Marrying Mr. Wrong (Dirty Martini Running Club #3) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,14

week.”

“Already done,” she said.

Calloway stood, and I followed. We shook hands across the table.

He’d been straight to the point. No bullshit. I appreciated that. “We’ll be in touch.”

Sophie got up, juggling her belongings for a few seconds before seeming to find her balance. There was something strangely delightful about her. And why did she seem so familiar? It wasn’t because we’d met the other night. There was something else and it was driving me crazy that I couldn’t figure it out.

Calloway started to leave, then paused to wait for Sophie. She tried to deposit her notepad and pen in her handbag but wound up dropping both.

I rushed around the table and crouched to retrieve them for her right as she did the same, and our foreheads collided.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” She stood and rubbed her forehead, leaving her things on the ground.

I picked them up and handed them to her, heedless of the slight pain from her head knocking into mine. Her scent wafted over me, leaving me dumbstruck.

What was it about this girl?

“Thanks, Camden. I mean, Mr. Cox.” She tucked her things into her handbag and straightened her shoulders.

“Just Cox.”

“Right. Cox.” With a little nod, she turned and left with Calloway.

I watched her leave, once again mesmerized by the hypnotic sway of her hips and the bounce of her curls. Why was she so entrancing? A simple physical attraction to her didn’t explain it.

Or did it?

I’d been on a dating hiatus for several months. Women always wound up being more trouble than they were worth. But maybe it was time to have a woman in my bed again.

Specifically, that woman. Sophie Abbott.

Wait.

Why did I know that name?

I sat down, my eyes still lingering on the door she’d gone through. Did I know her from somewhere? She certainly wasn’t someone I’d known recently. I’d remember.

She’d recognized me at the hotel after I’d helped her down from the balcony. I hadn’t thought much about that—I was recognized in public occasionally—but was there another reason she knew who I was?

I searched my memory, thinking back further, to girls I’d known in college. Then high school. She couldn’t have been one of the girls I’d dated casually in my teens or twenties.

And then it hit me.

Curly blond pigtails and round cheeks. A girl named Sophie Abbott had lived on my street. We must have been eleven or twelve. Holy shit, was that her?

It had to be, and it explained everything. The first girl who’d ever given me a boner was Sophie Abbott.

And now look at her.

Who knew round-cheeked little girls could grow up to be… all that.

I indulged in a self-satisfied smile. The deal with Shepherd Calloway was as good as done. And Sophie Abbott didn’t know it yet, but she was going to make my earliest fantasy come true.

That fantasy, only dirtier.

6

Sophie

Amazing dress? Check.

Fabulous hair and makeup thanks to Nora? Check.

The bright lights of Vegas? Check.

Panties? Double check.

Not that I was wearing two pairs of panties. Just that I’d checked twice before leaving my room to make sure I was, in fact, wearing them.

I was.

Actually, today had been a surprisingly good luck sort of day. At least it had been since Mr. Calloway’s meeting with Camden Cox. That had been less than ideal, although not the total disaster it could have been. All I’d done was almost trip once, and then drop my pen and notepad.

Okay, so I’d basically head-butted him while we were both going for my pen, but it hadn’t even left a red spot, much less a bruise. I was totally fine.

I was firmly not thinking about the way it had felt to have his strong hand steadying me when I’d wobbled on my heels.

And since then, I’d been completely disaster free.

Now I sat with my friends in a swanky Las Vegas restaurant, feeling like a hottie in this deep purple dress, sipping a delicious martini. We’d been to the spa this afternoon for facials and manicures, then back to my room to change and get ready for dinner. That was where Nora’s handiwork had come in. She’d transformed me from cute-but-boring Sophie to Vegas Vixen Sophie.

I liked being Vegas Vixen Sophie. It was fun.

Corban and Mr. Calloway sat at a nearby table, tolerating each other’s company, in a rather adorable attempt to give us girls the illusion that they weren’t hovering over their wives. Not that any of us minded. They weren’t intrusive, and the way they cast protective—and longing—glances at our table was just too