Unlikely (17 page)

“I just can’t believe that
you
of all people would trade in on your family name. Did you want to be at the negotiating table that badly? Is this an ego thing?”

“I did not do anything wrong.” She spoke slowly
in case he’d lost half his brain cells. “The AMPTP hires all you folks from good schools and impressive law firms for one reason: to intimidate the hell out of whomever you’re negotiating with. We did the exact same thing, that’s all. Everyone on your side of the table knows that I wasn’t going to whisper in Daddy’s ear or Uncle Billy’s about the strike. You know better than I that they would have to recuse themselves anyway,” she said referring to a judge’s obligation to take themselves off a case if they have any relationship to the participants. “I think the bigger issue here is why didn’t you tell me what was going on? I asked you point blank and you gave me some BS about contracts and closing deals.”

“Attorney-client privilege
—”

She didn’t let him finish. “I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday.” She pointed a ring free finger at him. “I may not have gone to law school, but I wasn’t raised on a dirt farm either. This is not the kind of thing covered by that. I know you couldn’t tell me how much the AMPTP was willing to offer, but you could have mentioned that you were on the committee. I
might have made a different decision.”

She pulled the tight pearl encrusted barrette clip from her hair and dropped it on the dining room table. One by one, she undid her suit buttons and slid the jacket from her shoulders. She couldn’t imagine how he did it, wear a suit every day. She’d done it for a few hours and the confinement
almost killed her. She kicked off her black patent leather pumps and padded to the bedroom in sheer stocking feet. She carefully placed her suit on its special hanger and pushed it back into the far recesses of her closet, hoping she wouldn’t have any occasion to wear it in the near or far future. Wearing only her pearls, her lacy white camisole, and tap pants, she walked, bare feet hitting the wood planks until she was back in the dining room. Ryan was still there, his arms dangling at his sides uselessly.

“I’m not going to argue with you anymore, Ryan. I’m tired as all hell and the dog and I are going to bed. I suggest you do the same
—at your house.” She stalked back to the bedroom.

“You can let yourself out,” she threw over her shoulder before slamming her bedroom door
to emphasize the point.

Her bedroom was another disaster in the making. Why was making clothing decisions so difficult these days? Sophie knew her life was at a crossroads. She looked at her choices for her father’s party and cursed Selie for talking her into the co-hosting role. The appropriate dress hung under sheer plastic in the middle of the closet. She’d stopped at Nordstrom in the mall on the way home and picked it up. If this was growing up, she wanted none of it. The store’s muted earth tones didn’t match her multicolor personality. The dress was purely a Jackie O, Princess Grace number. The black gabardine sheath dress had a scoop neck with contrasting white piping. It hung with a matching car length coat with the same white edging. It was timeless, classy, and befitted the woman her parents raised her to be.

The dress she was itching to wear would set the country club set’s tongues wagging. It was black and sheer, with a deeply scooped bodice, and a cut out that would showcase the full length of her spine. It left absolutely nothing to the imagination. With textured stockings, high, high heels, and jet black hair, she’d be the talk of party. She was the “rebellious one,” after all. She had a part to play and she didn’t want to let her family down.

She looked back and forth, back and forth, then at the clock. She needed to make a decision. A knock on the door startled her. She hoped it wasn’t Selena here to check up on her. She would be as good as her word and show up
—no matter how much the idea repelled her.

The dog squirmed with excitement, her nose pressed to the doorjamb. She looked through the peephole and her terrycloth shoulders dropped, resigned to the overwhelming emotion that always engulfed her when she saw him. Both excitement and dread warred within her. She pulled open the door. Ryan stepped in, his broad shouldered, narrow hipped body encased in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit and blue silk tie that mirrored his eyes.

He leaned down to kiss her hello and she turned her head, his lips brushing against her cheek instead.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, knowing she sounded unforgivably rude.

Ryan shut the door behind him, ignoring the dog jumping on his calves. “I’m here to take you to the party.”

“I don’t recall you being on the guest list.”

“Your sister thought you may
forget
to invite me, so she called to make sure I’d be there.”

Sophie cursed under her breath. Selena didn’t trust her, so she’d done the next best thing
—sent Ryan to make sure she toed the line. Sophie gestured to the couch, inviting him to sit. Looking down at her old terry robe, she said, “I’m not exactly ready. It’s going to be a while. Maybe you should go home and come back when it’s time to go.”

Ryan didn’t sit in the living room like a guest. Instead, he followed her to the bedroom.
“I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes were unreadable. A secondhand chair, its holes and tears obscured by large Indian cloths, enveloped Ryan’s bulk.

“Ryan, how can you just waltz in here as if yesterday didn’t happen?”

“What’s done is done.”

“And that’s it. You question my motives, you question my judgment, and I’m supposed to be okay with that?”

“Maybe I was wrong,” he said his voice practically a whisper.

“Excuse me, I don’t think I heard you.”

“I had a long and lonely night to think about this…us. I was wrong, and you were right, okay? You had as much right to be there as anyone else.”

She stopped fiddling with the undergarments she’d picked up. “Why were you so mad?”

He sat up a little straighter in her chair, still looking ridiculously out of place. “Because unions fail people all the time, especially those who put their blind trust into the hands of crooked leaders. I think they’re not protecting you like they should. If I were you, I’d be worried about the pension’s poor performance, to start.”

“Ryan, I’m not blind to the problems of unions, but on the issue of compensation and future earnings, I trust them. Trust
me
to know what I’m talking about.

“But I love you and don’t want anyone to cheat you or use you.”

Sophie’s stomach flip-flopped. There was that word again. Ryan, her sister, her parents. It was almost too much. Determinedly, she played it as cool as a cucumber, and went back to getting ready.

“Which of those are you wearing?” He gestured to the open closet
—the two dresses on prominent display.

“I can’t decide,” she answered honestly. “This one here,” she pointed to the conservative dress, “is the right and appropriate and sane thing to wear.” She pointed to the other. “This one will keep them talking for months.”

“I thought this party was for your dad,” he said quietly.

She looked at him quizzically. “Of course, it’s in honor of another award or achievement or commendation he’s won.”

“Then why would you want to draw attention to yourself? That seems a little selfish.”

Sophie did a double take.

“It’s not like that,” she stammered, though it was
exactly
like that. “Our family drama is like a little play and everyone must act their part. Dad will be the tyrant. Mom will be the peacemaker. Selena will be the perfect daughter, and I will be the rebel. That’s just how it is. If I don’t come dressed the part, the whole family will come unglued.”

“You’ve changed, you know.” He nodded sagely. “When I met you, you had more rings and studs than a gypsy,” he said, his voice growing quieter, more thoughtful. “These days, your hair is natural more often than not. Your clothes don’t give everything away at first glance. Not every finger or hole has a ring.”

She stepped further away from him, instantly wary. “Maybe you’re trying to change me. Lawyers can be persuasive that way.” Had she been manipulated? She’d thought he liked her, maybe even loved her, for who she was, but all along maybe he’d been trying to change her into his ideal girlfriend. She shook her head, clearing it a little. She and Ryan weren’t together. Not really.

None of this mattered anyway.

“I think
you
want to change, Sophie.”

When he spelled it out plainly and simply
, she had to admit to herself that it was true. In the years she’d been on her own, she’d discovered who she was, and she liked herself. She no longer felt the need to put everything on display. It was enough that she acknowledged she was an artist and she was a little different from the average girl.

She pulled the department store bag toward her and pulled out nude stockings and a shoebox. About to untie her robe, she glanced up, realizing Ryan was still in the room.

“Do you mind? I need to get dressed if we’re going to do this thing.”

Ryan smirked. “O
…kay. If that’s what you’d like.” Acting like a typical man, he dragged his butt leaving the room, clearly hoping to catch a glimpse of breast or a flash of thigh.

One hour and fifty-nine minutes later, Sophie emerged from the bedroom. Her hair was smoothed into a flapper-style bob with deep waves framing her small face. Her ears were unadorned except for small pearls at her lobes. Her makeup was subtle but perfect, and the dress fit her slim frame perfectly. The only bit of old Sophie that remained was her eyebrow ring. He didn’t say a word about it, though. It was his Sophie and it wasn’t her at the same time. He couldn’t believe he’d always gone after hourglass brunettes with big boobs and wasp waists. Who knew this straight up and down redhead would grab his heart?

She screwed up her face and stuck her tongue out at him. “Stop staring,” she said, her normally husky voice breaking with nerves. “It’s still me under here. Let’s just get going before I change my mind.”

Ryan followed her careful directions to her parents’ house in San Marino. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was more—more landscaped, more gated—just
more
than he’d been ready to deal with. A private valet greeted them at the gate. Ryan handed over his keys. Behind the eight foot tall hedges and iron gates stood a stately Spanish house. Flickering lanterns flanked the wide flagstone steps leading to the house. Warm light poured from every window. The faint sounds of music and the tinkling of glasses drifted from inside.

He pulled the hand he had been using to guide Sophie from the small of her back and curled his fist into a ball of resentment. He didn’t want to feel anger or jealousy, but the twin demons were there, released from the back of his subconscious where they lurked. How many times had he met his mother at one house or another just like this one
—doing his homework at a stranger’s kitchen table while his mother scrubbed on her hands and knees?

It had incensed him as a child when the “woman of the house” would come downstairs and direct his mother to clean this or polish that, then disappearing to leisure time, the scent of expensive perfume lingering while his mom did
the dirty work. On the car or, more often, bus ride home his mom smelled of cleanser and disinfectant, not Chanel No. 5, further amplifying the differences between the haves and have nots.

Sophie opened the unlocked door and looked at him.

“You coming?”

He schooled his features, hoping he hid his unease?

“You wanted to do this—so let’s do this,” she said, plastering a huge fake smile on her face and walking into the two story entrance.

He was surprised to find that the house
had few guests. Soft classical music swirled around him from hidden speakers. Men and women in bow ties and black uniforms bustled about, carrying boxes of glasses and plastic-covered trays of food.

Sophie led the way past the mahogany staircase, its intricately curved wrought iron railing gleaming, to a kitchen. Selena stood perfectly poised in the midst of the chaos around her, directing the human traffic with practiced ease. Her graceful movements became animated when she spotted them. She hugged Sophie, but looked toward Ryan.

“Thanks so much for escorting my sister tonight. She looks lovely,” she said, separating herself from Sophie carefully checking for anything that may have marred the spotless white dress.

Selena gestured at the ring in Sophie’s brow.

Sophie shook her head, and Selena dropped the topic like a hot potato.

“Do you need any help?” Sophie asked
, though it was clear that her sister had everything in hand.

Selie demurred. “Why don’t you show Ryan around and get him a drink? The bartender is set up under the pergola in the back. Mom is bringing Dad in about half an hour. They plan to make an entrance.”

“Of course,” Sophie muttered under her breath. She grabbed Ryan’s hand, though to him it felt like she was holding on for dear life. “Let me give you the five-cent tour.”

So this was how the other half still lived. It was
even newer and grander than the houses his mother had worked in. Everything, including housing, had been supersized. Ryan could have fit his mother’s house into this place four or five times. Sophie showed him the formal living room where a wood fire roared. She made quick work of the finished basement and the family and dining rooms. Every surface gleamed. The furniture was impeccable. He felt like he was on the set of a nighttime drama. Real people didn’t live this way.

“How many bedrooms are there?” he asked, more for something to say than for seeking knowledge.

Sophie counted on her hand quickly. “Five or six, depending on what you include,” she said softly. She opened a door and showed him a sunny yellow room with a canopy bed draped with pale pastel fabric. “This was my room.”

The room didn’t reflect Sophie at all, at least the Sophie he thought
he knew. “You lived in here?” He couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice.

She laughed. “It didn’t look like this when I left for college, Ryan. I think in its last incarnation I’d painted the walls dark purple with some kind of ghoulish white mural on the far wall. Mom promptly had it redecorated after I left to something she found more
…appropriate.”

An older woman dressed sedately in yards of swirling purple crepe and low-heeled shoes burst into the room. “Sophie, my girl!” she cried excitedly. “Selie said you were here.” She wrapped Sophie in a bear hug and kissed both powdered cheeks enthusiastically.

When the women parted, Ryan stuck out his hand tentatively. “Mrs. Reid, it’s so nice to meet you.” The room was quiet, and then the women burst out in laughter.

“Ryan this is our housekeeper, Faith Lawson. We just call her Lala.”

Humiliation flooded Ryan. Of course this woman was her housekeeper. He should have known Mrs. Reid would not wear purple, or flat shoes. Of course the Reids were the type of family to have a housekeeper. Would he never learn?

Faith shook Ryan’s hand. She looked him up and down appreciatively. “Well, well, you are a nice looking guy. Selie was right about that. Is it true that you’re a lawyer?”

Ryan, inexplicably comfortable with this woman, nodded. “The rumors are true,” he admitted.

Sophie’s face burned with embarrassment. The chickens were certainly coming home to roost. How many times had she stood before her parents vowing to never be like them? But here she was, dressed like the perfect debutante with a clean cut attorney on her arm. It was just one night, she reminded herself. She was doing this for her sister and her parents. Despite their differences, she did love them. Doing this one little favor wouldn’t change who she was. Just like seeing Ryan wasn’t going to change her. Sophie vowed to remain true to herself and not buckle to Ryan’s or her parents’ influence.