The Charm Offensive

by Cari Lynn Webb

  She should never have held his hand. Never entwined her fingers with his to draw him closer. She’d lost too much already and her heart wasn’t up for bargaining.

  But there was something about Brad...

  She watched him and his mother through the window as they stood on a small incline. He interacted with the two large greyhounds, rewarding them with gentle pats on the head and quick rubs to their ears. But that same ease and comfort was absent between mother and son, and the distance between them was more than simply physical space. The mayor looked like she might touch Brad several times, but her hand always lowered to stroke one greyhound’s neck or rub behind the other’s ears. But Sophie never claimed to be an expert in family dynamics.

  Laughter and muffled chatter escaped from the closed door that led to the dining room. Sophie considered crashing the luncheon and scoping out potential sponsors. She wouldn’t ingratiate herself to the mayor, but Mrs. Harrington hadn’t ingratiated herself to Sophie. Nonetheless, she grudgingly admired the mayor’s meticulous care of her greyhounds with their plaid fleece coats.

  The door clicked behind Sophie and she turned to see Evelyn Davenport approach. She’d removed her headpiece, and her layered white-gold hair swayed against her jawline. Mayor Harrington made Sophie sit up straighter. But Evelyn Davenport swept welcome and color into the monochrome office. Evelyn Davenport was the guidance counselor every high school student had expected and never gotten. Sophie wanted to hold the woman’s hand and pour out her every frustration.

  “I prefer Irish coffee over mimosas.” Evelyn handed Sophie a glass mug with a diamond wedge-cut base, crystal handle and hourglass bowl.

  “The whiskey warms from the inside out.” Evelyn clinked her mug against Sophie’s. “This is my special recipe.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve disrupted the morning and taken you away from your friends.” Sophie sipped her drink. The cheery comfort in the coffee was at odds with the formal glass, much like Brad and his mother.

  “We’d moved from gossip to categorizing our aches and pains. I don’t mind the reprieve. They’ll be debating the best surgeon for each body part about now. I’m not much for hospitals.” Evelyn tipped her glass toward the windows. “Besides, Nancy is thrilled. Her son sought out her assistance.”

  Sophie frowned at mother and son. They didn’t look thrilled.

  “Nancy did offer her assistance, didn’t she?” Evelyn asked.

  “Broadway tickets for a silent auction at an event I’m hosting.”

  “Lovely seats. I spent an evening in the theater to see Phantom.” Evelyn leaned her hip against the doorframe and considered Sophie. “But the tickets aren’t what you’d hoped for.”

  “Not quite.” Sophie shifted her focus to the older woman. Would Evelyn consider becoming a sponsor? Or perhaps change Mayor Harrington’s mind. They’d been friends for years according to the mayor. Surely there was a statute on when you transitioned from friend status to family. Evelyn must be practically family to the Harringtons. “Do you have pets?”

  “Not since my husband passed,” Evelyn said. “Nancy and my late husband, Richard, had the passion for animals. Bradley’s father and I indulged them.”

  “A pet can be a wonderful companion after the loss of a loved one.”

  “That’s what Nancy and my other friends tell me.”

  “I can be of assistance.” Sophie handed her a business card. She might be using the back door to get to the mayor, but she didn’t care. And there was something about this woman that Sophie responded to. She wanted to help her. Maybe it was Evelyn’s loneliness, not so revealing or open or obvious, but then neither was Sophie’s, and perhaps that was why she could spot it. “When you’re ready. I foster at my pet store and work closely with several rescue organizations. I can make you a perfect match.”

  “When I’m ready.” Evelyn tucked the business card into the pocket of her slacks. “Do you have children, Ms. Callahan?”

  “Sophie. And none of my own. I’ve been watching my niece until my sister returns.”

  “How long has your sister been gone?”

  Since Ella’s birth. “Too long I’m afraid.”

  “How old is your niece?”

  “She turns ten next month.”

  “I imagine you’ve planned a big party.”

  “Ella hasn’t quite decided what she wants. She’s only told me that she’d like to do something special with her mother.” Sophie swallowed more Irish coffee, hoping the hot drink might melt that icy disappointment still lodged inside her. Ella wanted her mother and got Sophie. Not the birthday present she’d choose to give her niece. “I imagine Mrs. Harrington would throw a spectacular party for her granddaughter.”

  Evelyn sipped her drink and shrugged. “If it fit into her agenda, I’m certain she would.”

  “I wasn’t aware that granddaughters and daughters were items on an agenda.” Sophie and her sister had never been on their parents’ agenda. And Sophie strove every day to make sure Ella never felt like a task on her to-do list.

  “Perhaps not to you or I.” Evelyn watched Sophie over the rim of her glass. “I’m sure Ella’s grandparents have plans to celebrate her birthday.”

  Ella’s grandparents had plans, but they’d never included Ella. Even in her father’s most recent call, he had mentioned a plan and his love for his girls, but not a plan for his girls. “Unfortunately, a granddaughter was never a priority of theirs.”

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  It was more than unfortunate. It was disastrous. But Sophie never liked to air her dirty laundry. And already she revealed too much. She frowned into her mug and blamed her whiskey-laced coffee for softening her tongue, but nothing else. “How long have you known the Harringtons?”

  “Since Bradley was four and took a pair of scissors to my garden.” Evelyn battled between a smile and a frown.

  But the fondness in how the older woman said Brad’s name made Sophie like her even more. “That must’ve been a surprise.”

  “When he was in high school and started a job as a bagger at the grocery store, he sent me tulips on Mother’s Day and red and white amaryllis bulbs on Christmas. He hasn’t missed either holiday since.”

  Such a lovely sentiment. Sophie’s heart sighed.

  “Nancy is returning. That’s my cue to get back to lunch.” Evelyn tipped her glass toward the French doors and finished her coffee. “But I suppose this year I’ll get a conch shell and a coconut from whatever island Brad has dropped anchor at.”

  Sophie seized the bit of anxiousness before it curled through her toes. Her heart had never flip-flopped over a man before. She wasn’t about to start now. She didn’t need plumeria leis, seashells and empty promises mailed to her from overseas. She wasn’t a fool. When Brad finally set sail, her heart wouldn’t be his stowaway.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BRAD DROVE ALONG his parents’ winding driveway and glanced at Sophie. “Sorry my mother wasn’t feeling more charitable.”

  “She offered two box seats for the silent auction.” Sophie pushed on her sunglasses. “So it wasn’t a total loss.”

  Brad rolled his eyes. His mother’s box seats had been gifted to her before he’d been born. In the thirty years she’d been attending the theater, she’d never paid for one ticket. But he appreciated Sophie’s upbeat tone as she tried to put a positive spin on the morning. His fingers tapped against the steering wheel as he clicked through possible reasons for his mother’s interest in attending Sophie’s event. She had an angle, he just couldn’t see it yet. “Why don’t you cancel and regroup? Hold your fund-raiser next year?”

  “Because I’ve signed contracts and paid deposits.”

  “Those can be broken.” Contracts were broken as easily as glass bottles, New Year’s resolutions and wedding vows.

  “For a
penalty.”

  “But the penalty might be less than the money you still need to raise to fund the gala.”

  “I gave my word. Canceling is not an option.”

  Brad backed off. Maybe it was due to the sharp staccato of her words or the force in her tone, or perhaps because there was more she wasn’t revealing and too much he already knew. Sophie was low on funds, whether she’d given her father the money or he’d taken it without her knowledge. Sophie was desperate. But the Sophie Callahan he was coming to know wasn’t a quitter. And that was one more thing he liked about her. “You’ll find someone better than my mother to support your cause.”

  “Your mother is strong and dedicated.”

  Brad frowned. Not that word again.

  Sophie rushed on. “She brought your family through that scandal when your father lost the governor’s race, and then she used her law degree, entered the political world and now sits behind the mayor’s desk of Pacific Hills. That’s sheer will and conviction.”

  His mother’s PR team had spun a tale that the media adored and the public swallowed like elixir from some forgotten gods. Sophie had sipped from the same chalice. Breaking a spell so deeply held in a person’s heart was like locating a computer hacker’s physical location. Next to impossible.

  The real truth was Mayor Harrington was more dedicated to her own cause than her own family; otherwise, she’d never have used her son to secure the mayor’s seat. “All mothers are dedicated.”

  “Not all mothers.”

  The catch in her voice betrayed the indifference in her tone. Sadness made her whisper seem even weaker. He squeezed the steering wheel to keep from reaching for Sophie. His hands needed to stay put. Reaching for Sophie would be a lie. And no matter what his mother called him, he wasn’t a liar.

  Reaching for Sophie implied he cared. That he wanted to know more. That he was here for her.

  But he was here to expose Sophie. To prove the apple hadn’t really fallen far from the tree and she was in all ways George’s prodigy. It would prove he was right to not lose his heart over a woman like her.

  Now his heart called him a liar. Good thing he knew the folly of letting his emotions lead. He opened his mouth, ground his teeth together, then blurted, “So your father must’ve been the dedicated parent?”

  He almost wrenched the steering wheel off the dashboard. At least he hadn’t asked about her mother.

  “It seems our parents defined their roles differently.”

  He tried to loosen his grip. “What was the Callahan definition of parenting?”

  “Absentee.” Sophie hugged her purse on her lap. “I last saw my mother when the Bay Area Angels pitcher threw two no-hitter games in the same season.”

  “That was almost twenty years ago.” Brad stopped at a red light and looked at Sophie, pulled by her matter-of-fact tone as if she were reciting nothing more interesting than her grocery list. “You’re telling me you haven’t seen your mother since you were ten?”

  “I was nine. My sister, Tessa, was ten.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I’d like to say it’s fine, but that’s not entirely true. However, it is what it is.” She pulled on her seat belt, rubbing her chest beneath the strap as if that was the cause of her too-tight voice. “I don’t have a mother, and you have one you want to get away from.”

  Brad slowed at another red light. He’d never known his mother not to be there, even as a child. She might’ve been occupied with work or fund-raising and not available for her sons, but she’d always been within reach. She’d always been home. He chose to leave now, secure in the knowledge that his mother would be here when he returned. But Sophie had never had that safety. Never had her mother, perhaps, when she’d needed her most. Sophie deserved better than that.

  “You aren’t going to deny it, then?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll miss my father.”

  He wouldn’t have been more surprised if his car had lifted into the air like a jet when he stepped on the gas. Why’d he confess that? He would miss his father. That was true. But he didn’t need to say it out loud to another person. To Sophie.

  “What is your father like?”

  Her question broke into his stupor. “He’s a good man.” He snapped his mouth shut before more truths escaped. Or, worse, some feelings he’d considered long buried. “How about your father?”

  “He tries to be good.”

  “And has he been successful?” He’d clearly exited the freeway and driven into another dimension. One where his mouth and his brain had stopped communicating. He already knew George Callahan wasn’t a success. Nor was the man good.

  “Until recently,” she said. “He’d been dating a woman for the past seven months and she’d been good for him. At least, I thought they were good together.”

  The wistful note in her voice stuck with him. That could be the only reason for the next absurdity to blurt out of his mouth. “What happened?”

  “I suppose he wasn’t good. I don’t know the details, but I heard him tell someone on the phone that they’d decided to explore other options.”

  “You never met her?” Clearly his mouth had no interest in listening to his brain. He seemed unable to shut himself up. Although he hadn’t given in to that incessant twitch to grab her hand and give her his support.

  “I haven’t met any of my father’s girlfriends since Ella was two.” At Brad’s look, she sighed and zipped her purse as if preparing not to lose too many personal items. “It’s complicated. My father likes women. He just doesn’t like to keep women around long. And the revolving door of girlfriends can get confusing for Ella.”

  And for innocent daughters. Brad suspected her father’s girlfriend train extended deep into her childhood and had left an impression on a bright-eyed young Sophie. “You thought the door might’ve stopped revolving with his most recent girlfriend?”

  “I’d hoped so,” she said. “Not just for him, but for Ella. He’d sounded content, almost settled.”

  She’d left herself out, but Brad knew she’d hoped for herself, too, that her father had finally changed. That George had discovered some sort of redemption. Because somewhere inside Sophie was a little girl who still wanted her father’s love. He knew because he supposed somewhere inside him was a little boy who still wanted his mother’s love. Wanted to know his mother loved him more than her career and political agenda.

  He’d really derailed. Perhaps if he’d exited on Fifth Avenue he’d have avoided the self-analysis. He turned onto Market and paced a city bus beside him.

  Maybe when he found George Callahan, the man would want to be the father Sophie deserved. Then again maybe his car would fly.

  The vibration of his phone disrupted his impossible thoughts. Two more chimes indicated new text messages.

  Sophie tapped her nail against his phone screen. “I thought you were on sabbatical.”

  “It won’t officially begin until I hit open water and lose cell reception.” Brad eased over into the far right lane behind the bus.

  “I can’t imagine being totally disconnected.” She turned her own cell phone over in her grip. “I don’t think I’ve ever had my cell phone off. Not sure I’d like being cut off from everything.”

  “I plan to get used to it really quickly.” Brad turned into an alley and parked. “Sorry. It’s the office and it looks like they aren’t going to quit until I answer.”

  He responded to several texts before calling his lead on a corporate fraud case. Ten minutes later, he dropped his phone in the drink holder and pulled out onto the road. “Sorry about that. It couldn’t wait.”

  Sophie set her phone beside his. “I answered a few texts myself. But your call sounded more successful than the new items for the silent auction my friend Kay delivered this morning to the Pooch.”
>
  “This case is going better than we anticipated.”

  “You obviously enjoy your work.” Sophie shifted in her seat and leaned against the car door. “You haven’t been that animated since I met you. Yet, you just intend to leave it all behind.”

  He nodded. He loved preserving the reputations of the innocent and seeing justice served. He loved the black-and-white cases. But recently there’d been so much gray, lines crossed and boundaries pushed. Somewhere he’d lost his own moral compass and his personal why. He needed to discover that why before he returned.

  “It’s just such a large pendulum swing from all of this to nothing.”

  “I’ll have a boat to take me anywhere in the world I want to go. Whenever I want to go. So I have something.”

  “Alone.” Her distaste was obvious in the way she stretched out the word. She offered no reprieve. “You don’t seem like a loner.” Again her low opinion of solitary people echoed in her voice. He half expected her to correct herself and use the word loser rather than loner.

  “What kind of person am I?” He wanted to know what she saw when she looked at him. He wanted to know if his inner cynic had finally pushed through to the surface and dimmed his gaze and cracked his smile.

  “You’re the kind that pulls over to answer texts. The kind that sends flowers to widows long after an apology’s expiration date. And the kind that installs security systems for free for someone you just met.”

  He made a show of changing lanes, leaning forward to look in his mirrors as if he couldn’t see perfectly fine. As if a small car squatted in his blind spot. Just to avoid glancing at Sophie. She was clearly the one who couldn’t see. After all, she made him sound almost good. Almost decent. He rolled his shoulders against his leather seats, but the tension remained. “You didn’t mention a sailor.”

  “I don’t see that.” No apology lingered in her flat tone.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Maybe you just need to find some balance in your life.”