Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(12)

“Bring it,” he growled, his voice echoing through the quiet hall. He kicked the front door closed behind him, lifted his bags, and turned for the library, where there was a very uncomfortable sofa holding its own host of memories.

He’d left Sofie behind, having taken her gentleness, her softness, her sweetness for himself. In true Pate fashion, he hadn’t given her a damn thing in return.

He gave the couch a long, hard look. There was only one path out of bad memories. It wasn’t to go around. They couldn’t be avoided. He had to go straight through.

Tomorrow he’d go back to Sofie’s shop. But he wasn’t going to drag her to Scott Torsett to void the contract.

Open Arms would have their charity dinner in the mansion. He could still gut the place in the meantime and sell to Alessandre after. With that behind him, maybe he’d finally be out the other side.

Straight through.

It was the only way.





Sofie didn’t normally make New Year’s resolutions. But this year, overcome by melancholy, or maybe champagne, she had made one. At the stroke of midnight, she’d stood on the balcony of a huge mansion atop Peak Point belonging to one of her wine vendors—and drank out of a crystal champagne flute she’d worried she might break and have to pay for.

She did get a kiss at midnight, though. Granted, it was from her best friend and on the cheek, but hey, better than nothing. After many, many failed dates the previous year, Sofie was beginning to believe she would forever be single.

“You’ll find him, honey,” Faith had said after the peck on Sofie’s cheek. “God’s just very, very picky for you.”

After the run-in with Donovan last night, Sofie was beginning to think God had a very bad sense of humor.

But that was neither here nor there. What was here and there was her new attitude she’d temporarily forgotten she’d adopted for the year.

Struggle now, strength tomorrow.

She ran the tip of her finger over the letters written in Sharpie across the top of her desk calendar. The problem with her mantra was that tomorrow never seemed to come. The struggle part, she had perfected.

Donny Pate’s arrival in town was the icing on the crap cake.

Or maybe she was being melodramatic. A possibility since she’d skipped her morning coffee. She’d skipped it because a certain someone was supposed to bring her a cup of morning coffee… But then, had she really expected Donny to do anything he said he would? What did a guy like him consider “morning” anyway? It was just after nine now, which was well into morning in her book. Which was why when Faith called from Cup of Jo’s offering to deliver, Sofie hadn’t hesitated to shout, yes!

The cheery bell above her shop’s door clanged and Faith pushed in with one narrow hip. Her hands were full of Cup of Jo’s white chocolate mocha lattes, but Sofie knew her sugar-loving friend’s coffee was laced with extra, extra syrup.

The promise of caffeine and sugar answered, she started to smile, but felt it fade when she registered the look of fury gracing Faith’s delicate bone structure.

Expectantly, Sofie stood.

Faith tromped to the desk, delivered her coffee, and blurted, “I hate men.”

On the heels of Donovan barging into her shop last night, Sofie found herself in agreement. She was about to open her mouth to say as much, when her best friend did something Sofie had seen her do only once before: she burst into tears.

“He texted me while I was at the coffee shop.”

Faith sniffed, blinking furiously. As fast as the tears came, they quelled.

“He” was Michael, the man who had recently incurred a title change. Three weeks ago, he went from fiancé to ex-fiancé when Faith caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. Literally.

The other woman’s name was Cookie. She was twenty-three and had a tramp stamp. Faith saw it in detail considering Cookie had been—as she put it—“riding Michael like a bucking bronco” when Faith discovered them on the living room rug of the house she and Michael used to share.

“What did he say?” Sofie asked.

Faith gave her a bland look, wiping her eyes. “ ‘Hey.’ ”

Sofie blinked. “That’s it? ‘Hey’? Did you respond?”

“No.”

“Smart.”

“Yet I’m crying.” Almost violently, Faith plucked one, two, then a third tissue from the box on the corner of the desk. “I’m an idiot,” she said, dabbing her eyes.

Knowing her friend was hurting, Sofie moved out from behind the desk to take the empty guest chair next to her.

Thinking of Donny’s casually sensual smile and all his broad tallness, Sofie argued, “No, you’re not. Men are idiots. They are also a necessary evil.”

Faith let out a feeble laugh of agreement.

The fact that Michael cheated on statuesque, runway model–worthy Faith with a girl way too young for him left little hope for the rest of the female population. Sofie didn’t have Faith’s height, metabolism, or cheekbones. She was instead gifted with wide hips and a burning desire to wear skinny jeans that would never be fulfilled. Yes, even bodily perfection hadn’t prevented inevitable heartache for Faith.

There was no hope for either of them, which made Sofie sad. But there was one thing she could do to make it better.