“Great,” Sophie said. “I’ll check it out when we’re done here. Who all will be at this event, Cathy? Local businesses, townspeople? Any politicians?”
“Lots. The mayor, city council, the governor, probably some state legislators.”
“Wow.”
“Don’t forget P.J. Cohen,” Marcy said. She didn’t look up, so she didn’t see the color drain from Sophie’s face.
“P.J. Cohen?” Ellie asked. “The billionaire? Why would he be there?”
Cathy watched Sophie’s face and spoke carefully. “Mr. Cohen provided a grant to pay for the renovations. He has businesses in Sitka and a home here, and it’s not uncommon for him to put money into the community. He’ll be the special guest.”
“If it’s like when he donated money for the civic center renovations, he’ll probably cut a ribbon or something,” Marcy said.
“Probably,” Cathy said. “Sophie? What’s on your mind?”
“I’m … just surprised that a nursing home attracts so many important people.” She returned to the kitchen and began taking out ingredients for the lemon cupcake batter.
“Pioneer Homes are special,” Cathy said. “They’re about—”
“—celebrating the spirit of Alaskans; the adventurers and survivors,” Sophie finished. “Yes, someone explained that to me. I just wasn’t expecting the celebrities. Marcy, could I have the flour when you’re finished, please?”
The subject was changed, and eventually Cathy took the baby home to get some rest. Sophie worked quickly and pushed Marcy and Ellie to get the cupcakes baked in record time. They would be meeting early the next morning to frost and decorate the eleven dozen treats. Several times when she wasn’t looking, her two cousins looked at each other and shrugged. The normally chatty, happy Sophie, though still pleasant to work with, had suddenly turned focused and a bit intense.
Sophie was forming a plan.
Sophie had thought many times what she would say to P.J. Cohen if she had the chance to meet him. Now, here she was, facing that opportunity, and she couldn’t decide which method to employ: get the billionaire alone and give him a piece of her mind or create a scene and publicly confront him. She’d prepared statements for both, depending on what she decided to do when the moment came.
Carrie’s boutique did have a nice selection of dresses with simple elegance. Sophie chose a vivid green gown with a pattern of tiny aqua-colored fish. No subtle, black dresses for this event. If she did decide to make a scene, she didn’t want to make it hard to stand out in the crowd.
The dress, a feminine V-neck with a wide, empire waistband, flared with an extra-full skirt that fell in soft waves down to her strappy nude heels. Before heading to the event, Sophie checked herself out in the mirror. Her thick, dark hair was pulled into a glamorous ponytail (a power ponytail as she thought of it) that cascaded down from high on her head. She liked the results.
I should shop angry more often. Or at least righteously indignant.
The cupcakes had been assembled and put in carrying cases earlier that day. Marcy had to bow out of serving, as her youngest had come down with a fever. Ellie was dressed in a frilly pink tulle skirt she hoped would remind people of the pink bakery. She had arrived at the Cookie Jar in time to help Sophie load Cathy’s delivery van—newly painted with the bakery’s name on the side.
When Ellie caught her first glimpse of Sophie, she whistled. “You look amazing! Watch out, you’ll be the Cinderella everyone’s talking about tomorrow.”
“Cinderella?”
“You’re still new in town, right? Hardly anyone knows you. They’ll be saying, ‘Who’s that gorgeous girl?’”
Or maybe they’ll all know my name by the end of the night. She wasn’t sure how comfortable she was with the thought, and by the time she backed the van out of the parking lot and headed into downtown, she’d decided that a private interview with the billionaire was the better option.
19
Sophie had never been in Sitka’s Pioneer Home, so she didn’t know what things looked like normally. Tonight, the foyer was decorated in navy blue swags with gold stars hanging from strings, which Ellie pointed out were the colors and shapes on the Alaska state flag. White lights gave the room a glamorous tone, and a podium next to a ceremonial gold ribbon waited for P.J. Cohen to officially open the renovated wing.
Sophie and Ellie had arrived early to set up cupcakes and had a chance to meet the other bakers in town. One, an elderly woman who moved slowly and looked as if she could be one of the home’s residents, bossed her granddaughter/assistant around in a way that made Sophie cringe. The other bakers were two brothers who specialized in donuts but didn’t want to say no when asked to provide cupcakes. Ellie gave Sophie a silent, celebratory thumbs-up to say that the Cookie Jar contribution was the best on the tables.
The rest of the town seemed to have arrived early, too. People in various interpretations of formal dress browsed in and out of the hallways and visited with the Pioneer Home’s elderly adventurers and survivors. Sophie overheard several interesting stories from residents, including one who had survived World War II and headed to Alaska to find his fortune as soon as he came home. He’d never found monetary treasures but had a lifetime of exciting adventures to tell.
Roger’s parents, Uncle Curtis and Aunt Nan, were there. Sophie found them talking to an elderly woman in a wheelchair in one of the rooms as she wandered by.
“Sophie! Come in and meet your great-aunt Constance,” Uncle Curtis said. “Aunt Constance, this is Joanie’s daughter, Sophie.”
Sophie greeted the elderly woman warmly. “I didn’t know I had family here,” she said. “I would have stopped in earlier.”
“Joanie’s daughter? Yes, you look just like her, only with a darker completion. Your mother was a gardener. Did you know that?”
“Yes, I did,” Sophie said. “We had a small garden in San Francisco.”
“I’m glad to hear it. She came over every now and then and helped me weed and put in compost. She loved to hear stories. I missed her when she left.”
Sophie smiled. “I’d love to hear those stories, too, Aunt Constance.”
The older woman had sharp, bright eyes. She looked Sophie up and down. “Turn around, dear. I want to see that dress.”
Sophie did as she was told and pirouetted until the dress spun.
“Lovely!” Aunt Constance said. “You know, that’s the kind of outfit that you wear and somebody goes and falls in love with you.”
Great-aunt Constance’s comment brought laughter from her family, but the elderly woman didn’t laugh. She only smiled and wondered who at the event would fall in love with this beautiful great-niece of hers.
At exactly seven o’clock, the mayor stood at the podium and called the crowd to attention. Sophie, from her place near the cupcakes, watched those who seemed to be the dignitaries of the evening and wondered which one was P.J. Cohen. A rotund grey-haired gentleman with several chins wore a self-important look. She disliked his expression and hoped it was him.
As the mayor introduced each of the many politicians in attendance—including the governor, Sophie was surprised to see—none of them were P.J. Cohen. The rotund man was left out of the introductions.
“I bet he’s P.J. Cohen,” Sophie whispered to Ellie.
“I don’t know what P.J. Cohen looks like,” Ellie answered, “but that guy works at the DOL. He failed me the first time I tried to get my driver’s license.”
“Ah.”
When the general introductions were finished, the mayor looked around nervously. “We are just waiting to hear from our guest of honor …”
A woman walked quickly up to the podium from one of the hallways, and Sophie recognized her as Marisa. She whispered something to the mayor, who chuckled and again addressed the crowd.
“It seems our guest of honor was engrossed in one of our beloved resident’s life stories and couldn’t pull away. We all know what that feels like and don’t blame him for wan
ting to hear how the story ended. We’re now happy to introduce Sitka’s favorite benefactor and primary contributor to the renovations we celebrate tonight, Mr. P.J. Cohen.”
The crowd applauded, and Sophie held her breath. She was so sure what P.J. Cohen would look like that she didn’t even notice the tall, good-looking man until he spoke into the microphone.
“Good evening! It’s always a treat to be here in Sitka.”
P.J. Cohen addressed the crowd, but Sophie didn’t hear a word he said. Was this really him? How did she not know that the billionaire who founded PJ’s Wholesale Warehouse, who’d helped put her mother’s bakery out of business, whose house Sophie had walked through just a week ago, would be the most attractive man she’d ever set eyes on?
As the billionaire spoke, Sophie took in every detail of him. His dark hair, boyishly curly but artfully styled, was nearly as black as his tuxedo. He had a chiseled look to him, but his broad, boyish grin softened his face. He was well tanned, clearly used to being outdoors.
Probably on a yacht.
She was busy studying his looks when he happened to turn her way and stopped talking. It took her a moment to notice. She wasn’t that far away from him, and his dark eyes captured hers. It wasn’t until he smiled, a wide grin with brilliant, unsettlingly white teeth, that she realized the dashing, curly-haired billionaire was looking right at her. And that wasn’t all. The whole room had turned her way, too, to see what made Mr. Cohen smile like that.
“It’s wonderful to see Sitka out in her finest to celebrate our seniors,” P.J. Cohen said into the microphone. “I’m in awe of the beauty and elegance I see here tonight.”
He means me!
He continued to talk about community coming together to make things happen, but he also continued to turn his smile back at Sophie. What was she supposed to do, swoon at having the billionaire’s attention? Yes, he was definitely attractive—unbelievably attractive, actually, but it was probably because his grooming showed the best that money could buy, right? Even though he was amazingly good-looking, in a tall, dark, and handsome way, and even though the looks he sent Sophie’s way were making her weak in the knees, who did he think he was? Just because he was rich didn’t mean he could send a smile or two her way and assume she was flattered. Clearly arrogant, entitled, used to getting his own way …
As her anger rose hot in her chest, P.J. Cohen’s speech was coming to a close. Someone produced a large pair of scissors, and the billionaire posed for the flashing cameras as he cut the gold ribbon.
As soon as he’d handed the scissors back, and everyone was still applauding, Sophie made her move.
He saw her approaching, and that wickedly confident grin returned until he saw the look on her face. She had decided to keep her confrontation private, so while the crowd applauded, she stepped right up on the podium until she was close enough she could have touched P.J. Cohen.
“Mr. Cohen—” Good heavens, he was really gorgeous. She took a deep breath, looked into his chocolatey dark eyes, and said, “I’m Sophie Molina.”
“Call me Peter.”
“I—” The look in his eyes! He was flirting. A long dimple appeared under one chiseled cheek. She enunciated clearly, “Mr. Cohen, twenty-one months ago you opened a PJ’s Wholesale Warehouse in San Francisco, not far from the bakery my mother and I co-owned. Your big box store caused economic harm to the small businesses in the area, particularly our bakery. In fact, your discount store offered baked goods at such low costs, you put us out of business. In addition to that, the strain of watching her business fail affected my mother’s health, and she—” Sophie had to take a deep breath to keep from crying. “—she’s no longer with us. I’ve wanted for a long time to let you know that while you’re making millions—or billions, I guess—from your stores, it’s not without casualties. Good for you that you’re contributing to Sitka, but I see through you. I’ve seen the harm that you do when you bring your businesses into town.”
She stopped talking, waiting for him to defend himself or have her thrown out. He didn’t. The dimple had disappeared, and he only watched her, and listened. When he saw that she was finished, he said, “Miss Molina, I’m truly sorry about your mother.”
He’d remembered the name she gave him, and it startled her. So did the sincerity of his condolences. It threw her off balance, and she had to break the pull of his eyes on hers.
Looking around, she was stunned to find that the crowd of people in the foyer and in the upstairs lobby, who had been cheering and applauding when she started talking, had gone silent and were staring at her. Every one of them.
“What …?” she started, disoriented, until she heard that her voice echoed throughout the room. She looked down, and realized she was standing right in front of the microphone, and it was still on.
Oh no.
Adrenaline raced through her veins, and she flew off the podium, making her way to the front exit as fast as her high heels could carry her.
When Sophie left, the crowd remained hushed. Mr. Cohen stepped up to the microphone but said nothing. He gestured, and his dark-haired assistant came to stand next to him. She listened to whatever he whispered in her ear, nodded, and headed the direction Sophie had disappeared.
“Friends,” J.P. Cohen addressed them, his deep voice friendly but subdued, “many of you know me well. Or, at least, well enough. You’ve been good to me here in Sitka. I hope that I can ask a favor of you, of all of you who are present here tonight in this room.”
20
Sophie took off her shoes once she was outside so she could run. She ran across the Pioneer Home lawn, past the gold miner statue, but stopped when she reached a bench. She looked left and right for an escape route, but where would she go? The van keys were still in her bag under the cupcake table.
With a loud sigh, she sat down and pulled her knees up to her chest. What had she done? She’d said what she wanted to. She detailed P.J. Cohen’s actions to his face, and he’d listened. But the part about exposing him in public? That had just been fantasizing, letting off steam. It wasn’t like her to really embarrass someone, even someone who got rich at the expense of others.
The bench looked out toward the water, and lights twinkled all around the sound on the dark night. Some of the little shops around town were still open, particularly the restaurants. With a pang, she wondered if she’d done damage to Cathy’s bakery. All of Sitka seemed to be there listening to her criticize someone who helped their town. Would they be angry with her? Would the Cookie Jar be hurt by association?
“Sophie?” Marisa appeared and sat down next to her on the bench. “Are you okay?”
“I’m so sorry, Marisa. I didn’t realize the microphone was right there. And I was so busy getting my words right, I guess I didn’t hear myself.”
“Do you hate him so much?”
Her face crumpled in anguish, Sophie turned to face Marisa. “No! How could I hate someone I don’t even know? I don’t like how he does business, but I really didn’t intend to be public about it. I just wanted him to listen. I wanted him to see the face of someone he put out of business. And my mother couldn’t be there, so …” A hiccup escaped her, and she thought for a moment she really might cry.
Marisa moved closer and pulled Sophie in for a hug. “I’m sure that was hard to do, facing someone you feel that way about. Sophie, he wants you to come back inside.”
“What, and publicly apologize?”
“Definitely not. He just wants to talk to you. And not in front of the microphone.”
Sophie leaned back so she could see Marisa’s face. “Is he very angry?”
“One very nice thing I can say about my boss,” Marisa said with a smirk, “is that it takes a lot more than being called to task in public to make him angry. Just come talk to him.”
21
It was hard to go back into the brightly lit Pioneer Home, but she did it. She was nervous, but Marisa took the lead, walking tall and sharing a friendly smile to encoura
ge Sophie to do the same. People had gone back to their conversations, and Ellie and the other bakers were serving the cupcakes. Ellie waved, and gave her a cheerful thumbs-up from across the room.
It only took a second before her gaze landed on P.J. Cohen, now that she knew what he looked like. He was definitely a handsome man, and when he noticed that she was back, he excused himself from his conversation with the mayor and walked straight to her. She summoned her courage. Despite Marisa’s assurance otherwise, she wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t be angry.
“Mr. Cohen—”
“Peter, please. Mr. Cohen is for when I’m in a business meeting. May I call you Sophie?”
His voice was warm and deep, comforting and authoritative. It reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t think who.
“Um … yes. Mr.—Peter, I’m so sorry. I did want to say those things to you, but I didn’t intend for the whole town to hear.”
“It’s perfectly all right. Don’t give it another thought; I’m sure I deserved it. And I meant what I said. I am sorry about your mother.”
Sophie nodded, not sure what to make of this very attractive man who was so focused on her. The smiling, pleasant man who had put her mother’s bakery out of business.
“I have to admit,” he said, taking her arm and leading her as he walked, “I don’t have the figures for the San Francisco store’s impact with me tonight. Those numbers are always studied in advance before one of our stores go in, because it really isn’t my intent—or the intent of my company—to damage small businesses. Would you do me a favor, Sophie?”
“What would that be?” She glanced down at her arm in his, wishing she had the nerve to take it back. Why was he being so nice?
“Would you give me a chance to look into the numbers,” he asked, “and then we can sit down and talk about your bakery?”
The Angler, the Baker, and the Billionaire (Destination Billionaire Romance) Page 13
