The Hero + Vegas = No Regrets

A New York brunch can be just brunch—a get-together with friends to carb off a hangover or go through the Sunday papers. But today isn’t just brunch. I can tell by the way Leo—one of my five best friends—is nervously fingering his collar. And by the way his new fiancée, Jules, is shifting her weight from hip to hip.

In fairness, the stakes are high today. We—Leo’s friends-slash-brothers in all but blood—will be meeting Jules’ best friend for the first time. It’s going to be fine. I’m sure of it. But the happy couple wants it to be more than fine.

“What do you think, Worth?” Jules asks. “Is it too obvious to put Fisher next to Sophia?”

I glance between Jules and Efa, the only two women in the room. “Obvious how?” I ask, picking my words carefully. I’m not sure exactly what should be obvious.

“That we’re setting them up,” Efa says, thwacking me on the arm as she leans forward on the table.

“I think it’s fine with Worth on the other side of her,” Jules says, answering her own question. “Like, she’s not going to think we’re setting her up with Worth and Fisher.”

I push my hands through my hair, trying to think what to make of that statement, when there’s a rush of noise by the door.

I glance around to see… the top of a woman’s head. She has long blonde hair that reaches the floor as she bends over to pull off a heel and toss it on the ground.

“I have to take these shoes off. They’re not made for walking. I was trying to be ladylike and refined, but you can take the girl out of Cincinnati⁠—”

She straightens and we lock eyes. She’s beautiful. Her blonde hair is lighter at the front, like she’s spent the entire summer outside. And I can’t tear my gaze from her mouth—dusky-pink lips that form an almost-perfect circle as she stares back at me. I trace a line around the edge of her lips in my mind. A smattering of freckles kiss the bridge of her nose, and her hair is long and loose. I have to fight a full-body shudder at the thought of how it would feel against my skin.

Jesus, I want to stalk right over to her, back her up against the wall, and kiss her into Wednesday of next week. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt such a visceral, primal urge to be close to a woman in my life.

In fact, visceral, primal urges aren’t the norm for me at all. That’s exactly what makes me good in a crisis. I’m a cool head. A logical thinker. I don’t make rash decisions.

I don’t get the sudden urge to possess a woman. Not until today.

I’m vaguely aware of chatter behind me as the woman and I stare at each other like we’re sharing the exact same thoughts. All of a sudden, Efa pulls the beauty into a hug, effectively breaking our eye contact and bringing me back to the moment.

“Worth!” Jules practically bellows. “Meet my best friend in the entire world, Sophia.” She turns to Sophia. “I’m sitting you next to Worth, because honestly, he’s the best man in the world after Leo⁠—”

“Hey,” Efa calls from across the room. “What about Bennett?”

“You didn’t let me finish my sentence. Whoever said the British are polite never met you!”

Efa and Jules dissolve into laughter, and Sophia’s eyes grow wide. She glances over at me, confused. I want to go to her, assure her that Efa and Jules are joking and there’s nothing to be concerned about, but before I put one foot in front of the other, she starts toward me.

“Hi,” she says, her smile blinding like I’m looking at the sun or something. She seems to be surrounded by lightness, like she’s glowing. I hear Bryan Ferry in the background, singing about being a slave to love—or am I imagining it? I need to snap the fuck out of whatever this is or I’m going to start seeing bluebirds lifting her napkin into her lap and squirrels pulling out her chair.

“Hey,” I say. Normally I’d hug anyone introduced to me by Efa or Jules, but I can’t risk touching Sophia. Instead, I hold out my hand, like I’m in a fucking boardroom.

I’m an idiot.

A fucking idiot.

Surprisingly, her smile widens, like offering to shake her hand is even better than scoring the winning touchdown at the Super Bowl. We stare at each other for a beat, oblivious to what’s going on around us. I’m vaguely aware of more people at the door and the clinking of glasses, but I have no desire to move out of the bubble I find myself in—we’ve found ourselves in.

Sophia slides her hand into mine and a small gasp escapes her lips. A growl reverberates in my chest. Her hand feels so soft, so tiny, so… mine, it’s difficult to describe.

Jules breaks the moment by shouting, “Turn this music off, Leo. Put on something fun.” Then she takes Sophia’s free hand and pulls her away from me. Sophia glances back over her shoulder, and I can’t do anything but stare at her: the way her hair falls down her back, wavy and loose, like water running over stones; the way her jeans hug her ass in exactly the way I want to; the way I can feel her hand in mine, even now when she’s across the room.

“Bryan Ferry is fucking cool,” Leo replies.

He’s right. Bryan Ferry is fucking cool. Although I never thought so until just now.

Everyone arrives except Byron, who’s rarely in New York. He’s messaged the group to say he’s in Acapulco. I’m probably the only one who knows that actually means he’s in Colorado. Long story.

Jules guides us to our seats. We all have place cards. Now, I like the fact that our group of six is expanding to include the women who have fallen for my best friends. Things are bound to shift and change, and I’m okay with that too. I also really like Efa and Jules. But place cards? Next we’ll be wearing tuxedos for brunch.

I scan the place settings and find my name next to Sophia’s. Okay, so maybe place cards aren’t such a bad thing. Fisher sits down on her other side—which is when Jules and Efa’s excited chatter about setting up Sophia with Fisher comes back to me.

Sophia is meant for Fisher. Not me.

A dull kernel of disappointment lodges in my gut, and I try to shake it off as everyone takes their seats around the table. How can I be disappointed? Fisher is a great guy. I love him like a brother. He’s the life and soul of the party, creative but with a business brain. In personality, he’s almost my exact opposite. Jules is Sophia’s best friend. If Jules thinks Fisher is a good fit for her, she must be right.

This is fine. This is how it’s meant to be. Fisher and Sophia. Perfect.

I pull in a breath and sit. I try to tune Sophia out as she sits next to me. I leave her to talk to Fisher and half listen to the chatter around the table. Mostly, I look out across the Manhattan skyline, thinking about the meetings I have coming up this week. There will be a lot of them, because I just found out the property developer who I invested in to convert an old hotel on Ninth Street into an apartment block has disappeared. With a chunk of my money.

Investing in people is my job, and that always comes with a degree of risk. But I’m surprised by this guy. Ninth Street has a lot of potential. In the end, I won’t be too much out of pocket—I own the building and he sacrifices his shares in the project because he’s disappeared and stolen money. Trouble is, I can’t really put a price tag on the time it’s going to take to figure out a new plan. I have enough on my plate.

“Worth?” a voice calls, and I’m brought back to the moment.

I turn to find Sophia looking right at me, blue eyes sparkling and impossibly bright, impossibly beguiling. She glances between my eyes and my mouth, then smiles wide when she realizes I don’t know what she’s asked. “Please could you pass the butter?”

“Butter,” is all I can say, but I don’t move. I can’t help it. It’s like her stare has me turned to stone.

She laughs, and it’s such a sweet sound, I can’t help but smile. “Butter,” I say again, and force myself to look away long enough to locate the little dish. I slide it next to her plate, not daring to look at her again.

Fisher and Sophia.

But this time I can’t zone out. This time, I’m aware of every movement and sound she makes. It’s like I’m tuned into her frequency and can’t do anything about it because my dial is broken. I’m completely aware of everything about the woman sitting next to me.

“Are you really going to wait two years for that rooftop to be ready to marry your fiancée?” Sophia asks Leo.

“Good point,” I say. “I vote Leo will do anything Jules wants.”

Sophia laughs again, and I want to pull out my phone and record the sound, ready to replay it over and over when I’m back at the brownstone tonight.

“Sounds like a sensible man,” Bennett says.

Jules and Leo talk wedding plans. I’m so happy for them. They’re both really good people who are meant for each other, better together than they are apart. I glance at Fisher and Sophia. Will I say the same about them? The idea grates like I’ve put the wrong key in a lock.

Sophia turns to me. “So, what’s your story, Worth? You the strong and silent type?”

I frown slightly. Is this my chance to impress the woman next to me? Or should I say something so she hates me and focuses on Fisher—the man her best friend thinks she’s best suited to? “I’m not sure what type I am,” I say, choosing neutrality over either strategy. “I think I should know all the options before I commit.”

“Oh,” she says. “A commitment-phobe, then,” she says.

She’d never think that if she knew the thoughts I’d been having about her since I laid eyes on her.

“So far we have Strong and Silent and Commitment-phobe,” I reply. “What are my other choices?” A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth and her cheeks pink.

“I’m being rude,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

I shake my head. “Now I’m sorry if that’s how I made you feel. The last thing I’d want to do is make you feel like you’re being anything but… perfect.” The word steals my breath from my lungs and my attention circles the word. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. “I was trying to draw this conversation out for as long as possible. I thought if I didn’t answer your question right away, you’d talk to me a little longer.”

Her smile blooms and she lifts her chin slightly. “That’s a nice thing to say.”

I nod. “It’s the truth.”

“Worth always tells the truth,” Leo says from across the table. The seemingly intimate conversation we were having disintegrates.

“Always?” Sophia narrows her eyes in challenge.

“No,” I confess.

“You do,” Leo protests, his tone a little sharp.

“No one can ever tell the truth all the time. It’s impossible.” I glance over at Leo, but his attention is now refocused on Fisher and Jules. They’re laughing at something, but all I care about is that I have Sophia’s attention.

“What’s the last lie you told?” she asks me.

I pull in a breath and sit back in my chair. “Someone who works for me handed in a report and I told them they did a great job.”

“And they hadn’t?” Sophia asks.

“No. It was a just-okay job. But it was their first time doing this type of work and I didn’t want them to be discouraged, so I lied.”

“You exaggerated,” she says.

Our voices have lowered, and Sophia has sat back in her chair too. We’ve slightly separated ourselves from the rest of the table, so only she and I can hear what each other is saying.

“What about you?” I ask. “What’s the last lie you told?”

That you thought Fisher was attractive when Jules brought up his picture from his Instagram? I mentally suggest. Not that I know that Jules brought up his picture from his Instagram. But Jules has clearly been laying the foundations for a connection between Fisher and Sophia.

“I told my mom I was looking forward to going back to Cincinnati next weekend.”

I want to know more. I want to know everything. Where did she go to college, when did she move to New York, what she does for a living, what kind of movies she likes?

Breathe, Worth. Chill the fuck out.

“You don’t like going back?” I ask.

She pauses to think about this for a second. “I do, I just don’t want to go next weekend.”

“But you have to?”

She shakes her head. “No, but my mom asked me to come back, which she never does.”

I nod. I understand the feeling of obligation that comes with family, but also, I wonder if she thinks her mom is going to give her bad news. Maybe I have a tendency to assume the worst, but I can only think that if her mom’s asking her to go back home, there’s a reason—and it’s unlikely to be celebrating a fresh coat of paint on their picket fence. But if she hasn’t figured that out, I don’t want to bring it up. The last thing I want to do is create anxiety when there’s no solution but time.

“What do you do?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

“I work for Saks,” she says. “In their finance department. It’s boring as hell, but I get a good discount.”

I laugh and catch her watching me the way I watched her when she blushed—like she’s fascinated by me.

Is it wishful thinking on my part?

I glance at Fisher. He doesn’t seem to notice that Sophia and I are talking. Frankly, if he was into her, she wouldn’t have had an opportunity to ask me to pass the butter. Fisher is super charming when he’s interested in a woman, and far from subtle.

“What about you? How do you spend your days?” she asks.

“I invest in startups and small businesses.”

“You’re a hero investor?” she asks, her voice lifting. Her chin juts slightly, emphasizing her full lips.

She’s insanely lovely.

“I’m not sure I’ve been called a hero before.”

Her eyebrows pulse up, and I want to cup her neck and press my lips to her forehead. What the hell is the matter with me? “Angel,” she says on a laugh. “I meant angel investor.”

“Angel, hero, Worth—you can call me anything you like,” I say, physically incapable of not flirting with her.

Her breath catches and she bites down on her lip. I can’t take my eyes from her, even though I know I should look away.

She’s meant for Fisher, not me.

I shouldn’t be so transparent in my attraction to her. This is not who I am. I’m calm and considered and thoughtful. But something about her sweeps all of what I’m supposed to be from the table and leaves… I’m not sure what.

“Do you enjoy it?” she asks.

“I do,” I say. I don’t want to bore her with my business dealings. She works in finance and clearly isn’t enthusiastic about it.

“Tell me why. Is it your calling? Do you do it to fill the time, or because you’re good at it?”

I pause, wondering if she’s just being polite or whether she really wants to know. Her eyes widen and she nods, answering my unasked question.

“For lots of reasons. I like meeting different people. I like sizing them up and trying to figure out whether they’ve got what it takes to succeed. I enjoying hearing about really innovative ideas and solutions for problems I never even knew existed. I like spotting issues in the businesses people are trying to build and helping them solve those issues. I like… helping people.”

We stare at each other wordlessly for a beat, then two.

“I’ve never heard anyone talk about their work like that,” Sophia says eventually.

“Like what?”

“Like you love it. Like it’s your life’s passion. Like it’s part of who you are.”

“Really?”

She nods. Her long lashes brush her cheeks when she blinks. “It’s… I like it.”

Something heats inside me. I can’t get enough of this girl. I’m vaguely aware that this conversation, just between the two of us, is probably not what Jules had in mind today. But I’m acutely aware that I can’t bring myself to do what I normally would: put Jules’ feelings ahead of my own and join the discussion with the wider group. I’m greedy for Sophia. I want her all to myself.

“I’m glad,” I say. “It’s true.”

Jules raises her voice slightly—something about a rooftop—and it catches Sophia’s attention.

The spell between us is broken. We both refocus on the group.

For the first time ever, I resent the presence of my friends. But how can I? Without them I wouldn’t have even met Sophia.

“I don’t want it to be… like a business function,” Jules says. “I think if we have a big wedding, you’re going to feel obligated to invite people for business reasons.”

“You need to have a destination wedding,” I say, like I haven’t been completely distracted by the woman next to me for most of this brunch. “That solves the problem.”

“Not really,” Sophia replies. “Destination weddings still have big invite lists—you just kind of hope not everyone comes.” She’s right. Of course she’s right.

“An impromptu destination wedding,” Fisher says. I try not to show my irritation at the fact that Fisher has solved Sophia’s wrinkle in my suggestion. Maybe they are the perfect fit for each other and this feeling in my gut for Sophia is food poisoning or something.

“Vegas,” everyone around the table choruses.

Fisher’s suggestion is a winner. Good for him.

There are huge discussions about whether we can fly to Vegas today or next weekend. After calendar-checking and Bennett managing to get ahold of Byron, it’s agreed that the following weekend we should have brunch again, which might–slash-will turn into an impromptu wedding.

“Oh god, no,” Sophia says. I turn and sweep my eyes down her body, wondering what the crisis is. “I’m in Cincinnati next weekend.”

“You are?” Jules says. “But it’s Thanksgiving in a couple of weeks. You don’t normally go home that often.”

I don’t think I’ve ever been to Cincinnati. Maybe I should visit.

That’s where she grew up. Got braces. Had her first kiss. I grin to myself. I’d love to see a picture of her when she was younger.

“I know,” she says. “Mom asked us all to go back—and she never asks, so we’re all going. Well, Oliver’s already there, but me and Noah are making the trip.”

“Will your dad be there?”

“I have no idea. But I won’t be able to make brunch next weekend,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

My mind races ahead, wondering if I could arrange a plane to take her from Cincinnati to Vegas and back.

“The next weekend, then,” Jules says, interrupting my internal planning. “That’s a little more realistic if I want to get a dress anyway.”

Cells are pulled out again and calendars rechecked. Everyone agrees that two weekends from now, Bennett is going to take us all to Vegas, and Leo and Jules are going to get married.

All I’m focused on is the fact that I’m going to have to wait two weeks until I see Sophia again.