the actual key to paradise. Without a second thought, she yanked back the bedsheets, walked over to the closet and pulled down a weekender bag. She threw clothes in from two dresser drawers and went into the bathroom to grab her toothbrush and toiletries. It was midnight when she drove out of the parking garage. The storm had passed. She didn’t bother with the car’s navigation system. She knew the way.
* * *
It was about boxed wine, kettle-corn popcorn, and light meals picked up at Epicure Market. With very limited wardrobe choices, she spent her days in a bikini and shorts. At night when it was cool, she slipped on a cotton sundress and switched on the outdoor fire pit. It was the spa retreat she needed and the personal time the magazines had mandated. It was the long-desired vacation that she’d kept putting off. For too long, work had been her single priority.
It had taken her about a day to slip into this groove. First, she had to get over feeling like a trespasser. It helped that the house was exactly as she remembered. Clean and furnished to her liking. A bit sterile, for sure. But when she flung her travel bag on the floor and kicked off her flip-flops, she’d made it her own. Then she had to get into vacation mode. When she called Ericka to leave her in charge, the younger woman was shocked but up for the challenge.
Sofia settled into a spacious guest room, having decided Jon’s bed was off-limits. On her first night, however, she cuddled up with a blanket on the canopy bed out in the yard. Because the universe was kind, as Leila would say, she was blessed with infinite clear skies. She fell asleep under the stars and woke up at dawn, delighting in a sugar-pink sky.
* * *
Sofia was the work hard, play hard type of girl. Play was just another word for network. Rest had never factored into that equation unt
il now. On her long daily walks to the gourmet market, she wondered if this was how most people spent their weekends, relaxing, enjoying their homes.
Enjoy my house.
What was stopping her from enjoying Jon for a while? She wanted him for the same reasons some wanted to climb Mount Everest: the challenge and the thrill. He wasn’t the type you took home to your mother. If you brought him around on Thanksgiving, by Christmas he’d likely be gone. How could she forget the sophisticated beauty he’d driven to tears? He’d led her to believe they had an amazing connection. And yet Sofia had forgotten about her. She had to dig deep to recall her teary face. All that mattered to her today was the promises Jon’s eyes made. He’d be a delicious lover. He’d be fun. He’d be everything she needed in the moment. Wanting more would be greedy.
There’d be time enough to decide. In the meantime, Sofia threw a house party for one. It was her third night and she was feeling completely relaxed. She streamed music on her phone and opened a bottle of rosé. Her bathing suit was soggy and cold, and rather than slip it back on, she dove naked into the warm pool. This was living.
* * *
Jon charged out of Miami International Airport as if toxic gas had been pumped into the building. Without waiting for the crossing guard to give the okay, he bolted across multiple lanes of traffic toward the parking garage. Sofia was waiting. Thanks to the front door security cam to which he had remote access, he knew she was at the house. She’d been there for a couple of days and it was all he could do not to cancel his meetings and depositions and fly back to Miami.
Okay—she wasn’t waiting for him. And he might’ve rounded up the number of days he’d expected to be away, by a lot. But she was so hard to resist, and made him act impulsively.
* * *
Her car was in the driveway. Jon couldn’t describe the rush it gave him. He lost coordination, fumbling with his keys and struggling to get his suitcase through the door. Greeted by silence and partial darkness, he first noticed the fire in the backyard pit. He hesitated at the glass door, aware that he was invading someone’s privacy. He ought to be more respectful. Maybe wait outside and call to give her a heads-up.
He ought to do that, but already he was out in the yard searching for her. She was in the pool. He caught a glimpse of her moving sultrily under the water, and hesitated again, feeling like an intruder in his own house.
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