Meant to Be Mine

by Lisa Marie Perry

  “Luz knew. I found Ellen’s information in her address book. I contacted her and Finnegan because I wanted to know how they’d react. From the way Luz told it, she raised you when Ellen wouldn’t and Finnegan couldn’t. Know what he said when I told him? ‘Okay.’ That’s all. And Ellen, she was Luz’s best friend, wasn’t she? They cut up in this town and had big plans, right? Well, Ellen said to me, ‘I’m sorry for your loss, but I can’t think about them.’ That included you, querida.”

  She pushed away from the desk, dropped her face into her hands. “They know she died and won’t come back at all? I haven’t seen Finnegan since he dropped me after the transplant and I wouldn’t know her if I passed her on the street, but I thought…”

  Bautista started talking again, discussing Luz’s stock—decades ago she’d acquired shares of an energy conservation start-up that was now a leader in high-efficiency fuel and automation, and more recently she’d bought in on a paraben-free hypoallergenic lube gel manufacturer—but eventually he stopped again, because Sofia wasn’t paying attention.

  He set a box of tissues in front of her, but that was as far as she’d milk this sympathy thing. When she wiped her face and got up to find a wastebasket, he saw a glimpse of scar tissue exposed by the gaping neckline of the shirt.

  Aw, hell.

  Life was hard, but that wasn’t his lesson to teach, because she already knew. A surgeon had taken out her heart and put in a donor’s, and that was how she lived to stand here in his office and remind him of his woman.

  “This is yours, too, Sofia,” he said simply, taking something from a desk drawer, placing it in her palm, and wrapping her fingers around it.

  She nodded, but gasped when she opened her hand. A colorless diamond on a gold band. “A ring? You and Luz were engaged?”

  “When I last saw her, the morning she died, she had this on her finger.” When she’d pulled his hair, touched his body, and later flown into a cussing tirade about coffee beans, the ring had been in place. “She wasn’t wearing it when she died. It was in her purse. She didn’t want this. I thought she did. So what I told you before is true. She was my life, and I was just her lawyer.”

  “I can’t take this.”

  “Sell it, give it to charity. Just take it.”

  Unlike Caro, who’d put up a tireless fight when he’d tried to walk away from the bar, Sofia raised no argument and slipped the ring into her purse.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded but didn’t tell her the words mattered not at all. They finished quickly after that and he carried the trunk to the lobby, where a couple of suits surrounding a self-serve espresso bar ogled a woman lounging on a sofa browsing a magazine.

  Whether she was oblivious to the attention or basking in it, he couldn’t tell.

  She closed the magazine, and when she popped up, something magical happened. Her blond curls bounced in unison with the jiggle of her lush, full tits. “All set, Sof?”

  Closer now, he recognized her from the funeral.

  “This is my roomie, Joss,” Sofia introduced her. “Joss, you remember Bautista.”

  Joss automatically stretched out her hand for a shake, but seeing that his arms were full, she instead squeezed his biceps and smiled. “You saved a woman and her dog from a night of homelessness. Thanks.”

  She was as far from Luz as a woman could be. Luz was sixty and Joss might not be even half of that, but the contrast wasn’t about age. Luz was friendly yet savvy and stoic; Joss was…careless.

  Alluring as all hell.

  He needed to ride, get his mind right again, maybe take a breather from his practice and check in with the club, who’d called him home to the circle when they’d heard about Luz’s death.

  “What’s New York doing for you?” he asked Joss when she didn’t seem to be in a hurry to release him.

  “I’m a chef’s assistant. I bake.”

  “She’s an artist,” Sofia added as they exited the building and met the sunshine that taunted his budding headache. “She made a replica of Monet’s Bridge Over a Pond of Water Lilies with cupcakes.”

  “Impressive,” he said, “but it sounds safe.”

  Joss frowned. “What credentials do you have that’d make your opinion at all important? Bridge Over a Pond of Water Lilies wasn’t safe. It was tedious and the art museum thought it was awesome and I’m proud of it. It’s in my book.”

  “Portfolio,” Sofia provided. “There’s my car.”

  Bautista put the trunk in and caught a faint whiff of Tish. “Where’s the dog? You said you’d lost her but found her, so where is she now?”

  “At the photography studio over the bar. Caro and her kid are having a last hurrah with Tish before we take off.”

  Joss still looked offended. “I don’t think I like you all that much, Bautista.”

  Whoa. Point-blank honesty. She didn’t pull back. That shouldn’t compel him to crack a smile through the hell inside him, but it did. “You’re in the majority. Good luck with your cupcakes.”

  “Good luck being a dick.”

  “Joss!” Sofia pointed to the passenger side. “Let’s get the dog and go.”

  The blonde strutted around him to get in the SUV. When she glanced back he saw darkness in her blue eyes that had nothing to do with shadow. It intrigued, lured him close, but she slammed the door.

  Another slamming door. This one was a reminder that things could go south real quick if he wasn’t careful, and even though Luz had taken off his ring and “Fuck you” had been the last words she’d said to him, he needed to let himself grieve before moving on to his next mistake.

  “Thanks, Bautista, for handling the arrangements,” Sofia said. “Joss is…well, she can be defensive about her career. Accusing her of playing things safe, it stabs a nerve.”

  “What will you do with Luz’s life?”

  “Don’t know yet. I go back to work on Tuesday and maybe things will start to make sense again,” she said, and got into her car.

  Bautista was heading into the East Millennium Tower when he saw the SUV join traffic on the street. Getting a final look at Sofia Mercer, seeing the woman Luz had raised and loved like a daughter, he muttered, “Mi corazón, if your girl ever comes back, I’ll look after her. I’ll do that for you.”

  CHAPTER 7

  New York was supposed to make sense. It was Friday again, a full week after the funeral—no, Sofia realized, squinting at the glowing white digits on her bedside clock, it was technically Saturday—but she was still struggling. Flailing. Falling to pieces.

  She tried to sit up. An anvil pinned her legs. Tish. Harboring an unauthorized pet was a daily roll of the dice, but couldn’t the dog at least show some gratitude by staying on her own side of the bed? It was as if Tish held her down nightly, lying on Sofia’s legs or her stomach or her hair, as she had that first night in the apartment in Eaves, in an effort to stop her from going away.

  The way Luz had gone away. Intelligent Tish may be—she didn’t bark and expose Sofia and Joss for the rule-breaking tenants they were—but some things even she couldn’t understand.

  “You’re bad for my circulation,” she mumbled to the dog, going to extremes to slide one leg and then the other out from beneath the coverlet. The struggle caused her joggers to twist around her ass and her undies to wedge between her cheeks.

  Making adjustments, she padded to the door. She hoped a middle-of-the-night pee and a glass of water would help her get back to sleep. Ever since her return to the city she’d felt strange, and she had a suspicion her colleagues figured she’d gone to Cape Cod and been replaced with a pod person.

  At Manhattan Greetings brainstorming sessions, she’d been preoccupied pondering what exactly made a paraben-free hypoallergenic personal lubricant so attractive that her great-aunt had been compelled to buy stock. During presentations her mind wandered and she found herself doodling a boutique with shake-shingle siding and fancy lettering on the storefront. Among the handful of staff who got together once a
month to hang out over pizza, beer, and porn, she’d picked at her food and daydreamed through the flick as everyone else chatted and joked around. That night she’d come home, escaped to the shower, and cupped her breasts, imagining Burke Wolf touching her there.

  Which was why she’d accepted a coffee shop date with a guy she met on a subway platform. Nathan Swanson seemed nice enough—sweet, even—and carried around a cello as if it weighed nothing. If things went well, they would kiss. If things went really well, that kiss would erase Burke’s and she could quit reliving the taste of him and obsessing about all the might-have-beens that weren’t meant to be.

  She needed this weekend to clear away the confusion. Her job was suffering because she was distracted by an inheritance she didn’t deserve but had likely earned by default. Aunt Luz had no one else to bestow her life upon, that’s all. Sofia’s grandparents had died from cancer only months apart when their daughter, Ellen, was still a girl. Barely an adult herself, Luz had picked up where they’d left off, taking on the role of parent and friend to her niece. And when Ellen had gotten pregnant and married Finnegan Mercer and then abandoned them both practically the minute the umbilical cord was severed, Luz had stepped in once again, helping to raise Sofia.

  And Sofia had repaid that kindness by starting over in New York and leaving all of Eaves, her great-aunt included, deep in the past.

  No, she didn’t deserve Luz’s business and stocks and Siberian husky.

  But she had it all anyway. Soon Bautista would need answers and she’d have to make decisions that she couldn’t undo in the future.

  God, she’d never get back to sleep when all she wanted to do now was open Aunt Luz’s trunk and pore over every document inside.

  Tish started to stretch, and Sofia thought the dog might get up and follow her to the bathroom, but Tish twisted her massive furry body and now lay in the exact spot Sofia had just vacated.

  “Nice, Tish. Just nice.” She tiptoed to the toilet, not wanting to disturb her roomie in case she’d already returned from her date and was asleep. Joss might be the world’s lightest—possibly most paranoid—sleeper. The paranoia was something she couldn’t be persuaded to discuss, and Sofia accepted that, even though on any given night Joss could slip out of her room with a weapon ranging from a lamp to a stiletto and then mumble the same explanation: “Oh, sorry, I thought you were somebody else.”

  Leaving the bathroom as quietly as she had approached, she went to the kitchen, filled a glass with ice, and poured a bottle of Evian over it. Expensive water wasn’t a part of her normal diet—neither was pizza, since she would monitor her cholesterol and glucose levels for the rest of her new life—but she’d taken home leftovers from pizza-and-porn night and Joss hadn’t been around to demolish the freebies.

  She slowly backed herself up against the nearest wall and touched the glass to her neck. Hard to imagine being kissed in this kitchen. It was too immaculate, though before last week she’d considered that something to brag about.

  No one would press her against this wall or toss a condom onto that table. This was a kitchen made for entertaining friends with Joss-prepared appetizers and Sofia-mixed cocktails before outings to Broadway shows or late-night concerts. It was her roommate’s creative space whenever she got her confidence up enough to attempt recipes that might break her out as more than just a chef’s assistant.

  Sofia wanted more for herself, and for Joss. For the first time since they’d been pulled from a waitlist for this building, she was less than satisfied with the home she’d made here.

  Grief. That had to be the reason she was so disconnected. It didn’t help that the guy who’d been her closest friend and the love of her teenage life had stunned her with a kiss and then confused her with asshole behavior.

  “Step one foot in here and I will cut you, God damn it, I swear I will!”

  Sofia lunged out of the kitchen to see Joss flinging herself into the apartment and trying her damnedest to shut the door on the male arm poking through.

  “Stop being so dramatic,” a man shouted. “Damn it, Joss!”

  “What the hell?” Sofia ran to the door as Peter Bernard burst through and Joss started slapping him with her handbag. “Joss! What’s going on?”

  “Call the police. Have them carry out this creep in handcuffs. I’ll Instagram the shit out of the whole thing.” She jumped onto a leather chair and sobbed.

  “What happened?” Sofia demanded, noting Peter’s disheveled hair and rumpled clothes. “What did you do to her?”

  “I didn’t touch her.”

  Joss’s head popped up. “Oh, but you touched someone, didn’t you? We were at your parents’ social. How disgusting can you be?” She turned to Sofia. “The second I went to the ladies’ room, he got balls-deep in one of the caterers.”

  Oh, no. “Get out, Peter.”

  “Not until Joss stops acting like a bitch and talks to me.”

  “Get out,” Sofia said again.

  “I have nothing else to say to you!” Joss screamed. “You cheated on me, and you humiliated me.”

  “Leave. Now.” Sofia intervened in the calmest voice she could manage. “Or I will get the cops out here.”

  “Hey, this isn’t your business,” he barked, grabbing her arm and causing the ice water to rise up like an angry wave and crash over the front of her.

  “That’s it,” Joss announced. “I’m calling.”

  Peter dropped Sofia’s arm and backed away, palms out. “I—I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry. Joss, come on, you know I never mean it. This thing with Emily, it’s over now. I swear to you.”

  Joss’s response was to brandish her cell phone and start dialing.

  “I fucked up. I made a mistake,” he allowed, going to the door. Sofia put herself in front of Joss, shielding her, but his glare pierced her straight through. “But I’m not going to apologize again, Joss. Cut me off and you’ll be cutting off the connections and the money and the gifts. You’re just another Emily—nothing special.”

  He left, banging the door shut with angry force that disturbed the wall art.

  Visibly rattled, Joss rushed to the door and locked it after him. “Sofia, I’m sorry. He had no right to put his hands on you.”

  “He’s got no right to put his hands on you, either. I heard him when he said he ‘never’ means it. Joss, you’re stronger than this.”

  “That’s the thing, though. I’m not. The connections are…they’re everything in my industry. The woman he was with probably opened herself not because he’s a prince in stockbroker’s clothing, but because he’s just an opportunity or some friggin’ bridge to better opportunities. The sex isn’t all that great. He’s too fast.”

  “Or too rough? And I don’t mean just sex. He grabbed me and he wouldn’t leave when we told him to. Call the cops. I want to report this.”

  “Wait. I can’t do that—call and report him.”

  “Give me the phone, then. I’ll do it.”

  “Please don’t, Sof.”

  Sofia’s throat tightened as all sorts of warning bells chimed. “Why not? Don’t let him abuse you.”

  “He will take away every good thing that’s happened to me. He has the money and the ability to do it. You know that.”

  “If you buckle, he’ll win. He cheated on you. He hurts you. Don’t let him win.”

  Joss handed over a blanket and Sofia dabbed it to her dripping face and soaked T-shirt, then dropped it to the floor and began to mop up the mess.

  “If he takes away my contacts and opportunities, I lose. This is New York. No matter how many times I bite into the Big Apple, I always end up with a mouthful of worm. I can’t get ahead without using someone and letting him use me. That’s just what my reality is. In this city you can throw a rock and hit somebody trying to turn a cupcake into a profitable business or a few good recipes into a legit career. I’m…I’m just another Emily.”

  “What if New York isn’t the apple you’re meant to bite, Joss?”
r />   Her friend sat down again, sniffling softly. “Huh?”

  “Manhattanites aren’t the only ones who enjoy a good pastry.”

  Joss shook her head. “If this has anything to do with the baggage your aunt dumped on you, I’m not interested. It’s bad enough we’re violating our rental agreement by hiding Tish here.”

  “I have a store and a home out there.”

  “Listen to yourself, Sofia! This is your home.”

  “It’s not,” she blurted before she even realized what she was saying. “It never truly was. Manhattan Greetings is fun and crazy and wonderful, but it isn’t a career—not the one I want. It’s just a job. This apartment is just a place to sleep. I’ve hung a grand total of zero pictures on the walls. Yes, I counted.”

  “You’re confused.”

  “You came home pissed that Peter cheated on you and the moment he reminded you that he can buy and sell you, you spun a one-eighty—and I’m the one who’s confused?”

  “Peter and I are in a relationship.”

  “Abuse is what turns a relationship into a crisis. He’s hurt you before. You don’t have to admit it, but I’m your friend and I love you and the next time I see him I only hope Tish is around to use his cock as a chew toy.”

  Joss shut down, withdrawing from the conversation and from Sofia’s concern. “I’m not going to drop everything I’ve built here just because you went to Cape Cod for a funeral and got hit with a little nostalgia.”

  “Okay.” With that word, Sofia felt them pull apart and their friendship all but snap under duress. “I’m going to do it, though.”

  “Sofia.”

  “I have to.” She pushed her damp hair out of her eyes. “I have to try to use the tools Luz left me before I liquidate.”

  “Liquidate now and start the business you want to run. Fashion and accessories. That’s your dream, isn’t it? Be smart about this. Yeah, you worked at Blush once upon a time, but would you be fine with immersing yourself in erotic retail?”

  “I have to try,” she repeated.

  “What do you know about kink?”