The Call Boy I Met in Paris – Episode 35
Sophie stared at Justin’s offered shoulder as though comfort were more frightening than confrontation. Fighting required anger, arguments, and sharp decisions. Accepting tenderness meant admitting how deeply her father’s rejection had hurt.
She leaned toward him at last. Justin’s arm closed around her carefully, giving her room to retreat. When she did not, he drew her closer and felt the tension in her body begin to loosen.
“I’m not crying,” she muttered against his shirt. The damp warmth spreading through the fabric contradicted her, but Justin did not point it out.
“Of course not,” he said. “The house must have a leaking ceiling.” His quiet humor earned a breath that was almost a laugh.
Sophie pulled back long enough to reach for her drink. Justin tried to stop her, but she twisted away with drunken determination. “Slow down.”
“No, you slow down,” she replied, though he had barely touched his own glass. She poured more, missed the rim, and frowned at the table as if it had moved.
Justin took the bottle. “I think you’ve had enough.” He expected an argument and received one immediately.
“No, you’re lame. Give it back.” Sophie reached across him, nearly sliding from the couch. He caught her around the waist before she fell.
The movement brought their faces close. Alcohol had softened her caution, but the trust in her unfocused gaze affected him more than desire. Justin would not use a moment she might barely remember.
“You always take care of everything,” she whispered. “The boutique. Derek. That ridiculous house.” She seemed to sense a pattern even if she could not identify the power behind it.
“Tonight I’m only taking care of you.” He set the bottle beyond her reach and steadied her as she sagged against him.
Sophie tried to insist she was fine. The sentence dissolved halfway through, and her head dropped onto his shoulder. Justin waited for another protest, but her breathing slowed.
“Sophie?” He touched her cheek lightly. “Sophie?” She answered with an unintelligible sound and curled closer.
“Fuck,” Justin murmured, though affection softened the curse. “Let’s get you some rest.”
He lifted her from the couch. Sophie’s arms moved instinctively around his neck, and the unconscious trust tightened something in his chest.
The house contained several immaculate bedrooms, none of them yet personal. Justin chose the brightest, pulled back the covers, and laid her down with care.
She caught his sleeve before he could leave. “Don’t go back to the roommates,” she mumbled. The absurdity of the lie returned at the worst possible moment.
“I’m staying here,” he promised. Her hand relaxed, and within seconds she was asleep.
Justin remained beside the bed, looking at the woman who had lost one family rather than betray the husband she believed she had hired. The temporary contract no longer felt remotely temporary to him.
His phone lit with a message from Patrick confirming that Lake Enterprises had prepared a long-term agreement for Swift Architecture. Justin approved it, then looked back at Sophie and wondered how she would react when the company that could save her called in the morning.