“See you again,” he said and swept out.
The man I’d hated so vehemently for the last two weeks had gone. And I’d wanted him to stay.
Thirteen
Andrew
I flung open my office door. Sofia was sitting at her desk, typing away. For the ninetieth time, I mentally chastised myself for going to the bar again last night. Why hadn’t I just stayed away? Not that I knew for sure she’d be there, but there was a risk. The worst of it was, I’d been fucking delighted when I’d spotted her on her stool, exactly where she had been on the Friday before.
It was like I could feel the iron walls I’d built crumble under my fingers and I was powerless to stop it. Of course Sofia was attractive—beautiful actually. But I’d seen beautiful women before, and it hadn’t had me breaking my rules, wanting to do inappropriate things. Over the last decade, I’d developed the self-control of a bloody Jedi master.
So what was it about Sofia?
The one and only time the circles of my personal and professional life had overlapped had ended in disaster. I’d been sacked by the woman I was dating because she didn’t like that I’d ended our relationship. Being a junior lawyer fired for sexual harassment, even back then, meant I was toxic. My legal career had been ruined before it had had a chance to get going. For months I lost all self-control. I drank too much. Had a lot of casual sex. Made some shockingly bad decisions. I’d fallen down and was sure I’d never get up again. I’d thought my life was over.
It was only when Gabriel shoved a copy of Verity, Inc. under the door that I came to my senses. I knew I had to make something out of my life so I could rescue that magazine from the gutter.
“Can I help you with anything?” Sofia said, jolting me out of my memories.
“Still no word?” I barked, irritated that she had the ability to dilute my focus, even with her back to me. I knew the answer. I’d been tapping my fingers on my desk for the last six hours, waiting for Goode to return my call. I’d have heard Sofia’s phone ring, but it had been deadly silent for the last six hours.
“Sorry,” she said, glancing up at me and back down as if I might bite.
If only she knew how much I wanted to sink my teeth into her.
Yesterday, I’d asked Sofia to put a call in to Bob’s assistant, to try to arrange a lunch—but to no avail. We were told he was working on some “pressing matters” and that nothing was to be added to his diary until further notice. Of course, she was bullshitting, so today I’d decided to take matters into my own hands and call him myself. Twice. And twice I’d been told he was in meetings and would return my call.
Bullshit on bullshit—the worse kind.
“It’s after seven,” Sofia said. “I think if he was going to call today, he would have done so already.”
She was right. If he was going to call at all, he’d use my cell.
“You should leave.” I turned back into my office and slammed the door.
Fucking Goode. How was I going to buy his company if he wouldn’t even take my call?
A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts and, as usual, Sofia walked in without waiting for me to respond. Was it her defiance that hooked me in and hypnotized me?
“Is there something you need from Goode?” she asked. “Is it something I could pick up from his assistant?”
“No,” I snapped.
Instead of sighing and going back to her desk, which was what she normally did when I snapped at her, she came farther into my office. The tendons in my neck tensed and I gripped the desk.
“Andrew,” she said. “Tell me what you’re trying to achieve. I might be able to help.”
It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. She wasn’t going to be able to help me buy a company.
Buying Verity was my only option. Gabriel and Beck and even Tristan had made me see the truth: there was no way I was going to be able to convince an investor to stump up money for a magazine I wanted to destroy and then build back up again. Buying a company wasn’t my normal modus operandi, and I didn’t want to fuck it up. But if Goode refused to take my calls, what could I do?
Despite being some kind of Aphrodite, I was more than certain Sofia didn’t have the answer as far as Bob was concerned.
“I want a meeting with Goode.”
“Yes, that much I figured out for myself. But why? Is he a friend? Connection? Potential investor? And why is he refusing to meet with you? I never have a problem getting time in people’s diaries for you—it doesn’t matter who it is or how important they seem to be. I swear, I could get a meeting with the Queen if you wanted me to.”