Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(16)

“Something like that,” Sofie had commented with caution.

Her smile returned, pearly teeth bared. “Plenty of room for the kids to make camp. And, right out back. They would need access to a washroom so they can get cleaned up and dressed for dinner. If you think about it, staying on site is kind of genius. They will be there, ready to work, ready to assist the caterer in the kitchen at an early hour. Ready to help you set up in the ballroom if needed.”

It was a good pitch, but nowhere near Sofie’s jurisdiction.

“This was not part of the original contract, Ruby.” Sofie had bitten her lip, thinking how to turn her down gently. “I’m not sure if you know, but the mansion has changed hands since Gertrude passed away. Her grandson is preparing the house for sale. I’m not sure he would be amenable to the campout.”

That was an understatement. Donovan and amenable didn’t belong in the same sentence.

Ruby’s smile had cooled. “But you can ask.” It hadn’t been a question, allowing no room for argument.

“Of course,” Sofie agreed.

And so, here she was. At the mansion. To ask a favor from the man who simply wanted her to stay out of the way.

Strength.

She parked, noting the obvious: a very large truck standing in the driveway and three very large men at the back of it. One of them she recognized as Connor McClain, local landscaping guy. He used to work at the Wharf back in the day. Now back home for good and warming up his business, Sofie took advantage of his talents and had hired him for several events.

Connor didn’t acknowledge her arrival—must not have noticed her before he turned to walk inside the mansion. The other two men wore gray shirts, stitched tags on the material matching the logo on the truck. Local thrift shop.

Dressed in her work clothes, a smart black pencil skirt, cream-colored blouse, her hair pinned back into a twist, Sofie got out of her car and approached the front door. She’d thought about changing into something more casual since she sure as heck wasn’t trying to impress Donovan, but by the same token, she also wasn’t going to change her appearance for him, either.

Careful not to wedge her new stilettos into the cobblestone driveway, she picked her way in the direction of the front porch, stopping short when a balding man with a large mustache hefted a box. Thick, black Sharpie spelled out the word SILVER on one side.

Sofie pictured the pieces inside clearly—knives, spoons, forks, tongs, ladles, and various other implements, their handles engraved with fleur de lis. She knew what they looked like because she and Gertrude had carefully wrapped the pieces in fabric and packed them into this very box. Sofie had wedged the can of polish into one corner herself.

Last year, for the USO charity dinner, Sofie suggested they use the antique silver flatware for the biggest sponsors who garnered special seating. They charged extra for the perk, which directly benefited the charity and added nothing to the cost of the event.

Gertrude had dug out her fine china as well.

And now the silverware was being loaded onto a truck heading to a thrift store. Adjusting her purse onto her shoulder, Sofie smiled up at the man loading the box.

“Excuse me.”

With a grunt, he dropped the edge of the box onto the truck and gave it a shove. The man inside dragged it to the back.

“Excuse me,” she repeated. “That box is being donated?”

“Hey, you are smarter than you look,” came the mustached man’s response.

“Um, you can’t take the box of silver. Or that one,” she said, tipping her head at another box marked CANDLES sitting in the truck.

“Sorry, lady. You ain’t in charge here, so we will be taking whatever the men in the house tell us to. Jim!” the mustached man called to the man inside the truck, “going to need help with the next one.”

“What is it?” Jim asked.

“Plates. Don’t throw that one around.”

“No, no,” Sofie interrupted with a strained smile. “You can’t take the china, either.” She took a calming breath and tried not to have a heart attack. Could be worse. At least she’d arrived before they left with the dinner service she’d promised to her biggest contributors.

The man with a mustache turned and glared down at her from his height. “Listen, lady, you are in the way and we have a job to do. I suggest you scuttle your sweet patoot out of the way before we run you over with the dolly.”

Her teeth clacked shut, offended in more ways than she’d thought possible. She opened her mouth to defend herself, and her sweet… what had he called it? A patoot? But she didn’t get out a single word before Donovan appeared in the driveway, stalking toward the truck.

And he did not look happy.

“Tell me I didn’t just hear that, Mario,” he told the man with a mustache, his tone eerily calm.

“Hotter than the blazes out here,” Mario commented, mopping his brow with a stained orange rag. “Your visitor, while cute, is a pain in my neck.”

Donovan smiled at the man, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “You think you have a pain in your neck now, wait ’til I lay you out on this cobblestone.”

Sofie snapped her head over to her rescuer. Donovan’s nostrils flared, his arm muscles coiled. If he were a snake, he would be rattling.

Mario picked up on none of the cues. “Listen, we’re on a tight schedule, here…”