by Mari Carr
Bachelor’s Bait
Mari Carr
Cocktales, Book Three
Sophia Kennedy is determined to chase her own success, rather than ride her father’s coattails. She’s devoted herself to Books and Brew, the business she owns with her three best friends. She doesn’t feel the need to explain herself to anyone, least of all the free-aid lawyer who’s determined to judge her as a society princess. She’d ignore him altogether…if it were up to her mind. But nooooo. Her body just has to have its say—and it’s using words like “gorgeous”, “hot” and “sexy”. Soon, annoyance turns to attraction, verbal sparring to physical satisfaction as the couple is drawn together by a common cause.
Marc Garrett has no time for a relationship. And he certainly doesn’t want a rich society fixture, though the damning evidence below his belt suggests otherwise. The more he comes to know his hardworking princess, the more he wants her, again and again. Marc’s falling hard, but after holding Sophie’s wealth against her, how will she react when she learns of his own rather prosperous roots?
Bachelor’s Bait
Mari Carr
Dedication
This story is dedicated to Deb. A great basketball coach and an even better friend.
Bachelor’s Bait
1 1/2 oz. gin
1 dash orange bitters
1/2 tsp. grenadine
White of one egg
Shake and strain into 4 oz. cocktail glass.
Chapter One
Sophie Kennedy dashed out of the manicurist’s shop feeling like a jackass. She was barefoot with cotton stuffed between each of her toes, thanks to her unfinished pedicure. She glanced left then right, trying to recall which direction Patricia Butler–Baines had gone.
“No good deed goes unpunished,” she muttered under her breath, mentally flipping a coin and heading to the right. She lifted her iPhone and awkwardly tried to find Patricia’s name in her list of contacts. God knew it would be an easier task if she wasn’t running with a freaking toy poodle named Pookie in the bag hanging over her shoulder.
Patricia, one of the most annoying women in the world, had spotted her while Sophie was getting the pedicure. Sophie had just dipped her feet into the cool soaking solution and closed her eyes, grateful for a few minutes of relaxing quiet. That quiet had lasted exactly twenty-four seconds before Patricia burst into the shop. She’d made a beeline straight for Sophie, giving her an earful about everything that was going wrong with the huge birthday bash Patricia was throwing for herself.
Sophie had listened with a sympathetic ear—since she certainly couldn’t get a word in edgewise—to Patricia’s ridiculously long tale of woe. The highlights included the caterer quitting at the last minute (who could blame him), the rental company daring to deliver a tent that wasn’t completely pristine white (apparently there were two dark smudges on one hem) and the florist failing to find hydrangeas that exactly matched the color of Patricia’s eyes.
Sweet Jesus. Really?
Desperate for silence, Sophie had foolishly agreed to speak to another caterer on Patricia’s behalf. She’d suggested someone try soap and water to get the smudges out of the tent. Finally, she assured the woman that nature could never hope to capture the beauty of her eyes and it was foolish to even try to find flowers that matched. As Sophie expected, Patricia’s vanity was sufficiently stroked by the compliment. Not that it mattered to Sophie. She was just hoping to give the florist a break from the insanity.
Patricia, appeased, left with as much fanfare as she’d entered, waving to acquaintances and oohing and aahing loudly over some new shade of nail polish, assuming everyone in the place would want to know her opinion. It wasn’t until the pedicurist came over, dried Sophie’s feet and began to apply the polish that they noticed Pookie whimpering in her case.
“That dog needs to pee,” the woman stated matter-of-factly.
Sophie agreed.
“You’d better find the lady and give her back her dog.”
So now Sophie was rushing barefoot down the sidewalk with a freaking dog in a purse, trying to text Patricia, the last person on Earth she wanted to see for even three more seconds today.
She picked up her pace when she thought she saw the back of Patricia’s blonde head turning a corner ahead. Sophie was texting the word “wait” when she was knocked roughly off balance.
She juggled her cell phone for a few seconds before giving up as Pookie began sliding off her shoulder. The man she’d collided with dropped the files he’d been carrying, papers flying everywhere. His phone hit the sidewalk next to hers.
“Shit!” they cried in unison.
Sophie hastily knelt to help him save the papers as a breeze threatened to blow them all away.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you about the dangers of texting and walking?” he asked angrily.
Sophie was in no mood to be chastised by anyone. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you to look both ways before crossing the street?”
“This is a sidewalk.”
“Same difference.” She stuffed the papers she’d recovered into a file folder. “Dammit,” she said as she handed it to him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I broke a nail.” She hadn’t even paid for the freaking manicure yet.
“Sorry to hear that, princess.”
His sardonic tone was the last straw.
Sophie narrowed her eyes. “Is sarcasm your first language or are you bilingual?”
Before the man could answer, Pookie wiggled free from the case, walked toward the building the man had just exited, lifted her leg and peed.
Sophie giggled when the man scowled. “Your dog is pissing on my office door.”
She shrugged. “So sue me.”
The man’s face instantly morphed into a grin Sophie didn’t trust. He raised his finger, pointing to the sign on the window.
Market Street Free Legal Aid, Marc Garrett, Attorney at Law.
Sophie grabbed her phone, stuffing it in her back jeans pocket as she stood. Her manicure was ruined, her relaxing pedicure over and she still had the damn dog in her possession. She returned his smile as she picked up Pookie and returned her to the case. “My name is Patricia Butler–Baines. Do your worst.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he said before she could get out of earshot.
Turning, she headed toward The Nail Gallery without a backward glance. The man—Marc, she assumed—didn’t bother to follow her.
She tried to ignore the odd part of her that was strangely disappointed. Asshole or not, he was pretty freaking hot. She blew out a long breath and shook off the feeling. The guy was a prick and chances were good she’d never see him again.
Good riddance.
When she returned to the shop, she opened the door to discover Patricia waiting for her.
“Pookie!” Patricia cried, acting as if Sophie had kidnapped the silly mutt. Pookie barked as she was returned to her owner. Patricia, in true dramatic fashion, snuggled and kissed the dog as though they’d been separated for years rather than twenty minutes.
The mani-pedi Sophie had allotted sixty minutes for actually ate up two hours of her afternoon, since she’d essentially had to start over. By the time she dragged herself into Books and Brew for work, she was done in.
“You’re late,” Stephanie called out from behind the bar.
“Bite me.” Sophie walked straight to the storeroom to stash her purse. She was part owner of the bookstore-slash-bar with her three best friends, Stephanie, Jordan and Jayne. They were closer than sisters. Therefore the need to mince words and pretend to play nice had disappeared long ago.
“I tried to call you a couple times,” Stephanie said while Sophie grabbed an apron.
Sophie frowned and reached into her po
cket to pull out her cell. “My phone never rang.”
“I know. That’s because you currently don’t have your phone.”
The second Sophie saw it she knew Stephanie was telling the truth. She’d picked up the asshole’s phone instead of her own. “Shit.”
“That’s what the guy who answered your phone said. Mr. Garrett is coming by tonight to make the switch with you.”
“You told him where to find me?”
Stephanie frowned. “I figured you’d want your phone back. Who is this guy? And why did you tell him your name is Patricia Butt–Bitch?” Stephanie never called Patricia by her given name.
Sophie sighed. “Nobody. Just some guy I ran into on the sidewalk.”
Literally.
“He sounded nice enough to me, though a bit frustrated with the phone mix-up. What’s his problem? Nerdy? Annoying?”
“Asshole,” Sophie supplied easily, though she wasn’t sure it was fair to keep labeling him as such, given they’d only talked a couple of minutes at most.
“Ah. If you want to hide in the back when he gets here, I can make the swap for you. Unfortunately, I don’t know exactly what time he’s coming. Said something about stopping by after a meeting with a judge. You think he’s in trouble with the law? Wonder what he did.”
“He’s a free-aid lawyer. His office is near The Nail Gallery.”
“Oh. Well, he can’t be all bad then, can he? I mean, rather than using his law degree to make a bundle of cash, he’s putting his talents to use to help the less fortunate. Jared said those free legal aid clinics do some really good things for domestic violence victims and the community as a whole.”
Stephanie, who served as the bartender at Books and Brew, had recently fallen head over heels for Jared, a local cop. The woman who’d always sworn off relationships had been bitten hard by the love bug, and Sophie couldn’t be happier for her.
Sophie found her first impression of Marc wavering in the face of Stephanie’s argument. Before she could admit it, the phone in her hand started ringing. Justin Timberlake’s SNL song Dick in a Box sounded loud enough that everyone in the place turned to look at her, then laugh.
“Ugh,” she groaned. “See?” She gestured to the phone as Stephanie grinned widely. “Asshole.”
Sophie answered the phone when she saw her own cell number on the screen. “Dick in a Box? Really? What’s wrong with you?”
Marc laughed on the other end. “It’s called humor, Sophie. You should give it a try.”
She forced herself to take a deep breath—then realized he’d called her by her real name. “Stephanie told you who I was.”
“I knew who you were the second I saw you on the sidewalk. Sort of hard not to recognize one of society’s darlings. Your picture’s in the paper all the time.”
She noticed a distinct tone of disdain in his voice. Unfortunately, she couldn’t refute that statement. He was right. Her father was one of the wealthiest businessmen in the state. A widower, he often looked to Sophie, his only daughter, to serve as hostess for his high-society shindigs. Jasper Kennedy did nothing in half-measures, so as a result, the press often covered his black-tie affairs with rabid interests, the public dying to see how he would top himself with each event.
“When are you coming by? I need my phone.”
“I’ll be stuck in this meeting for a little while longer. We’re on a short break because the judge needed to look over some paperwork. I wanted to see how long you planned to hang out at that bar.”
“I’m not hanging out. I work here.”
Silence met her from the other end of the line. Sophie took a sick sense of pride in shocking the attorney. He clearly thought he had her figured out, placing her in the high-society-bitch category along with the Patricia Butler–Baineses of the world.
“You work in a bar?” he finally asked.
“Yep. Waiting tables tonight until close.”
“You’re a waitress?”
She didn’t bother to explain she was part owner. She sort of liked keeping the cocky man in a state of ignorance. It felt good to shatter his preconceived illusions.
Sophie herself was actually struggling to find an identity that fit, though she’d certainly never admit it to Marc Garrett. She knew she didn’t want to live in her father’s world, hanging out at the country club and attending benefits and balls with the sole purpose of becoming someone’s trophy wife, but at the same time, she certainly hadn’t intended to wait tables for the rest of her life.
She’d always thought she’d put her bachelor’s degree in marketing to work, making Books and Brew a huge success. Sadly, those skills seemed to be more useful to her father and his big parties. She didn’t bring much more to the business she shared with her friends than serving drinks. Sophie was anxious to change that…somehow.
She wanted to be successful, wanted her life to serve some purpose. As to what that purpose should be, she didn’t have a clue. But for now…
“Yes, Marc. I’m a waitress. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No. No problem. Just trying to figure out why. Your father has more money than God. Why the hell do you need to work for minimum wage and tips? Daddy not footing the bill for your pedicures?”
“Are you always this rude?”
“Sweetheart, you’ve caught me on a good day. I haven’t even started to be rude yet.”
“That sounds like my cue to hang up. See you later.”
She clicked off before Marc could say anything else. She felt a sense of accomplishment in getting the last word. No doubt that was something Marc took pride in achieving more often than not.
The phone rang again, the damn Dick in a Box song blasting through the bar. Her own number taunted her once more. While she wanted to ignore the call, she wanted to make the song end just as quickly.
“What?” she said into the receiver.
“It’s rude to hang up on someone.”
As if to prove his point, Marc did just that, the phone going dead before she could issue a retort.
“Asshole,” she muttered. She silenced the phone and shoved it in her pocket, trying to push Marc Garrett’s face and voice from her mind.
That was easier said than done. If work had been even the slightest bit busy, she’d have been able to keep from thinking about the handsome, infuriating lawyer’s blue eyes. She wouldn’t have had so many hours to consider the muscular arms his dress shirt couldn’t conceal.
Instead, the afternoon trudged by at a snail’s pace, offering her too much time to fantasize. Typically Thursday was a busy day for them, what with Jayne’s Romantic Hearts book club normally filling the seating area of the bar for their discussion, but the group had taken a hiatus this week since tomorrow was the Fourth of July. Many of the book group members were mothers with small children, so they’d be preparing for picnics and fireworks or heading out of town for the holiday weekend.
Jayne sat at the end of the bar looking as tired as Sophie felt. “Why don’t you go home, Jayne? You’ve had a hell of a day.” Jayne volunteered at the local library. She’d spent the morning helping with an Independence Day party for local preschoolers, dressing up in red, white and blue, reading history-themed children’s books and serving cookies in the shape of the American flag. According to Jayne, the party had been a big, noisy success.
Jayne stifled a yawn. “I’m too tired to move off this stool to make the trek home. Remind me again why we didn’t close for the holiday?”
Stephanie busied herself wiping glasses, hanging them on the rack behind the bar. “Because this place will fill up later tonight when folks shake off work and get ready to celebrate the long weekend. Don’t you remember last year? The bar was packed. It was one of our best nights all year, profit-wise.”
Sophie nodded. “Yep. She’s right. This is the calm before the storm. No one will be here until after dark.”
Jayne sighed. “Then I probably shouldn’t go home. You’ll need me later.”
Stephani
e shrugged. “It’s not even five yet. What if you go home for a few hours, put your feet up and come back to work until close? Sophie and I can handle things until then. Jordan said she’d be back at eight to help with the holiday partiers.”
The beauty of owning their own business was the ability to come and go as they wanted. Jordan worked the most conventional hours of the four, opting to do her bookkeeper and office manager duties during the traditional nine-to-five workday. However, on nights as busy as tonight was likely to be, she’d help wait tables or man the cash register on the bookstore side.
Stephanie, the night owl, loved working the late shift, not willing to give up her morning sleep-ins. Sophie and Jayne sort of made up the rest of the time, sometimes coming in early, other days working the later hours. They’d agreed to commit three years to building the business and growing a decent profit before they considered hiring full-time help.
So far they’d been able to keep things rolling on their own, but it had impacted their social lives. Stephanie was the only one of the four with a boyfriend, but as a detective, Jared’s hours were as odd as Stephanie’s. Somehow they managed to make it work, living together and designating Wednesdays as their “date night”.
Sophie really didn’t struggle too hard for dates. She had plenty of offers and she accepted more often than not. The trick was finding a guy she wanted to go on a second date with. Her father tended to be the driving force behind her offers, introducing her to doctors and businessmen who ran in his social circles. Dad was determined to find her a “good husband”. She played the dutiful daughter and honestly gave the men a fair shot. Unfortunately, her idea of the perfect man and her father’s were as similar as thoroughbred horses and pack mules.
She didn’t want a man whose singular goal was to acquire as much money and power as possible. She wanted a man with a career that wasn’t the sole focus of his life, who’d come home at a reasonable hour, who wanted to have a family he’d be around to help raise.
