His mouth curls into a half smile. “I suppose that means I should thank you, Bishop.”
“Bishop,” I repeat. “You’ve stopped calling me Sophia. Why?”
He grabs a tendril of my hair and lets it run through his fingers. The back of his palm brushes my cheek. “It’s too-beautiful a name for too-beautiful a woman,” he says. “Bishop is safer.”
13
ISAAC
The new resort development in the Caribbean had stalled. Amanda had flown down, and I had to join her, together with a few others from the executive team.
But the negotiations take hours. More hours than I have, and by the end of the third day, I’m cutting it too close. I’ve missed my flight back to New York. And while it might be a crime to be on this island and not look twice at the brilliant turquoise waters, there’s no time. I’ve already used too much of mine.
I call my assistant. “I need to be in Midtown by noon tomorrow. Put together a few flight plans and book what you can.”
It ends up being an evening flight to Miami, where I spend miserable few hours at an airport hotel before my morning flight. I should be tired. Should have no problem getting a few hours of sleep. But memories compete in my head, each wanting a center stage.
Sophia had kissed me in front of my ex.
The sentiment had been kind, but it’s been years since Cordelia and I ended, and I doubt she’d care about me dating. I know I don’t give a fuck about her love life.
But Sophia didn’t know that.
Her lips on mine had been the best thing I’d experienced all summer, all damn year—soft and determined, and with just a hint of shyness because she wasn’t sure how I’d react.
And then, she’d taken it all back in the next breath and reclaimed the kiss as a favor. Just simple quid pro quo for what I’m helping her to do to Percy.
Painful to the ego, sure. But it shows her character. Kind and fierce, in the same clever package.
I run a hand through my hair and look up at the dark ceiling. She wants a math teacher and not another member of the social circle Percy belongs to. Not another him, in effect. I suspect she feels like she doesn’t fit in.
But she does, though. That’s the thing. Shedoes,andI’ve seen it.
Percival Browne had been so damn lucky and then so damn stupid to have thrown it all away.
I turn onto my side, staring at the numbers on the alarm clock. She should be asked out properly. Not this half dating, just-for-show kind of thing. My instinct is to do just that, but I know it would only take me further away from her. I doubt Sophia is ready to date, and even if she was, I’m a damn far cry from a high school math teacher.
I flip onto my back again and force my breathing to slow. There’s only one solution. After the tournament tomorrow, and after I’ve gotten some illicit pleasure from winning against her ex, we’ll end this little fake relationship. It’s run its course. Percy is jealous, and I can tell her that my family is mollified.
It’s time to avoid the temptation who’s made it very clear she isn’t in the market to be tempted.
The next day, I arrive at the Grandview Club straight from the airport. My assistant is waiting outside, holding a bag with newly bought workout clothes, and I can see the handle of a tennis racquet peeking out.
“I’ve registered you for the tournament,” he says. “Your partner is on court four, and the two of you are playing your first game in fifteen minutes.”
I change and catch a brief glimpse of myself in the mirror. No sleep and two flights haven’t been kind. My eyes look haggard, and I need a shower.
But what I really need is to win. Despite the sleepless night, competition burns in my veins. It’s all too easy to remember Percy’s face and the expression on it when he’d taunted Sophia about his new relationship.
The club is buzzing, with the makeshift stands around the tennis courts selling lemonade and drinks. A lounge area has been erected, and in the distance, I see a band setting up.
Of course. A tennis tournament, but also an excuse to mingle and day drink, just like every event in the city. A few people cast curious glances my way. I’ve never frequented the Grandview, never wanted to mix my networking with my workouts.
“Winter?” a man says, someone I vaguely recognize from my father’s golfing days. “I didn’t know you’d be here!”
I nod hello with a polite smile and make my way to court four. Sophia’s already there, waiting.
She’s in a navy-blue outfit, a contrast to all the people wearing white. The tennis skirt is pleated… and short. Very short. I catch the full length of her toned legs and the perky swing of her ponytail.