Loose Ends
By A.M. Hartnett
Loose Ends
Copyright © 2015 A. M. Hartnett
Amazon Edition
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Purchase only authorized editions.
This book is intended for adults only.
Cover image: © Viorel Sima - http://www.viorelsima.com/
Dedication
For Saranna DeWylde & Justine Elyot (to name a few!) for filling my timelines with pictures of a certain beard.
Chapter One
When Sophie’s alarm went off on her phone, she didn’t slap around until she found the device and silenced the soothing yet entire evil melody of Rufus Wainwright’s Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk. Instead, she smiled as she heard the song she’d set as her wake up tune.
She was more of an indie folk kind of girl and hated Taylor Swift on most days, but not today. Today, she loved Taylor Swift.
Sophie threw her plush duvet to the floor, grabbed the television remote from the nightstand, and jumped up onto the mattress.
“We! Are never ever EVER! Getting back together!” she shouted into rather than sang into her make-shift microphone as she tested the bed’s mettle with a bounce, then vaulted in two bounds into the hall. As she prepared her morning coffee, she looked sideways to the calendar hanging by a magnet clip on the fridge, to today’s date where she had put a big red star in the box.
Two and a half years after she left Ray, she was finally getting her divorce decree. Her lawyer had sent her an email the previous night and let her know it would be delivered to his office by five o’clock, and he’d be working late if she didn’t want to wait out the weekend.
Hell no, she didn’t want to wait it out. When Ben had alerted her earlier that week that he’d called in a favor and gotten her file bumped to the top of the list, she’d sent out a mass email to select friends and family about a divorce party to be held that Sunday night. She needed that decree. The Department of Vital Statistics might consider her marriage over and done, but for Sophie it wasn’t over until she had that piece of paper in her hands confirming that life as Mrs. Raymond Munn was over.
Tugging her messy slept-upon ponytail free to pull her red hair into a bun, Sophie trotted into the living room.
Along one wall of her condo was a collection of fan art she had proudly framed and displayed. Ever since her first book was published, she’d been getting stuff like it in the mail. She kept most of it and framed as much as she could, save for the odd submission that featured her swashbuckling heroine being defiled by the tentacled demons she was always fighting.
“Good morning, Bess; good morning, Not-Sym,” she chirped as she passed the massive poster that dominated the display. The heroine of her books, Bess, flashed her bloodthirsty grin. Next to her stood her lover, the bastard prince-turned-mercenary, Sym. Allegedly. In her head, he was big and ugly, but most of the fan art that she had seen have been kind to him and turned him into a cover model worthy of an old school romance novel This incarnation in particular was a panty-melter, what with the wild hair and square jaw, to say nothing of the bulging muscles. Impressive, but not her villain-turned-hero.
In front of the poster, Sophie stopped and planted her hands on her hips. “Today’s the day. I made it through my divorce without resorting to hiring a hit man, having a public meltdown, or stabbing my lawyer in the face. Can I get a round of applause?”
She clapped for herself, but her two companions remained in their poses.
Sophie had been married at eighteen to the garage band rocker, which had been fun for the first four or five months. Then came supporting him as he strove to become the next Bono, all the while working on her feet all day before coming home to chase her own dreams.
Then came the bestseller, Blood Red Widow. With their separation came the battle to keep her money from becoming Ray’s money. When divorce proceedings began, no one had paid any attention to Sophie and her little book of demons and witches and the battle for Devil’s Moss. It was only when Blood Red Widow was optioned by TBO and what Variety described as a Battle Royale for the lead role of Bloody Bess began did anyone the divorce get any press.
Well, if you can count a blurb on TMZ that garnered thirty-three whole comments as press.
Taylor was still cheerfully outlining her lover’s shortcomings when Sophie returned to the bedroom and plucked her phone from its dock. Ten-thirty. Two texts. Six emails. Easy morning, at least until she got on her MacBook and looked at her work email. Or not. It didn’t feel like a work kind of day. It felt like an ice cream with a side of cookies for breakfast kind of day.
She ran a hot bath and sat on the edge as she perused her email. When she saw the name Ben Croft in the list of recipients, her heart thumped. What if something happened that caused a delay? Downtown invaded by giant robots? Somewhere, a courier could be buried under rubble of a destroyed building as alien fire destroyed Edmonton. Or, more likely, she forgot to sign something. The absolute worst case scenario, worse than giant robots, was that somehow Ray was up to no good again. There was no going back on the divorce, the judge had signed off on it, but it wouldn’t surprise her if Ray tried to have another go at her money.
Sophie,
Don’t forget, after 5pm today. The offer to drop the paper off to you still stands.
Ben Croft, Q.C.
MacKenzie, Purcell and Croft
Sophie exhaled and set her phone aside.
There were a lot of things Sophie didn’t like about Ben Croft.
His cologne, for one. It smelled like leather and wood smeared with lemon. She could picture him walking into Harry Rosen and demanding to be sold the most expensive product on the counter, even if it smelled like horse shit. She hated how when he stood close that scent filled her head and stayed with her for the rest of the day, bringing with it a train of wicked thoughts.
She also didn’t like his tie. Every time she visited his office, he was wearing a variation of the same grid-patterned silk tie. One day it was blue. Another day it was purple. He had a habit of playing with it while leaning back in his executive throne, like he wanted anyone sitting across from him to think about how expensive it must have been. It irked her that the more he played with it, the more she wondered what it would feel like wrapped around her wrists.
And she hated his eyebrows. Well, not both of them. Just one. He had a scar bisecting the dark hairs, and it happened to be the brow he’d raise as she was speaking, just before he’d say something to passive-aggressively insult her. She suspected that he stood before the mirror and practiced that brow-raise. She hated that she constantly wondered how he got the scar.
Then there was the beard. She just didn’t know what to make of the beard. It wasn’t one of those out-of-control beards worn by men in skinny jeans who hung out in tea houses. It wasn’t a bad beard. It was kind of sexy, the kind that would leave just enough of a wicked burn on sensitive skin, but she didn’t like it. She kept expecting him to stroke it thoughtfully.
More than anything, she hated his smile. It wasn’t a real smile. It was a weapon. When he first turned it on her, Sophie lost her breath and got hot in all the right places. As far as ammunition went, his smile was perfect, but she still didn’t like it. She couldn’t stand conceit and fakery, even if it was delivered in all its panty-melting glory.
But he h
ad been a damn good lawyer. Worth every penny, if her bank account was any indication. After today, she’d miss those pervy little moments she’d indulged in when he wasn’t looking, but that was about it. One more aspect of her life as Sophie Munn banished into the past.
She cut the water and went back into the bedroom, then returned to the bathroom a minute later completely naked and carrying the Bluetooth speaker she’d left charging the night before. She sank down to the nose, grateful that she’d had the foresight to have the bathroom redone when she moved into this place. She did some of her best thinking in the bathtub, and justified the renovation by telling herself that her thoughts would only get bigger with the tub.
Champagne, she thought as she soaked, then crinkled her nose. Appropriate, but she hated champagne. Cold beer and a pizza. Ice cream. All the junk she could cram into her mouth.
But first, one last meeting with Lawyer Man.
Coming downtown was always an experience Sophie felt required some strong medicine before and after. Since keeping a tumbler full of whiskey in the cup holder wasn’t an option, she picked up a mochaccino on the way and puffed on her electronic cigarette until she reached the busy core. She didn’t bother looking for a spot on the street. Hell, no. She paid for a spot in the parking garage a block from her lawyer’s building.
On the brief walk, the wind whipped her hair, and ultimately her coffee, in her face. She felt like a sticky mess by the time she stepped into the lobby.
As she checked in with the security desk, she glanced towards the restroom sign and thought about putting on lipstick and maybe a bit of mascara. Not that she wanted to impress Ben, but she hated looking like hell when she met with him. He’d give her that look, that perusal that told her exactly what he thought of her trainers and fraying jeans. It would irk her while she was in his company, and then it would irk her a little more when she thought about it once she was out of his orbit.
Once she was cleared to go on up to MacKenzie, Purcell and Croft, she instead pulled out a moist towelette from her bag and scrubbed her face with it, because to hell with the ridiculously good-looking man in the nice suit and ugly tie.
The car whispered to a halt on the tenth floor, and when the doors opened Mr. Ben Croft stood on the other side. The sight of him leaning back against the wall, hands tucked into his pockets, almost knocked her back.
With his smile and his quick look down her body -- that look--she recovered and greeted him with a smile of her own.
“Tell me your courier wasn’t delayed,” she said as a greeting.
“My courier wasn’t delayed,” he told her, and pushed away from the wall. Today he wore a red tie. He was empty handed and she was disappointed. She had hoped he would hand over a manila envelope and she’d be back down in the lobby in seconds.
She followed him through the glass doors and into what he had joking referred to as “the belly of the beast” the first time he greeted her. Almost like he was making fun of her career choice, he had described the offices as a dragon’s lair of wealth where the most clever and most deserving can walk away rich while the stupid and unworthy left with empty pockets. Her eyes had rolled so hard she had a headache afterward.
“You didn’t have to wait. I would have paid to have the decree sent to my place,” she said as they reached his office.
Ben turned on his heel and flashed a smile. “The cut-off time for the courier was at six o’clock, and I wanted to make sure there were no screw-ups--no misspelled names or dates or anything before I handed it over. Come on. We both know you wanted this to be an event.”
“Unless a marching band busts out and you have a baby otter for me to cuddle, this isn’t exactly an event.”
As he moved behind his desk, Sophie’s stomach gave an excited flip.
This is it. Ten years. Teen bride. Loser husband. Working my ass off to pay the rent while he didn’t do much of anything. As soon as that paper is in my hand ...
“I keep a bottle of champagne in the fridge for occasions like these,” Ben said as he pulled open his desk drawer. “Interested?”
Sophie stifled a laugh and shook her head. “Bubbly’s not my thing.”
He produced the envelope and Sophie held her breath.
“There’s a greasy spoon around the corner. They make a hell of a burger and beer on tap.”
“Will you just give me that thing?” she snapped.
Ben chuckled as he held the envelope out. She snatched it from him.
Sophie gleefully tore open the top and shimmied the contents into her hand, then laughed as she looked upon the proof that her life with Raymond Munn was finished.
“Oh, thank God--and my attorney.” Her irritation with him forgotten, she held up the decree and grinned. “Are there any laws against me having this turned into wallpaper?”
“Maybe you could just kill him in one of your books.”
“I did that already in my latest book,” she countered, and as he strayed to the sideboard she slid the document back into the envelope.
“Am I going to make it into the next book?”
“Who do you think I had execute him? In my head, you know how to wield a big axe.”
He said nothing as he reached into the mini fridge, and Sophie shook her head with a laugh as he produced a tiny bottle of champagne, one of about a dozen on the shelf. “Wow, Ben, I knew you were well prepared, but this is unexpected--and I mean it. I don’t like champagne.”
“Humor me. I worked harder on this case than most others. You didn’t make it easy, what with becoming rich and famous during the marriage.”
“I’m not rich and famous, I’m .... financially comfortable and somewhat well known.”
He popped the cork and half-filled two tumblers from the bar above, then held one out to her.
“All right, I’ll humor you, for your hard work,” she said and took the glass from him.
It wasn’t great champagne, she guessed, though she wouldn’t know the difference. How good could champagne that came in trial size be?
They both took a sip, and Ben cocked his head. “All I had to do to get you have a drink with me was get you a goddamn divorce.”
“You are the man,” she played along, and after another sip she set her glass aside, “and I’m the woman who has to get going.”
“You came all this way downtown and I can’t even convince you to grab a burger with me?”
“You got your drink, don’t push it.” She tucked the envelope into her messenger bag and held out her hand. “It’s been fun, Ben. When my next husband -- a toy boy with six pack abs -- tries to take me for all I’ve got, I’ll give you a ring.”
Ben drained his glass, then set it aside hers. “Hold up, I’ll walk you down.”
Chapter Two
Yes, there were a lot of things Sophie didn’t like about Ben Croft, but when the lights went out and the elevator shunted, she didn’t think much of anything other than plummeting ten stories to the lobby, and only when the squealing stopped and everything went still did she realize that her face was now buried against his warm, hard chest.
“Easy. It’s just a little--” his disembodied voice began, and was cut off by a second squealing rattle.
The arms now around her tightened, and Sophie crushed as tight as she could against him. She had been annoyed when he’d insisted on walking her down, but now she thought that she could have been stuck here alone. She was so grateful for his irritating sense of chivalry she could have kissed him--if kissing didn’t involve moving.
“Hey, it’s OK. Look, we have light.”
She didn’t want to look. She wanted to stay right where she was, protected by this strong embrace. She didn’t believe him when he told her that it was OK. It couldn’t possibly be OK. The elevator had just stopped working. Nothing OK could possibly come from being trapped in a box that was suspended ten floors above the ground.
Sophie had been fearless in the face of nasty critics, fans who threatened to set her car on fire when s
he killed of this character or that character, random accusations of plagiarism, and an entire book filled with drawings of her heroine Bess engaged in some very questionable sex with the gang of ogres she battled in the second instalment.
Metal death box? Definitely one of her weaknesses.
“I’m not going to let go, but I need you to move with me so I can press the emergency button,” Ben said quietly, his deep resonance as soothing as his arms.
Moving sounded like a terrible idea. Sophie said as much by muttering against him, but the only other option was to remove herself from his grip and that wasn’t happening.
She shuffled along with him, toes bumping his, until she was backed into the corner of the elevator. His brawn formed a wall between her and the reality of her situation as he took his arm away.
Her alarm went up as the trill of the ringer fill the elevator car, followed by a dial tone.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he growled, then placed a hand on her upper arm. “Do you have your cell phone on you? I left mine at my desk.”
Sophie didn’t move for another moment. She inhaled and exhaled, filling her head with the horrible scent of his cologne and the whiff of men’s deodorant that rode on it, and then let it go.
Five times she did this, leeching comfort from him until she had willed her panic deep into the pit of her stomach.
“Yeah,” she said, and lifted her head. She hauled her bag in front of her. “What do you think happened?”
“Could be a power outage or it could be just us. The thing is that during a power outage, the elevator is supposed to take you to the ground floor. We just stopped.”
“You’ve been through this before?” she asked in the same low voice he spoke with, as if they weren’t trapped at all but hiding from a machete-wielding clown.
“I’ve worked in this building for five years. This isn’t my first time waiting it out on the elevator.” He took the phone from her and tapped the screen, and as he looked at her he smiled. “You’ve got bars. I’ll see if I can get the security desk.”
Loose Ends Page 1
