“Oh, no you don’t.” He quickly closed the door, right in her face.
“Fine,” Mindy said, sounding impatient. “But will you at least call Jake Wheeler and listen to his pitch? The man is ridiculously persistent. He’s calling me twice a day.”
There it was—that name again. “I know. He sent me a fruit basket.”
“He’s got superdeep pockets, Sophie. And he sure speaks fondly of you. You’d think you two were exes the way he talks about you.”
Sophie leaned back against the wall, her vision narrowing just as her lips pinched together. “You know that’s not the case.”
“Oh, I know. I know the whole story. He’s the one who got away.”
Sophie shook her head. “He is not. He’s the snake who slithered away. And I hardly had him to begin with.” Just one unbelievably hot night of abandon.
“Regardless. Call him.”
“I’ll think about it.” Sophie already knew there was no way she would call Jake. There was a lot of wisdom in the adage about not clawing at old wounds. He’d hurt her. Badly. She would never, ever forgive him.
“Think harder. I’d like to cross him off my to-do list.”
Sophie stifled a snort. Jake Wheeler had spent two years on her “to-do” list.
Years later, she still regretted it like crazy.
* * *
Granted, expressing condolences was not Jake Wheeler’s strongpoint. He’d found it much easier to get through life by glossing over sad moments and enjoying pleasant ones. But after three unreturned phone calls, a sympathy card that garnered no response and an ignored charity donation in her grandmother’s name, he was certain Sophie Eden was not impressed with his efforts.
Jake’s admin, Audrey, buzzed the line in his office. “Ms. Eden’s assistant is on the line, Mr. Wheeler.”
Jake picked up his phone. “Lizzie, I’m worried that if we continue to spend this much time on the phone, people will start to get the wrong impression of our working relationship.”
“Sir? You remembered my name?”
“How could I not? Is this our fourth or fifth time speaking?”
“I’m not sure, sir. Probably the fifth.”
“And I’m guessing you know why I’m calling.” Jake rocked forward and back in his chair, watching out the window of his tenth-floor office in the luxury steel-and-glass tower of 7 Bryant Park. He had stunning views of the New York Public Library and other midtown Manhattan landmarks, but the one he enjoyed most was that of the building’s namesake. Down on the street, a temporary Christmas market was set up with vendors, music and ice skating. The holiday disruption had been overtaking the normally peaceful green space every December in recent years. Jake couldn’t wait for January, when it would all be gone.
“I do. And I’m very sorry, but Ms. Eden is not available right now.”
“Can you at least tell me when she’ll be back in the office?”
“She’s here all the time, Mr. Wheeler. But her schedule is packed and always changing, as I’m sure you can understand. It’s December. She runs one of the largest department stores in Manhattan. It’s a very busy time.”
“Of course.” Jake tapped his pen on his desk. “Did she get the fruit basket I sent?”
“She did. And she was generous enough to share it with the staff. Everyone has enjoyed it greatly. Thank you.”
Jake wasn’t sure what more he could do to get her to return his phone calls, and he certainly couldn’t arrive at a conclusion about why she was avoiding him. Their last interaction, years ago, at business school graduation, had been nothing but pleasant and cordial. They’d both agreed to let their shared history remain where it belonged—in the past.
“But she’s not there right now?” He purposely added a heavy tone of suspicion to the question. It was the end of the workday. If Sophie was too busy to pick up the phone, she had to still be at the office.
“I’m sorry, but she’s not available right now. No.”
Jake wasn’t sure what that meant, but he knew he was getting the runaround. “Fine. I’d like to leave a message. Again. My name is Jake Wheeler, and my number is—”
“Ms. Eden has your number.”
Jake choked back a frustrated grumble. “Please remind her that it’s very important. I need to speak to her.”
“She knows, sir. I’ve delivered each one of your messages personally.” Judging by the tone in her voice, Sophie’s assistant was losing her patience. That much they had in common.
“Great. Thank you.” Jake hung up the phone, more frustrated now than ever. He had to get Sophie to talk to him. He had to meet with her. Jake was a member of an exclusive investment group called the War Chest. It was run by financier Jacob Lin, and they tackled only the biggest of big deals—ones that required several sets of deep pockets. Jake had suggested Eden’s when Sophie’s grandmother had died. The other War Chest members, hoteliers Sawyer and Noah Locke and real-estate broker Michael Kelly, along with Jacob, had all voted yes on the idea. Jake assured them with a great deal of confidence that he had an inside track with Sophie. Of course, until a month ago, he’d thought he did have an inside track. He and Sophie were best friends in business school. For a brief but memorable twenty-four hours, they’d been more.
“Audrey?” he called out into the void of his office.
In seconds flat, Jake’s assistant snapped to attention in his office doorway. Audrey was fastidious, hyperorganized and very opinionated. “Sir, I really think it’s too late for coffee. You’ll get edgy, and caffeine is disruptive to sleep patterns.”
“I don’t need coffee. I’m wondering if you have any ideas on convincing a woman to call you back.”
“Jewelry. Flowers. Chocolate. A profession of love.”
Jake shook his head. “Not like that. I know that. I mean, in a professional setting.”
“So nothing romantic?”
Jake didn’t have to think about that one. He and Sophie were better off sticking to business. Of that much, he was sure. “Not intentionally romantic, but Ms. Eden does appreciate the finer things in life if that helps.”
Audrey nodded. “Ah, yes. Your unromantic fruit-basket recipient.”
“Precisely.”
“And that didn’t go over well? Who doesn’t love a fruit basket?”
“I have no idea.”
“Flowers?”
“Isn’t that a cliché?”
“Not if you buy a ridiculous amount of her favorites and show up with them in person.”
