Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(66)

Theoretically. Robin from the Gazette loved the idea of the mansion pairing with Open Arms. He wanted nothing more than for the dinner to be a success. Charlie, who often took pictures for the paper, had the idea to call them, and Ruby had given her wholehearted approval. The last link in the chain had been Donovan, who had agreed with nary an arm twist.

Sofie stepped out of her car and took a deep breath as she scanned the grounds. She was pleased with what she saw. And not only because Anthony Renaldo was back there buzzing through a tree trunk with a chainsaw, sawdust stuck to the sweat on his arms, hands, and dotting his longish hair sticking out from beneath his ever-present Fedora.

The passenger side door opened and closed. “Who the heck is that?” Faith asked, awe prevalent in her voice. “Oh, wait. You told me about him. He has a bug name or something.”

“Ant,” Sofie said with a laugh.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Don’t even pretend you’re not looking for your landscaper. He’s here, don’t worry.”

Charlie pulled her car into the driveway and parked, waving as she did.

Faith tugged her sunglasses from her face and rested them on her head. “I’m here to support you,” she told Sofie. “Not look at the eye candy…” Her voice trailed off as her gaze flitted to the backyard where Connor walked into view.

Uh-huh. Sure she was. Sofie clucked her tongue. “He is not a fan of wearing a shirt, is he?”

“No, he is not,” Faith murmured.

Charlie, camera in hand, stood next to Faith. “Would it be wrong for me to snap a few candids of these guys? You know, for practice.”

“Only if you promise to blow one up poster size for my bedroom,” Faith quipped.

Sofie shook her head at her friends, but couldn’t blame them. When did the Cove suddenly fill to overflowing with man candy?

Delicious as these two were, her thoughts went to her own sweet piece—dark, salty, sweet Donovan.

She headed for the mansion’s front door, waving to Faith and Charlie to follow.





CHAPTER NINETEEN




Longest. Interview. Ever.

Four hours later, Sofie had just about enough of smiling. She was a cheerful person, but the pressure of representing Open Arms and the stress of making sure she smiled enough for both her and Donovan had taken a lot of face muscles.

Robin Derringer, reporter for the Gazette, finally showed signs of slowing. Around her height, he was short for a man, with dusty blond hair gone half-gray. His nose was large but regal, his teeth white but not too white. He was a powder keg of energy. About a half an hour ago, Sofie wondered if the interview might last until dark.

They’d covered most of the thirteen-thousand-square-foot mansion, Charlie alongside them snapping photo after photo. Several rooms weren’t camera ready, but there was no shortage of rooms that were. After traipsing through the inside, their group—Donny included—walked the entirety of the grounds.

High heels, she had concluded, were not the best choice in footwear.

Donovan wore the smarter outfit of baggy cargo shorts, boots better suited for the long grass, and a comfy-looking V-neck shirt. Dog looked equally smashing, wearing a red bandanna around her neck, her hair brushed and fluffed courtesy of Faith’s talented hand.

Faith left earlier. About an hour into the interview, she tracked Sofie down to let her know Skylar had an emergency of sorts—an ex-boyfriend emergency. Even though Faith had rolled her eyes, Sofie could see she was worried about her sister. Without hesitation, Sofie handed over her car keys.

Connor and Anthony had also vanished while they toured the inside. Just as well. Two dirty, sweaty, and yeah, okay, sexy guys traipsing around shirtless would be a fine photo if they were publishing a calendar, but for the newspaper… not so much.

The photos Charlie took now—of Dog, at Robin’s request—were going to be the perfect attention-grabber for the article. Sun shined on glossy fur, Dog perched on her back haunches, pink tongue panting, bandanna bright against her white-and-brown hair. She looked happy. An absolute showstopper with the mansion in the background.

Charlie smiled from behind her camera. “She’s going to win so many hearts!”

Without a doubt. She’d won Sofie’s already.

Donovan stood, arms over his chest, and watched the photography session with mild interest. In what she hoped was a subtle move, Sofie slipped out of her Manolo Blahniks and flexed her toes in the cool, thick grass. Ahh, so much better.

“What’s the pup’s name?” Robin asked, pencil at the ready over the notebook he’d been scribbling in all day. “For the photo caption.”

Donovan exchanged looks with Sofie, who stayed quiet. His black eyebrows lifted slightly.

Not knowing whether she should say “Dog” or “Gertie,” Sofie hedged. “She’s, um, she’s a rescue. Donovan found her out back and nursed her back to health.”

Robin’s pencil moved furiously over the pad. “She was injured?”

“And starving,” she added.

“You have veterinary training, Mr. Pate?” the reporter teased.

Donovan’s face stayed rigid. “Patched myself more times than I can count. Masonry is dangerous business.”

Masonry. Sofie felt her heart pinch. She knew the truth. He’d patched up more than injuries occurring on the job.