Page 8 of Power Play
I sigh. “It’s Sophie.”
“I figured.”
“I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“Then tell her.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It never is.”
She places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
“Just be honest with her. It’s the least she deserves.”
I nod, appreciating her support.
As we re-enter the ballroom, the crowd parts, and there she is.
Sophie.
She stands across the room, radiant in a red dress that hugs her curves, her hair cascading over her shoulders in an abundance of blonde curls, a vision of elegance and strength. My heart skips a beat. “Right.”
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, the noise fades, and the crowd disappears, and it’s just us.
She offers me a small smile, and I feel a flicker of hope.
Maybe tonight will be different. Maybe tonight she’ll see the side of me that isn’t the playboy social media makes me out to be.
CHAPTER FIVE
SOPHIE
I’ve never felt more like a decorative lampshade in my life.
The dress is very red. Mia called it ‘powerful.’ I call it‘alarmingly tight.’It was hanging in my wardrobe, tags still on, when she ambushed me with it and a bottle of prosecco last night.
And now I’m here, standing on a hotel rooftop that’s the epitome of money and expensive roses, drinking overpriced wine, and avoiding eye contact with every hockey player in the building.
Especially one.
Mia’s somewhere near the stage, schmoozing sponsors with Dylan. They look disgustingly happy, like a rom-com finale in motion. She’s glowing. He’s besotted. It’s enough to make me gag and grin all at once.
Me? I’m trying to blend into the wallpaper and not spill wine down myself.
“Sophie Hart,” a voice says behind me, all low amusement and far too familiar.
My heart does a stupid little kick.
“Samuel Murphy,” I reply without turning. “Still alive then?”
“Physically. Emotionally? Jury’s out.”
I roll my eyes but smile anyway. He’s standing beside me now, in a tux sharp enough to wound. And those stupid blue eyes? They’re so unfair.
He leans on the bar, shoulder brushing mine. “You’re stunning.”
“You noticed.”
