Sophie's Playboy Read online

  Lissa went right into her rant. "I hate when the grocery clerks waste bags. I mean, we have enough bags at home already, I don't need them to put one item in each bag. If you say to pack them fuller, they argue that the bag will break.

  Then they should have stronger bags!"

  "Hear, hear, Lissa. And it gets worse when they double bag."

  "Yeah! And you tell them not to and they ignore you like you don't matter."

  The calls continued. From waste of supermarket bags came complaints about sales clerks who ignore customers or move too slowly, which led to people who walk or drive or talk too slow.

  Halfway through the second hour, Sophie got her first repeat caller.

  "Thank you, Rick, for enlightening us. Melina, who's next?"

  "Parker on line three."

  "Go ahead, Parker. What's your rant?"

  "Wasted time."

  Even with so few words, Sophie recognized those warm tones. She grinned.

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  "Can you be more specific? Rick just told us about all the time we waste in the bathroom."

  "I'm talking about time wasted on the golf course. Golf should be played for the sport itself. Not to chit chat with your foursome. Not to stroll between holes. Not to take ten minutes to line up every putt."

  "Parker, are you obsessed with golf?"

  He chuckled, and sparks zinged through Sophie's middle.

  She swore his voice was familiar.

  "No, I'm not obsessed. But I guess I come pretty close."

  "Well, if we want to talk about waste and golf, lets talk about water and golf courses in the desert. That seems the height of wastefulness to me."

  "You don't think people who live near the desert should have the recreational outlet of golf?"

  Sophie ignored the flashing lights that indicated callers waiting. "You're phrasing the question wrong. Should we deplete a vital resource in an area where that resource is scarce, for a pastime that has no bearing on quantity or quality of life?"

  "Of course golf has a bearing on quality of life," Parker grumbled. "It lowers blood pressure, reduces stress, exercises the heart and lungs—"

  "—in heat over a hundred degrees, which forces everyone to drive carts rather than walk, thereby eliminating the health benefits."

  "Boy, you don't give an inch, do you?"

  "This is rant time, Parker. We're ranting."

  "Seems more to me like we're bantering."

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  Sophie grinned at his flirtatious tone. "This isn't dial-a-date, Parker. Try peddling it somewhere else. Thanks for calling." She hit a button. "Next caller is ... Jessica! Jessica, you're our last caller before the break."

  Sophie had a hard time concentrating on the rest of the show. Her mind kept conjuring Parker's creamy voice. She opened her Rave hour with comments on purchasing trendy clothes at second-hand shops, a way to avoid waste. That started a discussion on fashion. Melina told her at the break that she'd had to tell six callers complaints weren't allowed in the second half of the show, so Sophie made sure to state often that this was Rave Hour and only to call to praise, compliment, or thank someone or something.

  "The last caller we can take tonight is.... "She looked at Melina, whose dark eyes twinkled.

  "Parker," she mouthed, and held up four fingers.

  Sophie sighed audibly. "The last caller is Parker. Parker, don't you have enough to do?"

  "Nothing as fun as this," he teased. He wasn't on a cell phone anymore and that shower of sparks she'd come to expect was brighter this time.

  "I suppose you're calling to rave about golf."

  "Not this time. I'm calling," his voice lowered a register and Sophie shivered. "To see if this is dial-a-date."

  Sophie's tongue got caught in something. She saw Melina frantically signaling "dead air" and tried to think of a good comeback. She had to say no teasingly and sweetly, but God help her, she wanted to say yes.

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  "Are you a playboy, Parker?" She grimaced as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

  "Define playboy."

  Sophie thought of Biff, the purest form of the beast. "Rich, no real job, hangs around the club all day talking about investments and making dates."

  "Well—"

  She cut him off. "Dates a new woman every week, making it clear that he's only having fun, not looking for commitment.

  Seeks that fun wherever it can be found, whether on the water, in the mountains, or on a golf course."

  "I guess you have something against playboys?" He was a little less teasing now.

  Sophie remembered this was the Rave. She glanced at the clock and wrapped it up. "Of course I don't have anything against playboys, Parker. You serve a valuable function in the country's socioeconomic dynamic. And that ends the debut edition of Rant and Rave! If you enjoyed the show today, don't hesitate to let us know!" She read the station's phone number, e-mail and snail mail addresses, and signed off. "Call tomorrow! For Rant and Rave and WNRK radio, I'm Sophie Macgregor. Have a dynamite night!"

  Her music started with perfect timing. Sophie sat and listened until the commercial started. It was her music.

  Melina and the production manager had created and recorded it, but with luck everyone in town would associate it with Sophie Macgregor.

  "Exhausted?" Melina entered the booth, followed by a beaming Stevie.

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  Sophie stood and stretched. "No, energized. How do you guys think it went?"

  "Great."

  "Right on." Stevie added a thumbs up. "You never ran out of callers. There were no major glitches. You have a gift for timing and getting the callers off before they get redundant—

  and that's hard." He frowned. "What's with that Parker guy?

  You know him?"

  Sophie shook her head. "I don't think so. He sounds familiar, but I don't know anyone by that name."

  "Could be a made-up name."

  She hadn't thought of that. If it was a made-up name, it could be Biff. She thought of the golf game they'd had last month and how little he'd spoken. Her fault, of course, as she'd rambled on for most of the round. Even once she stopped, he hadn't said enough to cause tingles and sparks in her midsection. The man was seriously into his golf.

  Hmmm.

  She shrugged. "I'm not sure. Is it a problem?"

  Stevie's face cleared. "Not at all! There was some chemistry there. Perked things up. Not that they needed to be!" he rushed to add. Apparently, Stevie was used to appeasing personalities' egos.

  The travel host came in to start his program, and Sophie followed the others out. They went to Stevie's office and spent an hour dissecting the show, listening to taped sections and discussing ways to improve it. By the time Sophie got home, she was exhausted. But exhilarated, too. She saw big things coming down the pike.

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  * * * *

  Parker lounged on his suede sofa and half-listened to the financial reports on TV while he sipped a glass of wine. His mind kept straying to Sophie's show. He knew he'd have to work his schedule around it from now on.

  Chuck Whitmer had been at the club last week, whining into his martini about how Sophie had abandoned them.

  Parker had willingly lent a sympathetic ear and learned that her original little radio gig—which he'd happened upon while driving to pick up his sister's kids—had turned into a full-time program.

  He'd had fun this afternoon, egging her on, flirting without all the assumptions between them. Except Sophie's assumptions had gotten between them, anyway. Maybe he'd been too heavy on the golf.

  The phone rang and he balanced the glass of merlot on his stomach w
hile reaching for the receiver.

  "Hello?"

  "Hey, love."

  "Mare, hi. What's wrong?"

  "Nothing, I just wanted to catch up with you. We're both always going, going and when I see you, the kids are in the way." She sighed and he pictured her settling into her easy chair. She'd have a glass of water and a medical journal on the table next to her, and be rubbing her feet. "Now the hellions are in bed and I can talk without interruption."

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  Parker set his wine glass on the table and zapped the TV

  with the remote. "Is there something in particular to talk about?"

  She hesitated. "Maybe. I was wondering if you could pick the kids up again tomorrow."

  "You know I will, Mare, but you've got to slow down some." His sister was a wonderful mother, but had trouble with balance. She concentrated on work until the kids suffered, then concentrated on the kids until work suffered.

  She was cursed with two rambunctious boys and with being great at a demanding job.

  She sighed and Parker heard tears in the catch in her breath. "I know, Parker, but it's a bad time. This new office negotiation isn't going well. The docs are on my back all day unless I'm up there, and when I'm up there I can't get back here fast enough."

  "Let someone help you coordinate the Lowell office." He knew that was fruitless advice. Mare worked with warm-hearted, efficient people who panicked the instant some task crossed the boundaries of their jobs.

  Mare seemed to know he didn't need her response to that.

  "Thanks for picking them up tomorrow."

  "No problem."

  "Now, tell me how things are going for you."

  "Well, I picked up some stock in...."

  "Nooooo!" Her screech nearly cracked his wine glass, never mind his ear drum. "Anything but stocks! No investment talk!

  Something else, quick!"

  Parker smiled. "There is nothing else."

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  When she didn't respond, he could almost hear her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, there's nothing else? There's always something else. Some woman trying to get her talons into you, providing you with a great story to cheer me up with."

  "Nope. Vanessa took a powder."

  "You dumped her."

  "Wasn't anything to dump. I told her weeks ago I wasn't interested. She just doesn't like to see me coming on to someone else."

  "Ah-ha! So there is someone else!" she said gleefully.

  "Mare, you've got to stop living vicariously through me."

  "Nonsense. Give me the goods."

  Parker tried to think of something to tell her. He didn't want to deflate his Sophie bubble, but he knew his sister's persistence.

  "She doesn't like playboys," he finally admitted.

  Mare snorted. "Leaves you out, then."

  "Not necessarily."

  "Yeah. We'll see. There are few enough women who aren't after you, the ones who aren't are tough. You won't change her mind."

  "Am I that bad, Mare?" He knew he sounded wistful. She didn't answer for a minute, and that made him doubt himself even more.

  "She must be something, Park, to shake that famous Cornwall confidence."

  "She is, Mare. She is."

  Sophie was something, all right. He just didn't know why.

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  CHAPTER 3

  Sophie climbed out of her vintage Mercedes convertible and tugged the skirt of her red slip dress into place. She sighed wistfully as she closed the car door and activated the alarm. Bugger was a luxury she may have to do without, now that her pay had been cut. She could live frugally, if she had to, but the car was high maintenance.

  As was her former employer, she grumbled silently as she crossed the country club parking lot. She hadn't expected to ever return here. But Chuck had invited her to be his guest at some party, and had done such a good job groveling and flattering that she hadn't been able to refuse. She had, however, insisted on meeting him here.

  Chuck was waiting in the lobby, his trademark whiskey sour and unlit cigar in one hand, the other held out to her.

  "Ah, my lovely, my gracious Sophie." He grabbed her hand and bent over it, but Sophie pulled it away.

  "Give it up, Chuck. You aren't refined enough for that."

  He grinned. "I was hoping practice would make perfect."

  She snorted as they walked toward the Patriot Room.

  "Well, then, you need a lot more practice."

  Chuck's response slipped past her and she froze near the entrance to the parlor. A discreet sign next to the door announced the event—a Cornwall Foundation Cocktail Hour.

  Sophie managed not to turn on Chuck and tried to sound disinterested. "Cornwall Foundation? I didn't know that's what this was for."

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  "Sure. Biff gets approached for money all the time, now it's his turn." He sipped his drink. "Actually, tonight is more of a thank you to past patrons and a chance to see where the money goes."

  "Hm." Sophie let Chuck steer her into the room, her gaze sweeping it for Biff Cornwall. After their last encounter, she'd prefer not to have to talk to him.

  "Tell me again why you needed a date for this?"

  Chuck grinned wider. "For an opportunity to talk you into coming back."

  Sophie groaned. "Chuck, I told you I was done with MMT."

  "Even if your show flops?"

  Something flipped in her stomach. "What do you mean?

  Did you hear it? You think it's a flop?" They had done four shows, and everyone at the station thought things were going well. But the listeners were who counted.

  "Well...."

  "Sophie!" Darlene rushed up and gave her a faux embrace.

  "Your show is Fabulous! I never miss it. My stylist thinks it's a blast. She's waiting for a hair theme so she can complain about clients who dye their own hair." She tittered behind her hand. "Anyway, I think it's just so cool that you have your own radio show."

  Jason Wenrick stepped up behind Darlene. He smiled apologetically. "Darlene, honey, Sophie's not here to talk about her show."

  Sophie smiled back. "It's okay. I haven't had much direct listener feedback."

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  That was like an invitation to open the floodgates. A couple nearby began offering ideas for themes. The CEO of a media conglomerate, passing by, stopped to comment on the golf discussions—of which there had been many. To Sophie's combined dismay and delight, Parker had called on two additional days and somehow tied her theme to golf. Their discussions had become heated in one call, until Sophie caught Melina's signal that she'd been on with him for five minutes. The average call on her show was ninety-five seconds.

  Chuck stood nearby, his smile growing gradually dimmer until he looked quite depressed. Finally the crowd dispersed, leaving Sophie with several ideas and a glow of success.

  "Poor Chuck." She sat next to him on a love seat where he pouted into his drink. "What's the matter?"

  "I guess you'll never come back, will you?"

  "It's not like I haven't been telling you that."

  He shrugged. "But now I've seen you in the limelight. You belong there."

  Sophie looked at him, surprised. "Limelight? I wasn't in the limelight."

  He gestured to where they'd been standing. "What do you call being encircled by people who only want to talk to you?

  Touch the great new radio star? You're a celebrity."

  Now she laughed. "Oh, Chuck. That's funny. I'm nowhere close to celebrity. That was no different than schmoozing clients or investors. It was just schmoozing listeners. Second to sponsors, there's no one more important in radio land."

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  Still, she understood what he was getting at. "Chuck, you managed to get a very fine replacement in an unbelievably short time. And soon Christine will be ready for promotion."

  "It won't be the same."

  Exactly, Sophie thought, feeling giddy with the knowledge that she had done the right thing. "Maybe it will be better."

  Chuck sighed and downed the last of his watered-down whiskey sour. "I guess we can leave." He stood and held a hand out for Sophie.

  "You can't leave before the announcement."

  Sophie recognized that voice. It was Parker.

  Electricity made all the fine hairs on her body stand up.

  She turned, ready to banter, and was confused to see Biff Cornwall standing behind the loveseat. Was Biff the Parker that kept calling her show? He held her gaze and she noticed, for the first time, that his eyes were blue-gray. They went well with his all-American blond hair and light tan.

  So what? She shook off the stunned effects and put on her business persona.

  "What are you announcing?" Damn if she didn't sound like she was flirting. She determinedly kept her gaze off Chuck.

  Biff smiled smoothly, his charm at direct odds with his goofy name. That was part of the reason Sophie had never been receptive to him. His name was such a symbol of his role in life. But he was suave, she had to admit.

  "You'll have to wait for the announcement."

  His voice was cultured, Boston Brahmin and the best prep schools. Sophie tried to ignore the face and slick demeanor she'd been acquainted with for years and concentrate on his 39

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  voice. Unfortunately, Biff nodded at someone's signal and left without excusing himself.

  That was odd.

  Sophie narrowed her eyes at his retreating back. Playboy that he was, running through relationships and money like he had an unlimited supply of both—and he did—Sophie had never seen him less than polite. Perfect breeding never failed.

  Until now. Sophie wondered why he wouldn't have taken two seconds to excuse himself. To avoid speaking again? Her suspicions grew.

  "I'm going to get a drink," Sophie told Chuck.

  "Go ahead." He waved her off without looking at her, eyeing a blonde on the other side of the room. Sophie rolled her eyes. She was superfluous now that she'd convinced her old boss he'd never bring her back to work.