Twenty minutes later, the brunette looked up. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather just leave a number?"
"No," Sophie said. "I'll wait."
And wait she did. For another hour and ten minutes, as the brunette typed away and intermittently answered the phone. Then, near five, the phone buzzed again. The brunette picked it up. "Yes?" The brunette's clear blue eyes met Sophie's—and then she quickly looked away. "No. Not yet," she said gingerly.
Sophie's heart thudded dully in her chest. She just knew it was Sin, asking if she'd given up and left yet. She wanted to jump to her feet and demand that he talk to her. At the same time, she wished she could just sink through that leather chair, down ten floors and right on through the ground all the way to China.
The brunette hung up. "Mr. Taylor will be right out."
Sophie gulped. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or more nervous. "Thank you."
A few moments later, the tall mahogany doors to the left of the brunette's desk swung open. A movie-star-handsome blond man in a suit straight out of GQ appeared. He saw Sophie and advanced on her, holding out his hand.
Sophie leapt to her feet.
"Ms. Jones." His hand was cool, firm and dry. Sophie's own hand felt suddenly clammy. She resisted the urge to yank it away and wipe it dry on her skirt.
He let go, granting her a smile as cool as his handshake. "I'm Rob Taylor, Mr. Riker's personal assistant. What can I do for you?"
She put on her best no-nonsense tone. "I'm here to see Mr. Riker."
A tiny frowned creased his tanned brow. "I thought Jerry downstairs told you—"
"That he isn't in. Yes. The man downstairs did tell me that. But I—"
"Ms. Jones." His tone had turned from bland to patronizing. "Really. I'm sorry you insisted on waiting to talk to me. I realize we've wasted too much of your time. But Mr. Riker honestly is not here."
She couldn't just give up now. "When will he be here?"
"Ms. Jones—"
"Tomorrow. In the morning? Is that the best time to—"
"Ms. Jones. Please. Give me your number. I will make certain that he gets it."
Beyond his shoulder, Sophie could see the beautiful brunette. Watching. Probably wondering what was the matter with her, that she had such difficulty taking a hint.
"Ms. Jones, I—"
Sophie sighed. "All right." She had a Mountain Star business card in her purse. She took it out, groped around for a pen, and then scribbled the name of her hotel on the back of it. "I don't know the phone number there offhand. But it's over on—"
Rob Taylor took the card almost before she finished writing on it. He glanced at it. "I know the Helmswood Arms." He gestured at the brunette behind the reception desk. "Tessa can look up the phone number." He took Sophie's arm and herded her toward the elevator doors. "I'll see that Mr. Riker gets your message." He pressed the button and the doors opened. "Have a nice day." He guided her into the car. The doors slid soundlessly shut on his too-handsome face.
Sophie wanted to fling herself at those doors, pound on them, order them to open again. But what good would it do? If she got out of the car, Rob Taylor would probably only shove her back inside again—or call Jerry downstairs and have her bodily removed from the building.
The elevator began going down.
As she descended, Sophie couldn't help thinking that the wisest move now would be to check out of the Helmswood Arms, head to LAX and wait on standby until she could get a flight home. Instead, she returned to her room, took a long, hot shower, put on a clean dress and visited a deli for a ham on rye.
By the time she sat down with her sandwich, she felt marginally better. She had to think positive. After all, it was entirely possible that Rob Taylor had only told the truth: Sin simply hadn't been there.
Maybe she was whistling at the moon, but she would give it—give Sin—another twenty-four hours. Her flight back was scheduled for tomorrow evening. She could keep trying until then. Maybe he would call. And if he didn't, she'd gather all her courage up and storm the gates of Inkerris, Incorporated, one more time.
Sophie consumed all of her sandwich, a large glass of milk and both of the big slices of dill pickle that came with it. As she ate, she plotted her next attack on the marble and glass bastions of Inkerris, Incorporated.
Tomorrow, if Sin hadn't called, she would try a different approach. This time, she'd go in as the owner-operator of the Mountain Star, a tenant of Inkerris, Incorporated. She'd tell Mr. Taylor that she simply had to see Mr. Riker concerning the property she leased from him.
It might not work any better than citing "personal" reasons had. But it certainly couldn't do any worse.
By the time she got back to her room after visiting the deli, she'd almost convinced herself that the message light on the phone would be blinking. It wasn't.
She told herself she would not become discouraged.
However, she just might go nuts if she sat in that room all evening, staring at the four walls. L.A. was full of small movie theaters, the kinds of places that showed movies only someone like Sophie would enjoy.
She got an L.A. Times and chose a place that was showing It Came from Outer Space and Attack of then Killer Tomatoes. She ate bad popcorn, drank flat root beer and laughed at awful dialogue. By eleven, when the show was over and she emerged into the balmy L.A. night, she almost felt good.
But back at the hotel, the message light remained dark. She hardly slept the whole night, her nerves on a razor's edge, waiting for the phone to ring.
It never did.
The next morning she rose at six. She took a long walk down city streets that were already clogging up with cars. Around eight, she stopped for breakfast at an outdoor café. She ate croissants and poached eggs, sitting next to a potted palm beneath a Cinzano umbrella. Then she returned to her room—to find she had no messages.
She waited until nine-thirty. And then she grabbed her purse and headed for Inkerris, Incorporated, one more time.
Sin stared out the window behind his desk at the spectacular view of Century City as Rob Taylor filled him in on yesterday's messages and today's appointments.
"Oh, and I almost forgot," Rob said when the endless list had seemed to be finished. "Some young woman came to see you." Rob sighed, sounding put-upon. "She was very persistent. A Ms. Jones. Ms. Sophie B. Jones."
Sin spun his chair around. "When was she here?"
Rob blinked. "Yesterday. In the afternoon. She—"
"Did she leave a number?"
Rob fell back a step. "Well, yes. That is, she left a card, with the name of her—"
"Give it to me."
"I—"
"You do have it?"
"Yes. Of course. That is, I gave it to Tessa to look up the number."
"What number?"
"The number of her hotel."
"What hotel?"
"Helmswood Arms, I believe."
Sin grabbed the phone and buzzed the receptionist.
Rob kept babbling. "Honestly. If I had known—" He waved his assistant to silence. "Tessa, do you have the number of that hotel where Sophie Jones is staying?"
"Of course, Mr. Riker. Just a minute." Sin waited, glaring at Rob, wanting to scream at poor Tessa to snap it up. Finally she spoke again. "Here it is. Shall I call it for—"
"No. Give it to me."
"Certainly. 555-3072."
He disconnected Tessa and punched up the number, growling Sophie's name as soon as a voice said, "Helmswood Arms."
"One moment, please." He heard a line ringing. Five rings, and then the hotel operator came back on. "I'm sorry. She's not answering. Would you care to—"
"What's your address there?" He grabbed a pen and scribbled it down, then slammed the phone back in its cradle and once more turned his attention on the hapless Rob. "I'm going over there. Now."
"Yes. Of course. Whatever."
"If she comes back here, you ask her to wait and you have me paged at her hotel. Is that clear?"
"Yes. Perfectly."
Sin was already striding for the door. He paused only to bark over his shoulder. "I mean it, Rob. Give her coffee. Give her caviar. Give her whatever the hell she wants. But if she comes here, do not let her go until I get back."
Rob was still swearing he'd handle everything as Sin slammed out the door.
Sophie entered the lobby of Inkerris, Incorporated, at nine-forty-five. This time, she had sense enough to head straight for the elevators before Jerry, behind the information desk, caught so much as a glimpse of her. The lobby was busier that time of day than it had been the afternoon before. The up light was already on. She waited with several preoccupied-looking button-down types for the mirrored doors to slide open.
When they finally did, Sin was standing inside.
Sophie's heart went racing. Her feet felt cold and her face felt hot. Neither she nor Sin moved an inch as the button-down types bustled around them, getting on and off the elevator car.
A thousand unreconciled emotions did battle inside her. He looked so unbelievably handsome, more handsome than she remembered, if that was possible. And he was so perfectly dressed, in a dark gray silk suit and a blue shirt and a tie of some deep, rich indefinable color between blue and black.
He looked … urbane and sophisticated. And certainly not the kind of man who could be interested in her, not in a hundred thousand years.
Oh, what had possessed her to come here? They'd shared five days—or, more specifically, five magical nights.
But looking at him now, here in the marble and glass confines of his own world, she just couldn't believe that those days and nights had meant anything near as much to him as they had to her.
Just then the doors started to close.
Sin shouted, "Hold that door!"
But it was too late. The doors kept on sliding together. He commanded, "Sophie. Stay there." And then the doors shut all the way, with him inside—and her still standing there, staring at the place where he had been.
"Stay there," he had said.
She supposed he meant he would come back down on the next car. She hoped that was what he meant. Or maybe he had meant, stay there—and away from me.
Well, it didn't matter. Laying eyes on him again had left her feeling a little unsteady, anyway. Staying there for a while would suit her fine.
A small marble bench stood against the section of wall between the two banks of elevators. Sophie stumbled over and dropped down onto it.
The seconds ticked by like centuries. At last Sin's elevator car descended again, the doors opened, and he stepped out. Sophie stood from the bench. He turned and saw her there.
For a moment, when his eyes met hers, she thought everything would be all right after all. They would run to each other across the black marble floor. He would sweep her into his arms. All their differences would simply melt away…
For his part, at that moment, Sin felt exactly the same.
But then skepticism took over.
There might be any number of reasons she had come here to find him. He decided he'd be wise to approach her carefully until he understood better what was really going on.
As Sin decided to proceed with caution, Sophie felt the moment of hope fade away. Once again, he was simply that incredibly handsome, sophisticated stranger who couldn't possibly be interested in someone like her.
He started toward her, his stride purposeful and his eyes wary. She had no idea what he intended to do, until he reached her and held out his hand.
"How are you, Sophie?"
They shook. Like two casual acquaintances. She felt his touch all the way to her toes, at the same time as she made her lips turn up in a polite smile that pretended she didn't feel anything at all.
"I'm doing all right. How about you?"
He shrugged and, to her sincere regret, released her hand. "I'm all right, too." Behind him, the button-down types came and went from the elevator cars. "I meant what I said, Sophie." He had lowered his voice a little. "I won't take your Mountain Star."
She looked at him levelly. "Yes. I … believe that now."
"Then what brings you here?"
I love you, and I want you to come back to me! her heart cried. But how could she blurt that out here, by the elevators, with all those busy people milling around a few feet away?
"Is there a problem at the ranch?"
She hesitated, her mind all caught up in what she longed to say, what she was afraid to say. "A … problem?"
"Something you came to see me about?"
Now it seemed to her that some of the button-down types were beginning to stare. "I wonder … could we go somewhere a little more private, do you think?"
"Of course." He started to reach for her hand—she could have sworn that he did. But then he only touched her on the shoulder. "Come with me." He turned for the elevators again. She followed after him.
They got on the elevator with two young, well-dressed women. "Good morning, Mr. Riker," the women chirped, almost in unison.
"Good morning, Sarah. Danielle." He nodded, so polite, so correct. A king dispensing the favor of his attention on his subjects.
Sarah and Danielle got off on the fifth floor. Sin and Sophie rode the rest of the way up in an awkward silence that made the close space seem way too small.
It was a relief when the doors opened onto the penthouse reception area.
Tessa looked up from her keyboard. She smiled.
"We'll be in the west conference room." Sin put his hand at the small of Sophie's back, causing the skin there, even beneath the layers of clothing, to burn—making her whole body tighten and yearn. "See that we aren't disturbed."
"I'll do that," Tessa promised.
Sin looked at Sophie. "Can I have Tessa bring you anything?"
She wished he'd take his hand away—she wished he'd never let go. "Anything?" she repeated idiotically.
"Coffee? A sweet roll?"
"Coffee," she said automatically, because it seemed like something she ought to say, though she'd had two cups at breakfast and that was more than enough.
"I'll bring it right in," Tessa promised.
Sin exerted the slightest pressure on Sophie's back—guiding her forward toward the tall mahogany doors. Once through them, they went down a wood-paneled hallway to another pair of double doors. He ushered her through.
The room they entered had a huge, diamond-shaped table in the center of it, with leather chairs all around. There were three sofas along the walls, and chairs and low tables grouped around them—for more informal meetings, she supposed. One wall was solid glass. It afforded a panoramic view of the well-groomed Century City streets below.
Sin guided her to a sofa and chairs near that wall of glass. "Have a seat."
Really, she wanted to stand. She had such a strong feeling of unreality about all of this. She'd come to talk of love—and here they were about to have what felt like some sort of business meeting. Still, to remain on her feet would only make her look as apprehensive as she felt. She dropped into one of the chairs.
Just then a small door down at the other end of the room opened. Tessa came in, carrying a coffee service on a black lacquer tray. She hurried over and set it on a low table about a foot from where Sophie sat perched on her chair.
Efficiently, Tessa poured. She arched a brow at Sophie. "Sugar? Cream?"
"No, black is fine."
She passed Sophie the cup and saucer, which started rattling the moment Sophie got them in her hand. She slid them onto the table in front of her, stifling a sigh of relief when the clattering stopped.
"Mr. Riker?" Tessa held up the pot for him.
"No, thanks. That's all, Tessa."
Tessa set down the pot and left them alone.
Sin was still standing, leaning a little against a credenza not far from the sofa. Sophie felt a flash of resentment. He'd asked her to sit. And yet he remained in the superior position on his feet, looming over her.
"You're not drinking your coffe
e," he remarked quietly.
She reached out, plucked the cup from the saucer and took a sip that burned the back of her throat when she swallowed. Somehow she managed not to completely humiliate herself by having a choking fit right there in front of him.
She set the cup down.
He crossed his arms over his chest.
And she remembered that first night—the two of them, standing by the twin sinks in the back room of her barn-theater. He had leaned against the sink then, just exactly as he leaned against that credenza now…
"What is it, Sophie? What can I do for you?"
She thought, I love you. Do you love me?
But she couldn't say it. She didn't know how to say it. Not anymore. Not here, not now. Not to this urbane, sophisticated man. And not in the west conference room on the penthouse floor.
"Sophie?" He looked puzzled—and maybe a little concerned. "Please. Tell me what's on your mind."
And she heard herself announcing, "Listen, I have a deal for you."
She waited for him to laugh out loud.
But instead, he lifted a dark brow and actually looked interested. "Oh, really?"
"Yes. Really. I wonder, would you consider becoming my partner in the Mountain Star?"
* * *
Chapter 13
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Sophie could not believe she had said that—but now that it was out, she decided she would just go with it. Until he turned her down, which he surely would. Then she could slink away like the complete coward she was.
He was watching her, the consummate businessman, revealing nothing, willing to let her play her whole hand. She picked up her coffee cup, took a second, much more careful sip, and set it back down. "I mean, I understood you had planned to live there anyway, right? Back when you were…" How to say it diplomatically? "…hoping to convince me to give up my lease?"
"Yes," he agreed, looking reasonably serious, as if he actually were considering this outrageous "deal" she was making up as she went along. "That was my plan."
"So, that would mean that you must have your affairs pretty much in order here." At the word affairs, she thought of Willa Tweed and had to hold back a slightly hysterical laugh.
Christine Rimmer - A Hero for Sophie Jones Page 13
