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CHAPTER 1
Sophie
Sometimes life handed you lemons, and sometimes it squirted the juice all over your eyes until they burned. Or in my case, forced you to drive an hour to a lodge surrounded by endless ribbons of vineyards stretching as far as the eye could see.
It wasn’t as great as it sounded.
A medical seminar about joint replacements wasn't exactly a fun weekend away—not that I wasn't happy to broaden my knowledge. As a physical therapist, I was constantly learning and studying. But I had plenty of plans, including a sleep-in on Saturday morning, a fondue evening with Becks, and a possible massage to strip away the tension building up over the week of work.
My phone suddenly rang.
Vicki’s name popped up on the screen. I moaned loudly and considered ignoring her call, especially since she was the reason I was on my way to theNapa Valley Joint Replacement Symposium. Vicki, the chief physiotherapist at St Helena Medical—and my no-nonsense taking boss— was supposed to attend the weekend seminar before she got sick with the flu. Orin her words, a “deathly virus” she’d contracted when her tiny patient coughed viciously on her.
“Sophie,” came Vicky’s gravelly voice. She coughed, sniffed, and added, “Are you at the lodge yet? I hope so. I need you to find Kim Enid before the welcome talk starts and tell her that . . . Wait.” Her voice turned ice-cold. “Are you still driving? Do I hear a car engine?”
“I’m on my way,” I muttered through my teeth, well aware of the imminent lashing.
Vicky was a stickler for punctuality. She was never late, and she hated people who were. I imagined her fuming, turning as red as a gala apple, and bit down the laugh threatening to spill from my lips.
“The check-in is supposed to be between two p.m. and three p.m.,” barked Vicki. “It’s already fifteen minutes past three, Sophie. You’ll miss the opening talk, and youhaveto be there.”
I pulled a face, glad she couldn't see me and flicked up the indicator a second after Google Maps announced—out of nowhere—that I needed to make a sharp left turn. "I know. I'm sorry. I couldn't find my heels anywhere and I—"
A violent jolt suddenly shoved my car from behind.
The impact threw me forward, the seat belt digging into my chest, and before I knew it, my head hit the backrest as Vicki's voice roared, "Sophie! What the hell happened? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," I mumbled, veering the car slowly to the shoulder and cutting the engine. I touched my fingers to my face and breathed out in relief to find my head was still securely lodged in my neck.
With a shaky finger, I ended the call and glanced into the rearview mirror. Just seconds ago, a shiny silver Mercedes had pushed right up against my car. Now it was parked just a few feet behind me. Even though I couldn't see the damage, I knewthere was a fat bruise on my rear bumper. The damage I couldn't possibly afford to fix right now.
A man climbed out of the silver Mercedes. Everything about him was sharp sleek and sexy. He had dark brown hair tapered at the sides; stern brown eyes shrouded by thick brows; full lips any woman would deem extremely kissable; and a faint crease in his chin. Dressed in charcoal tailor pants, black leather Oxfords, and a white crisp dress shirt, everything about him exuded money. So did the gold watch on his tanned wrist.
Breathe, I reminded myself, hoping it would end the whirring in my stomach from the hundreds of flapping bee wings that suddenly streamed in.
So what if he was gorgeous? So what if he looked more like Henry Cavill than Mr. Cavill himself? The man had just caused a fender bender and not only was my car damaged, but I was also running late. Vicki was going to kill me—or possibly just maim me, since it wasn’t exactly my fault. At least not exclusively.
Pushing the driver’s door open, I climbed out and walked to the tail end of my car, keeping my eyes on the tarmac and my arms folded over my chest. A relatively small dent sat on the bumper corner. There were a few scuffs and scratches beside it but the taillights were thankfully intact. Not bad. But not good either.
The man cleared his throat. I flicked my gaze up to him and was suddenly startled at just how light his brown eyes were. Vats of liquid gold when they caught the sun.
“You just slammed on your brakes,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly. He pointed a slender finger to the back of my car. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I had my indicator on,” I snapped back, the buzzing bees replaced by a wave of hot anger. “And I didn’tslamon my breaks, I merely slowed down a little.Youshould’ve been payingmore attention. If you’d been paying attention, you wouldn’t have rear-ended me—”
“Attention,” he fired, cutting me off. A tiny vein bulged at his temple. “Your indicator popped up out of nowhere. Definitely a last-minute decision. How was I supposed to react in time?”
The way he threw his arms up in the air gave me just enough opportunity to glimpse his empty ring finger, but it also sent a roil of anger through me––why was I trying to guesstimate whether he was married or not? This man was an ass. He didn’t deserve anything more than my insurance details.
I tilted my chin up and straightened my back. In times like these, you had to look bigger to be bigger. "You were driving too close to me and too fast in the first place." I smiled as sweetly as humanly possible and flicked my blonde curls off my shoulder. "Have you ever heard of keeping a safe distance? That's the first thing you learn before you get a driver's license."
His lips curled into a sneer. "I guess you bought yours on eBay then."
I pulled a face. If looks could kill, the man would be dead. Yet he appeared immune, completely oblivious to the figurative daggers I was throwing at him.
I slipped my hand into my tailored pants pocket and fished out a business card, or rather a slip of card stock with my name and number on it. “You’re paying for my damages. There’s my name and number. Now I need yours.” The wordpleasewas selectively absent from my vocabulary. I stuck out my hand, the card held between two fingers.
He glanced down. Those golden eyes were hidden by his thick sculpted brows. Either he’d spent hours perfecting his appearance or he was simply blessed with heavenly looks.
