Until I'm Yours (6 page)

I
t’s not quite five o’clock when I make my way toward my father’s office, hoping I can speak to him before he leaves, if he’s leaving. He usually has clothes here so he doesn’t have to go to the house. Over the years, he and my mother have devised all manner of ways to avoid being at home at the same time.

Celeste, Daddy’s assistant, and probable longtime mistress, is packing up when I approach my father’s suite.

“Ms. Baston, good evening.” Celeste adjusts the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “Your father’s wrapping up a call.”

“Thanks, Celeste. Will you be at the party tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Celeste offers a parting smile before walking out. “See you this evening.”

When I was a little girl, this office seemed so massive. I felt like Alice in Wonderland, with everything oversize and fantastical. Now when I walk in, knowing the kinds of deals Daddy does behind these doors, it just feels like the black hole Alice tumbled through.

“Keep me posted.” Daddy speaks into the handset, glancing up at me as I cross the threshold. “Yes. Just let Celeste know.”

I sit down in the chair across from Daddy’s desk. Anxiety swells inside my throat, not unlike the day I sat in this very office and told him I wouldn’t be going to Princeton, but was heading to Paris for my first runway show. That bastard Kyle Manchester was a dark undertow in that pivotal conversation, just like he is in this one. Only Daddy didn’t know it then.

The secret I’ve been carrying around for fifteen years hovers on the tip of my tongue, lured out of darkness by necessity. I had put this behind me. After two years of therapy and more than a dozen years living strong and making my own choices, I put it behind me. But now it’s rearing its ugly head again, and though I won’t expose it to the world, I have to tell Daddy. If he knew what Kyle Manchester did all those years ago, I have to believe he wouldn’t do business with him.

“Sofie, this is a surprise.” Daddy shifts his attention to a stack of papers on his desk, giving me a cursory look. “Shouldn’t you be on your way home to get ready for tonight’s party?”

“I’m dressing here at the office.” I fold my hands in my lap. “Leaving from here.”

“So did you need something?”

Right to the point. No affection or concern. My father doesn’t deal in either of those, and I should be used to it by now, but somehow I never am. I should lower my expectations of him, as he has done of me.

“Could I ask you…well, how deep are you in with Kyle Manchester?”

I’ve spent my whole life studying this man, trying to figure out how I can best please him. I can never seem to get that quite right, but trying has taught me a lot about him. And I recognize, even though his face remains completely relaxed, a certain alertness enter his eyes.

“Why do you ask?” Daddy flips open a file, running his eyes over it, but not really seeing it. Not fooling me. I have his full attention.

“He’s not a good man, Daddy.”

His eyes flip up to mine, narrowed on my face.

“Neither am I, Sofie.” A band of steel runs through his soft words. “Neither are half the men we do business with. Neither is Walsh Bennett, if it comes down to it.”

“You’re wrong about Walsh.” I tug the corner of my mouth between my teeth. “But Kyle…”

I inch forward until I’m literally on the edge of my seat.

“Daddy, what if I told you that Kyle hurt me?”

A frown pinches his brows together.

“Hurt you how? When?”

“On prom night, he—”

“High school, Sofie?” His sharp laugh dices my confidence. “Next year this man will be one of the most powerful politicians in the country, and you’re talking to me about prom night? Really, Sofie. I expect better of you.”

“No, Daddy, listen.” I lick dry lips. “On prom night he hurt me. He forced me. He ra—”

“Stop.” Daddy slams his hand on the desk, rattling a bin of paper clips, rattling my nerves. “Don’t say it, Sofie. Not to me and not to anyone else. Have you repeated this nonsense to anyone else?”

“It’s not nonsense, Daddy. If you’d just listen to what happened—”

“And you’re just now telling me something like this fifteen years later?” He stands, walking back and forth and rubbing his chin between his fingers. “No, I think that time and memory twist reality. It’s understandable. You probably expected more from your…encounter with Kyle, and maybe you were upset when he moved on.”

“That isn’t what happened at all.” I borrow some of his steel, weaving it into my words. “I know exactly what happened that night.”

“I can’t let you endanger a man’s career because of something you
think
happened more than a decade ago.”

“Daddy, please listen to me.” His dismissal whittles my voice, my heart, down to a nub.

“No, you listen to me, young lady.” No one seeing this man’s face, hearing his voice, would think I’m his daughter. There is nothing soft or protective in how he looks at me, in how he speaks. “I am on the cusp of the most important deal of my life, and Kyle Manchester is the linchpin. No one, not even you, will ruin that for me.”

“I don’t want to ruin anything, I just…I just thought you should know that—”

“That he’s not a good man. I heard you.” His face softens, but it’s a calculated yielding. A deliberate act to put me at foolish ease. “Sofie, let sleeping dogs lie, and don’t repeat this nonsense to anyone else.”

“Will he be there tonight?”

“No, he’s on vacation with his wife and children.” His mouth pulls back to show his teeth. “He’s a dedicated family man like me.”

“You do your deal, Daddy. I won’t get in the way since it’s obviously more important to you than I am.” I stand, shoving down the hurt long enough to make my face a rigid reflection of his. “But I will not be in the same room with that man again. Ask me to, and I’ll become difficult.”

Daddy crosses around the desk and intrudes into my space so quickly, I’m forced to recoil.

“Difficult?” He snaps, disdain distorting the distinguished face and filling the green eyes so like mine. “You haven’t seen difficult, baby girl. I don’t need you in the same room with him, especially now that I know the kinds of delusions you’re concocting in that pretty little head of yours. Stay away from Kyle altogether, or you’ll regret it.”

“Wow.” I walk to the door, turning to say the last words I plan to say to him for a long time. “I came here to tell you that vermin raped me, thinking it would make a difference, and
you
protect
him
.”

His face tightens at the word “rape.” A word I’ve so rarely even said aloud. And never to anyone, but my therapist, applied to me.

“Sofie, you have to understand. This deal—”

“Stop.” I lift my hand, blocking his excuses, which cannot possibly be good enough. “Just stop, Daddy. I’ll stay out of your way and you keep Kyle out of mine. It’s worked all these years. Why stop now.”

S
he didn’t wear the dress I liked. That’s okay, because what Sofie decided to wear has me, and, I suspect, every man in her immediate radius, adjusting myself discreetly in my pants. It’s some one-piece pantsuit thing with no straps that fits her body like she was sewn into it, plunging into a V that displays the tops of her high, firm breasts and leaves her shoulders bare. A mass of onyx and pearls hangs around her slim throat. Her hair, fair as white gold in places, is piled high in messy splendor, a few tendrils caressing her neck. In her heels, she probably stands only a few inches shorter than my six five.

“You’re catching flies, Bishop.” Harold stands with his back to the bar, elbows up on the surface. “Mouth hanging open over that woman again.”

“Fuck you, Smith.” I knock back the last of my scotch. “Shouldn’t you be back at the manor convincing Henri to finally give you a shot?”

Harold has a massive crush on our assistant, Henrietta. For a long time, it seemed destined to be forever unrequited, but lately she’s shown signs that maybe she’s feeling him, too.

“Shows how much you know.” Harold grins, making his face even more boyish than usual. “I’m taking her to dinner as soon as we get back from Cambodia.”

After two years watching him pine over her, I can’t even bring myself to teasingly deflate him. I extend my fist for a pound.

“Good work, Smith. So, where you taking her?”

Harold’s eyes go wide with panic, and all his color washes away.

“Hey, you’ve got time.” I pat him on the back. “We’ll figure it out. Don’t break out your inhaler.”

He nods, as if reassuring himself, the color slowly returning to his blanched face. He
really
likes Henri. Just as I’m about to ride him about it at least a little, I see a guy near Sophie who looks like he’s screwing up the courage to speak to her. Get in line. Actually, there isn’t a line. Only me. She just doesn’t know it yet.

“You okay there, buddy?” Harold nods to the end of the bar, where Sofie waits for her drink. “Need my inhaler?”

I nail him with a deadly look and then make my way down to her end of the bar before the guy can make his move. She glances up, doing a double take when she realizes that I’m so close.

“You again.” She cuts her eyes up at me. “Shocking.”

If I wasn’t so sure this woman likes me, I’d put on a Kevlar vest before every conversation.

“So what’re you drinking?” I ask.

She grins, taking a sip from her martini glass.

“Perfect Ten.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I signal the bartender. “Scotch, please. So where’s your quarterback?”

“On his way.” She peers over the rim of her glass as she sips. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to keep me company for long.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” I step close enough for her scent to wrap around me. “But then you know that, don’t you?”

Our glances tangle for a few seconds before she lowers her lashes.

“I know what?” she asks.

“That I like you.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you like me?”

I laugh a little, enjoying this perplexing woman more than I have anything in a long time.

“I don’t know yet, to be honest.”

There’s no time to name the emotion that flits across her face because she hides it so quickly.

Before I can make any more progress with Sofie, a large hand falls on my shoulder. I’m almost shocked to see Martin Bennett standing there, since he’s been so scarce during our negotiations. I know he suffered a heart attack a while back and has been less involved in the company, but he hasn’t been in any of our meetings since we arrived in New York.

“Bishop, good to see you.” He drops a quick kiss on Sofie’s hair. “I didn’t know you’d be here, Sof. Haven’t seen you in so long.”

“Too long, Uncle Martin.” Sofie leans into Martin’s shoulder for a second before glancing at me and pulling back.

“How have negotiations been going?” Martin asks me, looking so much like Walsh I have to remind myself I haven’t sat across the negotiation table from this man.

“They’re going.” I keep my reservations out of my voice. “We’ve got a ways to go and lots of options to explore.”

“You’re in good hands with Walsh.” He flicks a quick glance Sofie’s way. “And Ernest, too, of course.”

“Where’s Walsh tonight?” Sofie asks.

“The girls are sick, and he wanted to relieve Kerris.” Martin offers a rueful smile. “Wish I’d done more of that when I was his age. Too busy building empires.”

My father spent a lot of time with me growing up. I’m as close to him as I am to my mother. He didn’t have an empire to pass along to me like Martin has for Walsh, but I wouldn’t have achieved anything I have had my father not invested as much in me as he did. He never missed a game. Made sure I was prepared for every test. Stayed close, but gave me space when I entered my rebellious stage as a teenager. I know Walsh and Martin never had that, and right now Martin looks like he’d trade all he’s amassed to have what I shared with my pop.

“Walsh seems to have turned out all right in the end,” I tell Martin.

Martin gives me a long, considering look before nodding and giving another rueful smile.

“You know, you remind me a lot of Walsh.” Martin takes the club soda Sofie secured for him at some point. “Thank you, Sofie.”

“I remind you of Walsh?” I lean against the bar. “How so?”

“He’s always looking for ways to mesh business and philanthropy. Got that from my wife.” Martin’s face pinches for a moment. “From his mother, that is, Kristeene.”

I’ve heard Martin took Kristeene Bennett’s death hard, even though they had been divorced for years. His face betrays all the things he’s been publicly reticent about: that he loved his ex-wife very much. That he still misses her. That he probably always will.

“I’m hearing great things about Bennett Charities,” I say into the heavy silence that follows his comment.

My words seem to flip a switch inside the older man, his face becoming animated as he talks about the work he’s overseeing with the relatively new charitable arm of the company he founded.

“I’m enjoying it a helluva lot more than I thought I would.” Martin grins at Sofie and me. “They can barely get me in the office for anything else lately.”

He says it jokingly, but if I had to call it, I’d say this legend in the corporate raiders hall of fame just isn’t as interested in it anymore. I’m not foolish enough to think, when he has to be, that he’s any less ruthless than when he founded Bennett Enterprises, though. Sofie grew up with men like Martin and her father in this cutthroat world of high stakes and few qualms. So different from the way I was raised. My father, a postal worker, and my mother, an elementary school teacher, instilled in all seven of us kids things like integrity, compassion, and humility. I’m almost afraid to find out what Ernest and Billi Baston instilled in Sofie, in case it all took.

“I better get going.” Martin squeezes Sofie’s hand. “Keep up the good work with the Walsh Foundation, too, Sofie. They’re lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, Uncle Martin.” Sofie’s face is softer than I’ve ever seen it. “I’m lucky they haven’t kicked me out yet.”

Martin chastises her with a look.

“Well, that
Playboy
stunt came close.” He chuckles when Sofie at least looks abashed. “Walsh went to bat for you on that score.”

“He’s done that more than once.” Sofie takes another sip of her drink, flipping her chin toward the bartender to signal for another. “Your son has a hero complex, I think.”

“Yeah, well, he didn’t get that from me.” Martin waves to someone a few feet away, motioning for him to come over. “I better go. Glad you’re here, Bishop. Enjoy New York.”

“So
Playboy
, huh?” I ask as soon as we’re alone again.

Sofie meets my eyes as bold as a summer sunrise, shrugging her bare shoulders.

“It was tastefully done. My body, my business.”

Before I can dig into that anymore, a young girl approaches us. Maybe mid-twenties. How am I ever supposed to make any headway with Sofie before the quarterback shows up with so many interruptions? She probably wants to know where Sofie got her shoes.

“Mr. Bishop, hi.” The dark-haired girl wears a shy smile, flicking a nervous glance at Sofie. “Ms. Baston, sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to come thank Mr. Bishop.”

“Thank
me
?” I eye her more closely. “Have we met?”

“Not exactly. I’m Marlee Simmons,” she says. “I heard you lecture at Columbia a few years ago.”

“Oh, yes.” I return her smile. “I remember that talk.”

“You spoke about inciting incidents in our life and global good and world citizenship.” Marlee’s smile grows wider. “It changed my life. I was a senior about to graduate with a degree in business, but I knew there was something missing. I’d never experienced much to make me passionate about anything, but you said if nothing has incited you, seek it. Position yourself to be impassioned. After your lecture, I graduated and did two years in the Peace Corps.”

“That’s amazing.” I shake my head, still astounded and humbled when people tell me stories like this. “Good for you.”

“I want to spend my life finding ways to leverage my business training for the greater good.” She smiles at Sofie. “I interned with the Walsh Foundation last summer, and I’m helping Ms. Baston with charitable ventures for Haven.”

Sofie deliberately looks away from me to the other partygoers. What’s Haven? How is it connected to charity? What’s Sofie up to?

“Again, sorry to interrupt.” Marlee nods her head toward a table at the rooftop entrance. “I better get back over there, but just wanted to say thank you. You look lovely tonight, Ms. Baston.”

“Thanks, Marlee,” Sofie says with a small smile. “See you tomorrow.”

Marlee leaves behind a silence packed with questions and impressions I need to sort through, but I don’t have enough time. I’m about to ask Sofie about Haven when she surprises me with a question of her own.

“What’s that like?” Her voice is low and clear, free of sarcasm and the snark she usually dishes out. I hear only genuine curiosity.

“What’s what like?”

“To have people see you that way.” A laugh at her own expense slips past Sofie’s lips. “Uncle Martin compared you to Walsh, which for him is the highest compliment he could pay a man, and he talked to me about my
Playboy
spread. And Marlee, whom I’ve worked with for weeks, gushed that you literally changed the course of her life with one lecture.”

Her unblinking stare rests on my face.

“I’m just wondering how it feels to affect people that way.”

I could spout some self-deprecating drivel, some false modesty, or pull out some trite phrase that would make me seem like it’s old hat to me now, but I don’t. If I want to see what’s going on beneath Sofie’s surface, I have to show her what goes on beneath mine.

“I’ll never get used to it.” I shake my head, sliding my hands into my pockets. “And I always want to check for a hidden camera because I assume Harold’s punking me.”

Sofie smiles, relaxing against the bar. I lean back beside her, waiting for her to say the next thing. To make the next move. I can tell she likes to take the lead, and I guess I can let her take it until she shows me she doesn’t know what to do with it.

“I heard that lecture, you know,” she says so softly I almost miss it in the party conversation going on around us. “The inciting incident, I mean.”

“You heard that?”

I’ve addressed Congress, done TED talks, and spoken before dignitaries and kings from all over the world, but at her words, I’m replaying that lecture in my head, wondering if she thought it was any good.

“I listened to it today.” She looks into her drink instead of at me. “Four of them actually.”

Did she say four? Today? And then it clicks for me—the thing I sensed teeming beneath the surface, the thing she’s hiding from the world. Maybe even from herself.

It’s hunger; a voracious appetite for more in a woman who has everything and who, I suspect, is starting to realize it will never be enough. Don’t underestimate the power of dissatisfaction. When someone like Sofie, who’s had everything culture tells us should make us happy—money, fame, prestige—realizes it doesn’t, one of two things happens. She dives deeper into cynicism, gives up on meaningful pursuit, and continues down that path. Or she starts poking around inside herself and at the world around her to see if there is more to this life than the things we acquire, the things we achieve. I believe, even though she may not even realize it herself, Sofie has chosen the latter. She’s searching for significance. That’s what draws me to her, because I recognize that. I
remember
that.

“Sofie, did you see the way Martin Bennett’s face lit up when he talked about Bennett Charities?” I wait for her nod. “And Marlee, the way she came alive talking about the Peace Corps? They’re doing what I call following the fire.”

“And what is that, exactly?”

“It’s figuring out what burns inside of you, and then letting it guide you.” My eyes probe her face. “What guides you, Sofie? What’s your fire?”

A tiny frown puckers her expression as the question challenges her.

“I’m not sure how to answer that.”

“Maybe not yet, but you will.”

She holds my glance for a few seconds before looking at the floor.

“So you think Uncle Martin has found his fire, huh?”

Does she think I don’t realize she deftly redirected the conversation away from her? Just this once, I’ll let her get away with it.

“Honestly, from what I observed tonight and have seen over the last few weeks,” I say, “I think not only has he found his fire, but that it’s going to guide him right into retirement even earlier than everyone thinks.”

Her eyes snap to my face, and maybe she knows what I’m about to say, but I’ll say it anyway.

“And that will bring this power struggle between Walsh and your father to a head sooner than later.”

“There’s no struggle.” Sofie licks her full lips, a quick swipe to make way for the lie she’s telling herself, but that doesn’t fool me. “Daddy knows Bennett Enterprises passes to Walsh.”