Twenty minutes later, Sophie was sitting in Orvil’s office, wrapping up her conversation with him. He turned out to be surprisingly charming and genuinely funny, a far cry from the bosshole persona Taylor had described.
He had burst into laughter when Sophie revealed the category under which he had been nominated and quickly surmised that it must have been his newest hire who put his name forward. Sophie maintained her professionalism, neither confirming nor denying his guess, which only seemed to amuse him further.
He not only agreed to be featured in her column but expressed a commitment to improving his management style and participating in the auction.
“Guess it’s a good wake-up call, isn’t it?” he’d joked during their conversation.
Sophie found herself genuinely liking him; his self-awareness and easy-going humor were disarming. By the end of their meeting, it was clear that Orvil was more than willing to embrace the challenge, promising to strive for a less bosshole-like reputation.
The last interview of the day took Sophie to an unlikely venue—a gritty biker bar in the East Village, known for its rough charm and secretive patrons. The person she was meeting reportedly had a secret so compelling that the nominator thought it was high time it was shared with the world. Sophie herself was in the dark about the nature of the secret, which added an element of suspense to the task.
As she pushed open the heavy door of the bar at two in the afternoon, the sound of a bell echoed sharply through the air.
“Not open yet,” a gruff voice announced from somewhere within the dimly lit interior.
“I’m not here to drink,” Sophie responded, scanning the shadows to locate the source of the voice.
Her question was quickly answered when a man stepped out from a hallway, his presence commanding immediate attention. He could have been a character straight from the thriller she and Stone had been reading, with tattoos covering every visible inch of his skin, including his bald head, creating a striking montage of ink and muscle.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, his tone guarded. “You seem a bit lost.”
“Umm. I’m here to speak to a Connor Jenkins,” Sophie stated, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
“My friends call me Con,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he sized her up. “Since you’re not a friend yet, you can call me Jenks. It helps me keep my friends and…acquaintances…separate.”
“Fair enough,” Sophie replied, offering a small smile. “I hope before I leave, you might consider me more friend than foe.”
“I’m listening,” he said, folding his arms.
Sophie smiled prettily, eager to make a good impression. “My name is Sophie E. Clark, and I’m a professional daydreamer.”
He grunted out a laugh. “Ain’t nobody ever told me that was a job option when I was growing up. If they had, I might have chosen a different career path than… Well, the one I ended up on.”
Someone who uses the wordscareer pathin a sentence couldn’t be all bad. “I’m currently writing feature stories about gentlemen who have been nominated as swoon-worthy, breathing book boyfriends.” Sophie’s gut told her that to get him to say yes, she’d really have to emphasize the romantic allure of being nominated. Appeal to his male ego. “Someone thinks you’re super cute.”
“Cute is a fighting word where I come from,” Jenks retorted. “You didn’t just walk into my bar to pick a fight, did you?”
“Or sexy,” Sophie corrected quickly. “They probably thought of you as sexy, which is definitely more fitting for a biker than cute.”
“Let me save you some time. I’ve sworn off romance. And I ain’t interested in associating with a fluff piece who calls herself a professional daydreamer. No offense,” Jenks said dismissively.
“Some taken,” Sophie replied, keeping her tone calm and professional while not being a pushover. “Is there any way I can persuade you to reconsider? The person who nominated you mentioned that you were both book boyfriend-worthy and harboring a secret that needed to be shared.”
“What the fuck did you say?” Jenks snapped, his demeanor shifting instantly.
“I said, whoever nominated you mentioned you have a secret that needs to be told,” Sophie repeated, sensing the sudden escalation. “Not a bad secret. More like a secret that gets in the way of romance blooming.”
“Who the fuck told you that?” he demanded, swiftly pulling a gun from behind the counter and aiming it squarely at her.
Sophie squeaked, stepping back and groping for the door handle. “I genuinely have no idea. I only show up to do the interviews based on the nominations.”
“Well, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Jenks growled, his voice low and threatening. “You’re gonna walk out of here alive because I like your gumption walking into a biker bar alone wearing that. But if I so much as hear a whisper about my secret getting out, I’ll hold you personally responsible. You do not want to be on my enemy list, darling.”
“That’s fair,” Sophie managed to say, her voice trembling. “But I promise, if your secret does get out, it won’t be from me. I don’t even know what it is. If I did, I might have reconsidered this visit because it seems like it’s a doozy.”
He chuckled darkly. “Doesn’t matter if you know or not. Now get out, before I change my mind.”
Sophie didn’t need to be told twice. She turned and fled, not stopping until she was safely out of the bar and several blocks away. Gasping for breath, shaking from adrenaline, she very much regretted not having Stone by her side today. What had she been thinking, asking a man like Jenks to agree to tell his secret? A smart person would have taken one look, known he was bad news, and spewed something about having the wrong address.
