The Right Time (7 page)

He slid from the booth.

“Ransom, wait!” Sophie jumped up and stood before him, breathing hard, worry in her eyes. “I’m sorry. Maybe I—”

“Sorry for what?” He wasn’t going to make it easy for her, because it wasn’t easy for him. Unbearable tightness filled his torso, made his chest hurt and his stomach contract with intense pain. “You made the right decision going back to your boyfriend. We were both having a good time. Using each other. There was never going to be anything between us.”

Her breath hitched on a sharp inhale, and a wounded expression filled her eyes. He’d done exactly as planned—hurt her by diminishing their time together to nothing more than a night of screwing that was going nowhere. And he felt like shit.

Steely resolve shifted into her features. Her jaw firmed and her spine straightened. “You’re right. Clearly, I made the right decision,” she said.

The verbal dig cut across him like the sharp edge of a sword.

Lips pressed together, Sophie leveled one last hard look at him and stalked away.

Ransom watched her swaying hips and beautiful legs move across the floor. When he could no longer see her, he snatched the gift from the table and rushed back to his room, almost knocking over a teenaged boy ambling along with her parents.

He slammed the door to the suite and tossed the gift onto the dresser. Standing in the middle of the room, he stared at the bed and recalled the passionate night he and Sophie spent together. The thought of her lying under another man—even one who had more right to claim her than he did—drove him insane.

He grabbed his phone but stopped before dialing her number. What could he say? There was nothing he could say. She was with the person she wanted to be with, and her decision made him furious. Furious at her. Furious at himself. Because deep down he’d wanted to not just give her great sex, but hit it so good she’d forget all about the ass who allowed her to come to the Bahamas alone.

In a rage, Ransom slammed his phone on top of the dresser, over and over again until the screen cracked and the device fell apart in his hand. Pieces flew off the furniture in multiple directions and onto the carpet.

Breathing heavily, he stared at the shattered phone. “Forget her,” he muttered.

That was what he planned to do. Forget he ever laid eyes—or mouth, or hand—on Sophie Bradshaw.

The weight of rejection pressed down like a hand onto Sophie’s sternum as she plodded back to her room. She could hardly breathe against the pressure, and stopped near her building to catch her breath and clear her head.

There was never going to be anything between us.

The brutal words crushed her, and she clutched a handful of the white dress, pressing her fist against her stomach to ease the pain.

His rejection shouldn’t hurt so much. She shouldn’t care so much.

She wanted to run back and tell him she didn’t mean it, but the fact that he didn’t try to stop her or change her mind showed the glaring truth of the meaningless tryst they’d shared.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her spine and prepared her mind for the evening with Keith. Before going to see Ransom, she hadn’t been sure she would forgive Keith, but she seriously considered doing so now.

Since Ransom didn’t care enough to pursue a relationship with her, she’d give her boyfriend a chance to prove that he was not only a better man, but the type of man she needed.

Sophie parked her Jeep on the street in Midtown Atlanta and walked toward her mother’s juice shop. The Juice Fox was the brainchild of her parents, long before juice bars became trendy. It was an Atlanta staple, known for selling juice and smoothie concoctions, with many of the ingredients sourced locally.

The bright green and yellow awning showed an illustrated fox on two legs, wearing a red polka dot dress, with hands on her hips in a pose reminiscent of the pinup models from years ago. The eye-catching sign beckoned to neighborhood residents and passersby using the busy street. The store was not only popular for its juices; sales of stuffed foxes and other memorabilia sold in-store and online brought in a substantial side income.

Sophie entered the shop, bursting with red, green, and yellow designs, and filled with round tables where a scattered group of patrons chatted to each other or sat hunched over laptops and using the free Wi-Fi.

“Hey, you guys,” she greeted two of the employees at the counter. One was over at the juicer, pressing out an order for a customer. The other stopped to wave before continuing to bag the five glass bottles of fresh juice a man standing at the counter had just purchased.

Sophie’s mother was not only conscientious about what went into her body, she was an advocate of protecting the Earth for future generations. The Juice Fox sold individual serving sizes of juice blends in plastic cups, but customers had the option to also purchase them in glass bottles, for a small one-time fee, which could then be refilled indefinitely at a discounted price.

Sophie found her mother in the back, sipping a red liquid from a tiny plastic taster cup. Two blenders, one half-filled with a green liquid and the other containing the reddish one in her cup, sat on the counter among cutting boards with various fruits and vegetables sliced and diced atop them. Apparently, her mother was working on a new recipe.

“Hi, honey!”

Dora Bradshaw’s eyes danced the minute she saw Sophie, and she rushed over to give her daughter a tight squeeze. People often said they looked alike, but Sophie couldn’t see the resemblance. She had amber skin, gray eyes, and dark hair. Her mother’s white skin was very pale, she had blue eyes, and hair the color of her youth, courtesy of a box of Clairol Nice ’N Easy in sun-kissed blonde.

Her mother stepped back and gave her a long look. She rubbed her hands up and down Sophie’s bare arms. “You got a little tan while you were in the Bahamas.”

“Yes, I did. I also received a surprise while I was there.” Sophie crossed her arms.

“Oh?”

So that’s how her mother was going to play it. The innocent role.

“Keith came to see me, and he told me
you
told him where I was.”

“I had to.”

“Why did you have to? You know I was there to get away, and you told him how to find me.”

Sophie’s father, Dr. Walter Bradshaw, came through the slightly ajar office door after he must have heard them talking. Over long dreadlocks he wore a black tam with red, yellow, and green stripes running its circumference, and was dressed casually in a T-shirt and jeans, which meant he didn’t have plans to go into the office today.

One of the foremost authorities of black history and culture in the country, he taught African-American studies at Emory University, and wrote papers and traveled to do speeches on the subject. His age had begun to show by the smattering of gray hair in his neat circle beard, but he was still very fit. Her parents lived in town, and he rode his bike more often than not to the university or whenever he ran errands.

“Hey, Dad,” Sophie greeted him, keeping an eye on her mother’s guilty blush.

“What’s going on?” her father asked, his heavy bass voice filling the space.

“The two of you encouraged me to take a trip on my own, and your wife ratted me out to Keith.”

“I’m sure your mother meant well,” Walter said, amusement in his voice.

Her mother shrugged. “He came by the house looking so pitiful. He practically begged me to tell him where you were, and how could I resist? He sounded sorry and seemed sincere.”

“You could have at least warned me he was coming.”

“That would have spoiled the surprise,” her mother said, sounding reasonable.

Sophie huffed out a breath of exasperation. Her parents didn’t know the whole story about Keith, and she didn’t know yet if she’d tell them he’d cheated. All they knew was that they’d fought, and for now that was all she wanted anyone to know.

“So, what happened?” Her mother, ever the romantic, looked expectantly at Sophie.

She shrugged. “We talked for a long time. He’s on probation and we’ll see what happens.”

“Your mother did the right thing, then,” her father said.

“Of course you’d side with Mom,” Sophie said dryly.

Their relationship was a model Sophie had admired for years, and one she hoped to replicate in her own life. Their affection and support of each other came from years of togetherness forged when their families initially disapproved of them falling in love. Her maternal grandparents were a conservative bunch who had expected their daughter to marry someone they’d already picked out for her. On her paternal side, they were a couple of intellectuals who expected her father to marry a woman with significantly more melanin.

Instead, her parents had fallen for each other after becoming lab partners in a class at university. They kept their relationship a secret for years until they finally came clean to their families, who initially didn’t approve. Sophie never saw any of the disagreements, though. Apparently, her birth bridged the rift in the families, and she’d never felt unwanted by either side. If anything, she was showered with love and spoiled by affection on both sides of the family.

When he wasn’t busy, her father came down to the shop to spend time with her mother, and he never took a meeting that lasted so late he couldn’t walk her home after she closed up. On any given evening, they could be seen walking along the street, her father with the bike rolling beside him, and her mother hanging on to his arm. They were so cute.

“What are you working on?” Sophie asked, moving on from the conversation about her love life. She sniffed the green contents of the blender.

“Two possibilities today. The green one is a detox drink. I already have a name for the red one. It’s called Watermelon Sunshine.”

“Mmm, sounds delicious.”

“I told your mother watermelon anything is a no-go,” Walter said.

“Why, Dad?” Sophie picked up a watermelon slice and bit into it. Sweet and juicy.

“He thinks none of my black customers will buy it because of the whole watermelon thing.” Her mother waved a hand dismissively.

“They won’t,” Walter insisted. “We’ve been married thirty-five years. I shouldn’t have to explain that to you.”

Dora sighed.

“Trust me, give the smoothie another name,” Walter said. “Punch of Sunshine or something like that.” He glanced at his watch. “Better get out of here. I have a dentist appointment. Sophie, will you be around later? I need a ride to pick up my car at the shop.”

Her mother pursed her lips and shook her head as she went back to chopping ingredients.

“Seriously, Dad, you need to get rid of that car. Ronnie is going to ban you from the shop.” Her father owned a blue eighties Volvo he refused to let go.

“Ronnie is going to do no such thing. That car is a classic, and as long as it still runs, I’m going to keep it on the road.”

“It has over two hundred thousand miles on it,” Sophie said.

“And your point is…?”

“He’ll never listen,” Dora said.

“She knows me so well.” Walter pulled his wife in for a quick kiss and dropped one on Sophie’s cheek. “I’ll see you guys later. Sophie, don’t forget me and my car,” he said on the way out.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Her mother wrinkled her nose. “Do you think he’s right about the watermelon name?”

“Do you want to risk it?” Sophie asked.

“Punch of Sunshine it is,” her mother said. She poured the mixture into a glass and handed it to Sophie.

She took a sip. “Mmm. Good. Sweet. Flavorful.” She took another sip. “The ginger is a little strong, though. Hits me in the back of my throat on the way down.”

“Noticed it, too.” Her mother wrote a note to herself on a pad on the counter. “You okay, sweetie?”

“Sure.”

Her mother tilted her head to the side. Her gaze held concern. “When you first came in, I thought you seemed a little off. It’s not because of Keith, is it? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have butted in.”

“He came to you. You didn’t butt in.” Sophie slipped her arm around her mother and squeezed. “I’m fine. Keith and I are fine.”

If she seemed off, it had less to do with Keith and more to do with a certain civil attorney.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. By the way, he invited me to a hoity-toity cocktail party his firm is having. And he invited me to join him in Chicago in a few weeks to meet his parents.” He’d never done anything like that before.

“That’s good, right?” her mother asked.

“It is.” Keith was really kicking up his attention now that he recognized he could lose her.

“Then why don’t you look more excited?”

Because she couldn’t stop thinking about Ransom. A teeny tiny part of her had hoped he would reach out to her, but clearly she’d read more into their time together than was realistic. He’d offered her attention and affection when she needed it most, so it was only natural to get a little attached. She fully expected the heaviness of disappointment and regret in her stomach to disappear soon. Hopefully.

“I
am
excited. This is a new chapter for me and Keith, and…I’m going to hope for the best.”

And pretend that every time she closed her eyes, she didn’t see Ransom’s face or remember the way he’d so expertly caressed each inch of her body until she shivered in his arms. Pretend she didn’t long to see his roguish smile, twin dimples, and a muscular body that made her weak in the knees.

Ransom walked into the offices of Abraham, McKenzie & Wong on Monday morning, his strides long, steps sure. He’d spent the weekend poring over a case he hoped would soon be coming to an end. He rolled the taut muscles of his aching neck and shoulders, but he was certain the brief he’d stayed up until three in the morning to prepare would sway the judge in their favor and finally bring this case to a close.

Ransom was known in the world of civil litigation as The Shark, a nickname that encapsulated his personal work ethic and cutthroat reputation. He worked hard to win his cases, spending long hours combing through documents, motions, and answers to interrogatories with an unparalleled attention to detail. He was well respected by the junior associates working under him, and they all left his tutelage with a better understanding of the law and having grown as attorneys.