Peering around cur
iously, she took her first look at Gray’s condo. She almost grinned when she saw it was exactly what she’d expected. The floor seemed to be made of honest-to-God concrete. There were a couple of cool-toned area rugs to break it up, but still. Concrete was concrete.
The walls were a shocking white, softened only by a handful of depressing-looking metal structures. Either he’d completely overpaid his decorator or he’d gone shopping himself at Home Depot. The living room off to her right was clearly unused, and she wandered into his personal office, running her hand over the built-in bookshelves.
This room at least had a bit of warmth. She wondered if it was the only one he spent any time in. The walls were still white, but a large colorful painting of an old-fashioned bar took up one wall, and the other held a few photographs, most of them pictures of Jenna and Jack.
She could easily picture him here, relaxed in the large leather easy chair with some brainy book in his lap and a glass of whiskey on the side table. What the man really needed was a dog. Maybe a Labrador or a spaniel. Something friendly to sit by his feet and banish that chronic look of loneliness the man wore around him like a cape.
Sensing eyes on her back, she turned around and saw Gray standing in the doorway, two wineglasses in hand.
“Don’t you ever read fiction?” Sophie asked, accepting the wineglass he handed her. “There are dozens of biographies, and not a single one seems to be fewer than a thousand pages.”
Gray gestured to the bookcase on the far end of the room. “Take a look at the top shelf.”
Sophie wandered that way, taking a sip of excellent Chardonnay. She immediately saw what he wanted her to see and a laugh bubbled out. “Harry Potter? Really?”
He shrugged. “Biographies are my preferred reading material, but I enjoy well-written fiction once in a while. Plus I wanted to see what all of the hype was about.”
“You reading about a boy wizard.” She shook her head, completely unable to picture it.
“Quit snooping through my stuff. Come into the kitchen.”
She followed him out of the office, pleased to see that he seemed more relaxed than when he’d first opened the door. Maybe it was just the lack of pinstripes, but he didn’t have his usual wary expression. Jeans suited the man, Sophie thought. She found herself studying a surprisingly yummy-looking backside.
“Quit checking out my ass.”
She choked on her wine. Caught.
“I’m just mentally cataloging potential areas of improvement on behalf of your future wife. Do men do squats, or is that more of a Hollywood actress exercise? And—wow. Look at this kitchen!”
Her exclamation earned her what might have been a half smile. “I like to cook.”
“So do I, but I don’t have like five ovens,” she said, looking around in awe. The kitchen was a restaurant-sized industrial masterpiece. This was no standard-issue luxury kitchen. It was clearly custom-built for someone who knew their way around food.
“I’m a little embarrassed to have assumed the extent of your cooking skills was toast,” she said with chagrin. “Did I really force delivery pizza on you with the mistaken assumption that it was the best meal you’d have all week?”
“I didn’t mind,” Gray said, not unkindly.
Sophie snorted. “Says the man who has about a dozen French cookbooks whose names I can’t pronounce.”
She plucked one of the fancy cookbooks from the shelf and was surprised to see that it wasn’t just for show. It was splattered and creased and littered with his neat handwriting.
“What I’m making tonight is actually from that book,” he said, nodding toward the cookbook in her hand. “There’ll be more than enough food since I was assuming a party of four, but I think we can make a pretty good dent.”
“I’ll pretend you didn’t just imply your fake girlfriend was fat.”
He gave her a look. “You know you’re not fat, Sophie.”
She raised an eyebrow. He was flirting now? Nah. Then his gaze finally drifted down briefly to her chest.
Okay, maybe flirting.
Perhaps the bra and new sweater had been worth it after all. Brynn had been right. There were ways other than obvious cleavage to call attention to the girls.
Thinking about her sister made her feel guilty. Would Brynn mind that Sophie was cozying up to her ex-boyfriend in his home, about to eat a home-cooked French meal? Hell, had Brynn been here before? She hadn’t that night of the awkward double date, but she could have come over at some point after that.
The thought bothered Sophie more than it should, considering this wasn’t even a real date.