Page 19 of Tough Luck

Sofia shook her head when I glanced at her in question.

“Yeah, apparently.” Marcus nodded. “The guy who called to schedule the appointment, apparently used to work for your dad. He said that he knew our account inside and out and had just upgraded to the best firm in town. What was his name again? Leo? No, Leonard.” My gut twisted. “He said that he had just signed on with the new firm and promised me that he could give us the ‘Gold Standard’ treatment for half your agency’s fee.”

The air at the table instantly turned to ice.

I sat back, my jaw tightening as a wave of pure disbelief and anger washed over me. Next to me, Sofia went completely rigid, her glass freezing halfway to her mouth.

“Leonard Whistler,” I said, in a flat and dangerous tone.

“Yeah, that’s the guy,” Marcus said, completely oblivious to the nuclear bomb he’d just dropped on our table. He glanced at his watch and stood up, draining the rest of his glass. “Anyway, we gotta run. Sofia, seriously impressive stuff.” He took her hand and almost raised it to his lips, before stilling. “I look forward to seeing your whole pitch next week. Rick, tell your dad I said hello.”

“Will do,” I said, forcing a polite smile until he and the other guy disappeared into the crowded front of the restaurant.

The moment they were gone, I turned to Sofia. We stared at each other in absolute, stunned silence.

“Are you kidding me?” Sofia breathed, her voice a mix of shock and pure outrage. “How did he get hired at another agency in Golden that we didn’t know about?”

“He’s desperate,” I said, a dark, humorless laugh escaping my throat. “I guess they’ll hire anyone if they’re that small.”

“He’s going to pitch to Marcus the day before we do,” she whispered, the color draining from her cheeks as the reality of the situation set in. “He’s going to steal this account from us, I can just feel it.”

“No, he won’t,” I said, leaning across the table and locking my eyes onto hers. The protective, competitive fire inside me was burning white-hot. “Leonard thinks he can play with the big kids, but he forgets one major detail: he doesn’t have your talent. We have four days. We’re going to make our pitch so spectacular that whatever Leonard’s ideas are, it’s going to look like a child’s drawings next to yours.”

A soft, breathless laugh escaped her lips, and her gaze held mine for a beat longer. The anxiety that had tensed her shoulders a moment ago seemed to melt, replaced by a warm, sparking energy that felt alive. I couldn’t help but feel sucked into it.

As we finished our drinks, the discussion switched from the account to the local sports team somehow. To my happy surprise, Sofia was well versed on everything sports. She even grilled me on keeping up with the Colorado teams while I was, as she put it, betraying my birth state by rooting for California’s teams.

“I’m just saying,” she teased, leaning her chin on her hand, a playful glint in her eyes as she looked across the empty nacho platter at me. “If you’re going to run a firm in Golden, even temporarily, you can’t be secretly cheering for San Diego. It’s bad luck. And honestly? Highly offensive to the mountains.”

“Oh, is that a rule in the employee handbook?” I chuckled, tilting my head. I found myself looking at the way the amber neon light from the bar caught the dark highlights of her hair. “Because last time I checked, I’m the one who writes the rules.”

“Well, you might control the agency, temporarily,” she murmured, her voice dipping lower as she held my gaze, a tiny, defiant smile touching her lips, “but you don’t control the Colorado sports gods. I’m just trying to save your reputation, boss man.”

We laughed and joked, and as hard as I tried not to flirt with her, I managed to botch it a few times. When she reached for her glass and her fingers brushed against mine, a literal spark of static electricity jumped between us.

“See?” she gasped softly, pulling her hand back with a little flush on her cheeks. “The gods are already warning you.”

“I don’t think that was the gods,” I said, my voice dropping an octave as I looked at her, the humor suddenly giving way to a heavy, magnetic tension that hung thick in the space between our chairs. I wanted to say it was a spark of interest but held my tongue.

As we walked out of the restaurant into the crisp, cool Colorado night air, a sudden shiver ran through her. She hugged her arms tightly across her chest. She must have left her forest-green blazer back at the office.

“Cold?” I asked, stepping a little closer to shield her from the wind whipping off the foothills.

“A little,” she admitted, looking up at me through her lashes. “It’s starting to be so warm during the day that I forget it dips to frigid after the sun goes down.”

“Can I drive you home?” I asked, already reaching into my pocket for my keys, entirely unwilling to let this night—or her company—go just yet.

“No.” She chuckled. “That’s my building there.” She pointed across the street to an old two-story brick building. I must have passed it a hundred times in my life and hadn’t known it housed apartments.

“Can I walk you home then?” I corrected and had her laughing.

“Sure,” she said, and we started toward the crosswalk.

“You only live two blocks away from work, that must be nice,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets.

“It is. Where are you staying at? Did you move back in with your folks?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No, I rented a house about a mile away from here. It was easier. Besides, my folks are used to being empty nesters at this point.”