“A hot nerd?” Howie echoed, arching his eyebrows as if the concept was utterly foreign. “I’m pretty sure that’s a joke. Sorry to say, someone’s playing you.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. You’re smart, right?” Sophie challenged, tilting her head.
“Well, I do own this place,” he conceded, a flicker of pride passing through his eyes.
“And I can vouch you’re cute. So, the only other thing left to know is—are you single?”
He sighed, a hint of resignation in his expression. “It appears that way.”
Sophie forced a smile, her mind drifting back to Stone. Despite her resolve to push forward, the uncertainty of his return lingered, making her feel more alone than she cared to admit. The thrill of the interview was tainted by a gnawing sense of abandonment. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was dancing on the edge of something fragile, and without Stone’s steady presence, it felt dangerously close to breaking.
Sophie caught a glimpse of something deeper, a hint of sadness in Howie’s eyes, suggesting a recent heartbreak. “Would you be open to staying single until the end of the year? And quite possibly participating in a bachelor’s auction for charity?”
“You want me to agree to be auctioned off?” Howie asked, his tone laced with skepticism, his eyes reflecting total horror at the idea.
“It’s for a fantastic cause—Childhood Cancer Research.”
Howie scratched the back of his neck. “Damn. How about I just donate a large sum instead?”
“Or you could embrace a bit of adventure and do both. Who knows, maybe you’ll find the love of your life in the process,” Sophie suggested, twinkling with happiness because she knew she had another book boyfriend on the hook.
He scoffed, shaking his head. “That would be a long shot. My idiosyncrasies seem to be a bit much for women to handle.”
“Somehow, I doubt that’s true for every woman,” Sophie countered, challenging his self-deprecation. “It sounds likeyou’ve just been focusing on the wrong women. Trust me, there are plenty out there who are searching for their very own nerd in shining armor.”
“Are you one of them?” Howie asked.
“I am single, if that’s what you’re asking,” Sophie replied, maintaining a professional tone that would have made Stone proud. “But my contract explicitly states I cannot date any of the men I feature, at least not until after the auction is over.”
“If I agree to participate, will you then tell me who nominated me?” he queried, leaning forward slightly.
“Sorry, no. But I have the feeling it’s someone who really cares about you and wants to see you happy.”
“That would be my mother,” Howie remarked, a resigned chuckle escaping him.
Sophie laughed. “How about I get a photo first, and then I’ll interview you?”
One hour later, Sophie found herself in the bustling lobby of her next interview location. “Hi, I’m here to see Mr. Orvil,” she announced to the receptionist. “I’m—”
“Sophie E. Clark, President of Book Boyfriend Connoisseurs,” chirped the receptionist, a perky redhead with an infectious smile. “I’m Taylor. I’m a huge fan of yours. I belong to the club but haven’t made it to a meeting yet. Every time I plan to go, he”—she nodded toward a stern-looking closed door— “invents some urgent task that absolutely requires me to work late.”
“Hi, Taylor, it’s great to meet a fellow club member. I really do hope you can make it to our next meeting. I’ll look forward to seeing you there,” Sophie replied warmly.
Taylor leaned closer. “Before I tell him you’re here,” she said in a low conspiratorial whisper, “I just need to know…you’re not going to tell him I nominated him for the Bosshole Book Boyfriend hero, are you?” Her eyes darted nervously toward the same closed door.
Sophie made a motion of zipping her lips. “Mum’s the word.”
“Okay. Here’s the scoop: he’s undeniably sexy, pays fabulously, and is super generous at Christmas. Loves his mom, too—all signs of a redeemable guy. But as a boss… Well, he’s pretty much a classic bosshole. For instance, he barks orders like a crusty drill sergeant, he’s grumpier than any cat I’ve ever owned, and he expects me to purchase gifts for his revolving door of women,” Taylor finished in a tone of resignation.
Sophie grinned. “Sounds like he is a perfect candidate for the boyfriend trope.”
Taylor’s expression brightened. “I was bummed to miss the club meeting where you discussed the rom-com with that trope. I had so much I could have added to the conversation.”
“We should definitely talk book boyfriends over a drink sometime then,” Sophie offered. “I’m always game for a book chat.”
“Thanks. I’d love that,” Taylor replied, her eyes grateful. “Back to my bosshole dilemma, though. I’m just filling in for his regular admin, who must have been a saint because nothing I do ever meets the mark. She’s on a year’s sabbatical, and here I am, six months deep in this madness. My neighbor pushed me to apply for this job—never again will I take career advice from an eighty-year-old, that’s for sure.”
**
