The Note by Natalie Wrye (urban books to read .TXT) 📗

half of a girlfriend more than either of us ever expected I could have.”

“And you’ve given me nothing to go on,” Cynthia interrupts. “No real insight. No details.” She scoffs. “You’re serious enough about this girlfriend to bring her to Jase’s wedding.” She motions towards the door. “But you’ve said more to Nadia about this relationship than to me—your best friend since you were fifteen, and she’s only the receptionist.”

“I’m sure Nadia will appreciate how highly you think of her.”

Her hazel eyes narrow. “You know what I mean.” She squirms in her little black heels and the air shifts with it. “There’s at least one person who should be privy to your secrets first. And besides your local bartender, I thought that person was supposed to be me.” She points a red finger at her chest, adding more fragrance to the air.

I struggle to stay motionless in my seat, the temptation to leave Cyn hanging stronger than ever, and still I say nothing.

Because she’s right; I’ve been avoiding her, barely taking the time to say “Hi” in the office even when she does the favor of bringing me coffee.

I know she’s doing some dating of her own. Or so I’ve heard from around the office when really I should have asked her myself.

If not for the fact that I’ve been avoiding her like crazy…

I might not have let Cynthia in on the details these days. But for the last two months, I hadn’t actually let anyone in.

With the exception of Cynthia, they’d all assumed everything was business as usual. Easygoing. Same as always.

Perfect.

Except Sophia.

The woman who I was using to save my company had seen the charade in me. And of course I’d underestimated the little thief. As usual.

I stand to my feet, my grip tight on my coffee, meeting Cynthia’s eyes as I grab my briefcase, ready to pack it away.

“Cut the jokes, Cyn. Just what exactly are you looking for before the party? A certificate of sexual exclusivity signed in blood?” I take a step around my desk, my slacks shifting. “I’ll sign up for one right away. A personal call to TMZ to confirm the rumors?” Another step.

“I’ll give you that, too. I just don’t understand why you care so much.”

“I’m your lawyer and I thought your best friend…” Her dark brown eyes burn as they gaze at me. “It’s my job to make sure you’re always working in your best interests.”

“Coming from the woman who thinks I belong at the local pound.”

“It’s also my job to make sure you’re always working in the company’s best interests.”

I continue walking. “I always am.” I round the desk, never breaking eye contact. “In case you didn’t know, that was bark-talk for ‘I wouldn’t worry so much.’”

I finally slow just a foot from Cynthia. I can see her breathing pick up, her chest rising and falling as she stares at me on my way out of my personal office. I hear her voice over my shoulder.

“Would you worry if you knew who Sophia Somerset really was?”

I lean right back, my chin coming closer across the space. My stare thins.

Her eyes suddenly shine with tears unshed, her gaze glossy. Her shoulders pull pin-straight, and within seconds, I watch the tough girl act I’m used to crack at the seams.

Just a little bit.

She sniffs. And suddenly those unshed tears aren’t there.

Anger replaces the momentary glaze of hurt, and I have the quick urge to reach for it back, to summon up the emotion I almost believe I imagined.

But then Cynthia opens her mouth.

“Remember that mobster who promised to testify against Chris Jackson in the murder case for parole, Vittorio Sollecito? Well, Vittorio,” she emphasis, “is much more than a parolee, trying to cut a deal by turning in the fraudulent financier. Vittorio’s an Italian immigrant.”

“Thanks for the Homeland Security history lesson, Cyn.”

“And a father of two.”

“Again, thanks for the school lesson, Professor Stratford. May I go now?”

“And before he went to prison, he changed his family name—and the names of his daughter and son—from Sollecito…to Somerset.” Cynthia glares at me even harder.

“Does that ring any bells?”

She holds a finger in the air, her hips swaying ever so slightly as she does. I try not to stare.

“Do you hear what I’m saying, Noah? I did my research. I know for a certainty now…” She hesitates, her brown eyes turning molten. They blaze a path of fire at me. “Sophia—the woman you’ve seem to grown so serious about—is the daughter of one of Chris Jackson’s closest partners in crime.”

She exhales. “Your girlfriend’s father is the man who might make or break the future of this company.”

Turning on her heel before I can ask another question, Cyn flings my door open again, stepping out.

She leaves me there, standing, slowly sinking to perch on the edge of my desk to catch my bearings. All with nothing but another crack on that damned thin ice to keep me company.

Chapter 17

SOPHIA

Friday night

This coffee isn’t working fast enough. And I’m not sure my legs are either.

I’ve served every table I can think of, poured enough icy cocktails to drown a small city, and still, it’s as if I’ve barely made a dent in my afternoon shift.

A soft snowy evening begins to fall over The Alchemist’s large windows, bringing the Happy Hour crowd with it, and within minutes I’m serving every colorful icy concoction our bartenders can make.

Won’t be too many of those. I’m off my shift in thirty minutes.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, I swallow as I watch the minutes tick down. Heading back to the bar top, I dispense of my now empty tray, and my stomach is still churning when Nancy makes an appearance from the back office, her strawberry blonde bob swaying as she comes to stand in front of me, one eyebrow cocked really high.

Her green eyes peruse my shifting frame as she leans against the wooden bar.

“Are you ready for your weekend off?” She asks.

“If by ready, you mean