Desire Collection: November Books 1 - 4. Charlene SandsЧитать онлайн книгу.
for yourself,” she blurted out, making a conscious effort to look around the room. Photographs of him with famous people were mixed in with expensive-looking paintings and pictures of his buildings.
After a pause that was so quiet she was sure he could hear her pulse pounding, he said, “Was there any doubt?”
It sounded so cocky that she jerked back to look at him. He had a wolf’s grin on his face, but then everything about him softened and she almost saw the boy she’d known. “I work hard for what I have, but let’s be honest—I started from a place higher than almost everyone else, thanks to my parents.”
A little bit of the anxiety loosened in her chest. Yes, he had always been the privileged son of privileged people. But the Eric she remembered had been almost embarrassed by that fact. His parents hadn’t raised him to be an entitled, spoiled brat. How much of that boy still existed inside of him? Or was he the kind of man who hired a beautiful receptionist—or even a mildly attractive office manager—just to get her in bed?
She didn’t want him to be like that. If he was, she wasn’t sure she could destroy her fondest memories of him with reality. “How are your parents? I know they still exchange Christmas cards with my parents.”
Eric sighed, an action of extreme exaggeration that made him look younger. “They’re fine. They’re disappointed I didn’t manage to get married and start producing grandchildren, but they’re fine.” Before she could process that statement, he asked, “Your folks?”
“Doing well. I don’t know how much your parents have shared with you, but after you went away to school, my father started selling houses. Your father opened the door for him,” she added, always mindful of what the Jenners had done for her family. “It turned out there was a huge market for bilingual real estate agents and Dad was able to capitalize on that. He owns an agency in Wicker Park. Mom stays home with my children now. They spoil each other rotten.”
His eyes widened before he turned away from her and strode toward his desk. Each step put physical distance between them—but there was no missing the emotional distance that went up like a wall around him.
This was all casual small talk, every bit of it. But there was something else going on that Sofia couldn’t put her finger on. When he’d complained about his parents wanting grandbabies, it hadn’t sounded quite right. And the look in his eyes when she’d mentioned her kids? On anyone else it would’ve been longing. She couldn’t believe that someone like Eric Jenner, who literally had the world at his feet, would be interested in an old acquaintance’s babies.
He didn’t sit at the desk, didn’t turn around. Instead, he stared out at the lake. Although it was still early, she could see a few boats out on the water, ready to enjoy the beautiful summer day. “I hadn’t heard that you’d gotten married. Congratulations.” His voice was level—unfeeling, almost.
“Oh.” She couldn’t help the dejected noise that escaped. Eric half turned, his silhouette outlined in sunshine. “I’m not. I mean, I was. But he...he died.” No matter how long it’d been, her voice caught every time she had to state that fact out loud. “Seventeen months ago.” Not that she was counting the days—the hours—since the worst day of her life.
She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. If she did this quickly, it wouldn’t hurt so badly. That was the theory, anyway. “I don’t know if you’d ever heard of him—David Bingham? We worked at a real estate agency up in Evanston.”
He turned and took a step toward her and for a second, she thought he was going to fold her into his arms and she was going to let him. But he pulled up short. “Sofia,” he said, his tone gentle. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. How are you doing?”
That wasn’t small talk. That was an honest question from one of her oldest friends. God, she’d missed Eric.
It was so tempting to lie and smooth over the awkward moment with platitudes. Lord knew Eric was probably looking for an easy answer.
But none of her answers were easy. “That’s why I’m here. My twins are—”
“Twins?” he cut her off, his eyes bugging out of his head. “How old?”
“Fifteen months.”
He let out a low whistle of appreciation as his gaze traveled the length of her body. Her cheeks warmed at his leisurely inspection but then his face shuttered again. “I can’t even imagine how difficult that must have been for you. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“I...thank you. It’s been hard. Which,” she went on before he could distract her from her purpose again with his kind eyes and kinder words, “is why I’m here. David and I sold houses together and since he passed I just...can’t. I need a job with regular hours and a steady paycheck to provide for my children.” There. She’d gotten her spiel out and it’d only hurt a little.
“What are their names?”
“Adelina and Eduardo, although I call them Addy and Eddy—which my mom hates.” She pulled her phone out of her handbag and called up the most recent picture, of the twins in the bath with matching grins, wet hair sticking straight up. “They’re officially toddlers now. Mom watches them but I think she’s outnumbered most days. I’d love to hire a nanny to help out.” And pay off the bills that were piling up and put a little away for the kids’ college funds and...
The list of problems money would solve for her was long. Even at the best of times, real estate involved odd hours and an unpredictable income. But if an agent couldn’t sell a house without sobbing in the car, then the income got very predictable. Zero.
Eric took the phone. She watched him carefully as he tilted the screen and studied their little faces. “They look like you,” he said. “Beautiful.”
Her face flushed at the sincere compliment. “Thank you. They’ve kept me going.”
Because if she hadn’t had two helpless little babies that needed to be fed and rocked and loved, she might’ve curled into a ball and given up. The numbing depression and crushing panic attacks were never far, but Addy and Eddy were more than just her children. They were David’s children—all she had left of him. She couldn’t let him down. She couldn’t let herself down.
So she’d kept moving forward—one day, one hour, sometimes even just one minute at a time. It’d gotten easier. That didn’t make it easy, though.
Eric stared at the shot of her babies for a long moment before finally motioning Sofia to one of the plush leather seats before his desk. “And you want to try your hand at office management? This isn’t a typical real estate office.”
She lifted her chin again. “Mr. Jenner—”
“Eric, Sofia. We know each other too well for formalities, don’t you think?” It was a challenge, the way he said it. “I’m not sure I could think of you as Mrs. Bingham, anyway. You’ll always be Sofia Cortés to me.”
She understood because she wanted to keep him as that fun, sweet boy in her mind forever. But she couldn’t afford to romanticize the potential billionaire employer sitting behind his executive desk and she couldn’t afford to let him romanticize her.
“That’s who I was,” she said, her words coming out more gently than she meant for them to. “But that’s not who I am now. We’ve grown up, you and I. We’re not the same kids splashing in the pool we used to be and I need this job.”
His gaze met hers and she saw something there that she didn’t want to think too deeply about. “Then it’s yours.”
This was a mistake. Eric knew it before the words had left his mouth. But by then, it was too late.
He had just offered the position of office manager to a woman he wasn’t entirely sure was qualified.
That