Beyond Bliss (22 page)

Sophie closed her eyes at the word ‘client’. It sounded dirty and sordid. 

“Because we have a professional relationship to maintain.”

Liz smirked. “If your professional relationship extends to him making you come on his desk, then I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.”

She rolled her eyes. “I should have never told you about that,” she muttered. “Anyway, what if things end horribly and we still have to work together? I couldn’t bear if people knew what had happened between us…or if they think that the only reason I’m on retainer is because of our relationship,” she finished morosely.

Liz took another healthy bite of her potatoes and chewed thoughtfully. “Okay, there are several things you just said without meaning to,” she said in full-blown lawyer mode.

“First, you
are
on retainer because of your ‘relationship,’” she said, using air quotes. “If you’d never had your rendezvous, he wouldn’t have tracked you down. That said, he did his homework, and so have I. Lucas Sinclair is not a stupid man. He scored perfectly on his SAT, turned down an Oxford scholarship so that he could stay near his family and go to college with his best friend,
and
he got perfect scores on his LSAT and GMAT before he decided further education would eat up time he could spend making millions. I guarantee that before he um, hired you, he knew exactly how good you were, and I’m pretty sure he’s told you this himself. He’s not a man who would compromise everything he’s worked for, and if he felt like bringing you on would do that, he’d have found another way to get to you.”

Sophie frowned at her. “How’d you learn all of that?”

“My stalker abilities and Google are a match made in heaven,” she waved her hand dismissively. “You already know this. Second,
what if
people knew? It’s not the end of the world. As long as he’s not banging you on the conference room table during a board meeting, who cares?”

Her friend’s words caused the image to sear across her mind, but Liz barreled on relentlessly. “Girlfriend, I have never seen you like this. You are
glowing
. If the look you get on your face when you talk about the man is any indication of how you are when you’re actually with him, you might as well take out a billboard in Times Square. What I mean is this, my love—this is something you’re going to have to woman up about and deal with realistically. Be discreet, don’t advertise it, but people are going to figure it out. Especially because he doesn’t hire stupid people and secondly, he’s pretty much a public figure. At some point in time, this is going to be media-worthy.”

Liz’s words formed a knot in the pit of her stomach. “I don’t want that,” she said dumbly.

“Then break it off.”

The knot traveled upwards, gripping her heart at the thought of ending this thing between them. Not being able to touch him or feel him slide deep inside her. Never again hearing him whisper
mine
as he drove her body higher and higher.

“Oh God.”

“Exactly. That’s not an option, so you figure out how you’ll work
with
it, not against it.”

“This is such a mess,” she groaned, dropping her fork to her plate.

“No.”

She looked up at Liz. “Huh?”

“No, missy. Enough of your drama queen antics. This is not a
mess
, you’re relationship with that egomaniac, Zach, that was a mess. This,” she motioned broadly with a manicured hand, “this is fucking fantastic. ” Liz paused for a moment, as if remembering herself, before she patted her stomach. “Sorry kid. Anyway,” she continued, turning her attention back to Sophie, “This is not
bad
Sophie. What’s bad is finding out your douchebag fiancé impregnated the helpless help. What’s bad is losing thirty pounds that you can’t afford to lose in two months because you think your entire life has hit rock bottom.  I’ve seen you crawl your way back up from the bottom, but just because you did, it didn’t mean that you rejoined the living.”

Knot firmly around her heart, a lump rose in her throat. As hard as Zach’s betrayal had been, it was almost as devastating to Liz, who had been helpless to fix it. Like a movie reel, memories flashed before her eyes, of Liz showing up at her apartment without invitation, cartons of Ben and Jerry’s, bottles of vodka, and countless horror films. Liz had reasoned that they were more in keeping with real life than the traditional rom-coms Sophie favored. “I’m sorry I put you through that,” she whispered.

Liz paused for a moment, swiping angrily at the moisture pooling at the corner of each eye. “Stupid freaking hormones.,” she muttered. “Stop martyring yourself! Sophie, I love you like a sister, and I
wanted
to be there. It killed me watching you recover from that, and you know what? You didn’t even love the bastard, but he still tore into you and what’s worse is that you half expected it. I haven’t seen you like this since before your dad died. You deserve to be happy, babe.”

Sophie met Liz’s watery smile with one of her own, before her best friend winked.

“Don’t screw it up. For God’s sake, we have a driver at our disposal now.”

Chapter Twenty

“Girlfriend, your mama is on line one,” Tyrone’s voice buzzed through the intercom.

Sophie briefly paused from reviewing the paperwork in front of her. Even though they’d closed the deal with Hiliau Hotels, she was still working at a crazy pace. She was currently in the midst of reviewing a request from a lawyer retained by a former Hiliau employee, citing unlawful termination.

The details and the images made her head spin, and although she could have used a break right then, her finger pushed on the speaker button to communicate with Tyrone. “Please tell her I’m busy, and I’ll call her back later.”

Barely a second later, Tyrone’s voice dramatically filled her office through the speaker. “She said you would say that. She also said to tell you that if you did, she was going to charge the next flight out to New York to the credit card in your name that you gave her for emergencies. Girl, are you serious? I would never give my mama a cre—“

Exasperated, Sophie pushed the button again. “Put her through.”

She could hear Tyrone huff from both the speaker and the other side of the door, and in the next minute, her mother’s voice filled her ears.

“This is Sophie,” she stated in professional, neutral tones.

“I know who it is, I dialed the number, didn’t I?” her mother snapped, her irritation loud and clear in her tone.

Ouch. This was not going to be good.

“Mother,” she sighed. “You have a point. What can I do for you?”

“Have you disconnected your landline, Sophie?” her mother asked, her tone deceptively casual.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled. If Amelia Harlow wasn’t screeching, wailing, or loudly enthusing about something, then there was most definitely something wrong.

“No, why?” she asked suspiciously.

“I didn’t think so. It still goes to your answering machine.”

“Well then, why’d you ask the question? Mom, I’m in the middle of work,” she stressed. “And anyway, it’s not like I haven’t tried to get ahold of you. I’ve left a message for you every day for the last two weeks.”

“You sneaky child. I know exactly what you’re up to, don’t forget, I know you don’t like to hear it, but you and I aren’t terribly different. You call on Mondays at 6, when you know I’m playing bunko with the girls.”

A hot flush started to creep up her chest, past her neck, and straight into her flaming cheeks as her mother continued, “On Tuesdays, you call at eight p.m., when you know I’m driving home from Bingo. Wednesdays, you call at three p.m., when I’m volunteering at the library, Thursdays, it’s five p.m., when you know I go for a glass of white wine with the girls, and on Friday, you call at two p.m. which is when I’ve had my hair and nails done for the last twenty-five years. Saturday, you call at eight a.m. in the morning, when you know I’m walking the mall, and Sunday, you call at nine a.m., which is when you know I’ll be in church. And church, young lady, is something you’d greatly benefit from,” she added in a haughty tone.

By the time her mother had finished with her litany, Sophie had her head in her hands. Truth be told, she was surprised her mother had figured it out so quickly. She’d been convinced she had at least another week. Time to redirect.

“Mom, what does that have to do with my landline?” she hedged.

“Well, my darling daughter, I try to reach you daily. Twice, in fact. Once at 6 AM, and once more at 11 PM. Every single day for the last two weeks. Not only do you not pick up, your answering machine has run out of space.”

An awkward silence ensued as Sophie processed her mother’s words. She was meticulous about deleting messages and returning calls (mostly, except in the case of her mother).

“I’ve just been busy,” she started, only to be cut off by her matriarch.

“Your machine has been full for over a week and a half Sophie. And I know if you can go shopping at Woodbury Commons with that dreadful Liz, then you’re not that busy. You hate shopping.”

Her brow drew together. “How did you know I was at Woodbury Commons?”

“Facebook, of course. Liz checked you in at noon on Saturday, and then once again at the Prada outlet store at six.”

She closed her eyes in defeat. Her mother was right. She hated shopping, and now she hated Facebook too. She was rarely ever on. Why Liz thought it was imperative that she check in everywhere and tag her was beyond her understanding.

“You’re right,” she murmured soothingly. “I’m sorry. But did I tell you, I found the loveliest bedspread for the guest bedroom at home? I think you’ll adore it.”

“Sophie Harlow, don’t you try to distract me. Just make sure you bring it when you come to visit. Onto more important things. Are you shacking up with that man who answered your phone?”

Sawdust coated her tongue.

Thankfully, her mom wasn’t hip to the ways of technology and using video chat. If she’d been able to see her face…

Sophie shuddered before she opened her mouth to respond. “Mom, my personal life is none of your business.”

As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she knew it was a mistake.

“Sophie Harlow, for nine months and fifteen days, I carried you in my womb. I sacrificed wine for stretch marks and seventy pounds, ten of which has stubbornly remained despite hours of exercise and a mostly proper diet. I breastfed you, and even though I still have an admirable bosom, trust me, there is definitely a lasting effect from allowing your body to be used as a main food source," she paused for a moment, inhaling a deep breath before delivering her final point. "So missy, before you say anything else, please do not tell me that your personal life is none of my business."

Duly chastised, Sophie stared at the speaker for a few seconds.

"Sophie darling, are you still there?" Her mother called out pleasantly.

"Yes," she croaked.

"Okay good, just making sure you didn't hang up on me."

"You know Mom, I really think you should have been the lawyer in the family," she said dryly.

"Oh that's nonsense. I would never. At least you inherited my good critical thinking skills."

Sophie murmured agreement before she decided to tackle the inevitable. "I am seeing him," she admitted, ignoring the small thrill that courses through her body at the thought.

"Mmhmm, that's what I thought. I hope you're not living in sin, young lady. You know what they say about milking cows for free."

The pencil she'd been twirling in her finger snapped in two as she choked back a laugh. "'Mom, I'm pretty sure no one pays to milk cows. It's about giving away the milk for free. You won't buy the cow if you get the milk for free," she giggled.

"You know what I meant! Anyway I tried to ask Sarah about him, but she kept giving me results for Lucas and Claire. Kept pointing me to bridle registries. Vivian promised me she would teach me how to do the Google, but now that you're speaking to your poor, lonely mother, maybe you can spare me having to learn new technology and just tell me."

Sophie smirked. She'd gotten her mom an iPhone last year, but her mother insisted on calling Siri, Sarah. She also seemed to think using Google was like writing C++. It was no use wasting her breath to try and correct her. She'd just give her mom just enough to go on without revealing too much.

“Well, he has his own company, you know that. He’s, ahhh, tall, funny, incredibly smart—brilliant, actually.”

“How long have you been seeing him? Did you meet through work? Does this have marriage potential? I hope you’re not wasting time, you know. I’m not getting any younger, and it would be nice for me to see you have babies before I pass on,” her mother admonished.

She rolled her eyes. Her mother was in her fifties and probably had every intention of outliving the next three generations of her family. She exercised religiously, and other than her love for more than the occasional cocktail, she ate well.

Mama Harlow was the picture of health.

So much so that five years ago, in the tail end of her forties, she’d confessed to Sophie she’d been considering artificial insemination and had the full support of her doctor.