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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.
    She got her Kahlua and cream and retreated to a quiet spot on the side of the room. She watched the maneuvering going on in various groups, with this business person trying to woo that one, and women and men alike trying to hook up with some target of the opposite—and, in a few cases, same—
    sex.
    Did she miss it? She pondered that as she sipped her drink. It had been only a few weeks, but she noticed a lack of tension in her middle, like a tightly coiled spring, ready to sproing into action at the slightest provocation. She didn't have to be "on" anymore, prepared to snag a new client or investor or, occasionally, partner.
    One of those former partners caught her eye and saluted her with his own drink. Sophie gave a friendly but non-40
    Sophie's Playboy
    by Natalie Damschroder
    inviting smile back. She'd engaged in an occasional dalliance with a few members of The Club, most of them typical playboys living off their parents' money or their parents'
    nepotism, looking for the next good time. They were fun for a few days or weeks, but not what she was ultimately looking for.
    Biff stood near the front of the room and raised his hands for attention. Only a few words pitched slightly higher than the general noise quieted the group. Sophie had to be impressed by his presence. He oozed leadership.
    When he spoke, explaining the purpose of the Cornwall Foundation and thanking the attendees for their support, Sophie closed her eyes and tried to determine if Biff and Parker were the same person.
    Biff's voice seemed less deep, less rich. Parker's was more mellow, less self-congratulatory.
    She didn't know why it bothered her so much to think they could be the same guy. Parker was just a voice in her headphones. She knew nothing about him. She wasn't interested in dating him.
    Liar , a voice—her sister's voice—echoed in her head. Okay, so if she was mildly interested, and Parker was Biff, there was no hope. Biff was so not her type, she thought, studying him.
    Okay, he was cute. Despite his polish, his hair usually did its own thing and his suits often—like now—were a bit askew.
    Remembering him on the golf course, she acknowledged that Polo did stretch rather nicely over his lean pecs, and though he didn't have much beef on him, what he had was well done.
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    Sophie's Playboy
    by Natalie Damschroder
    Geez, she couldn't believe she was thinking like that! The fact remained, Biff Cornwall was a playboy. He dated a variety of beautiful women frequently, used his money to have fun, and passed them off when he was done.
    Not that Sophie had heard many complaints. She could see three women from where she was standing who had dated Biff in the last year. Two were happily married—one already pregnant—and the third preparing the wedding of the year for next month.
    Weddings. A pang hit Sophie in the chest, hard enough to annoy her. She deposited her glass on an end table and snuck out the French doors that led to the garden.
    The cool air was typical of the Boston spring. The sun sat just above the horizon, lighting memories of its warmth earlier in the day. Sophie wandered among the gilt-edged flowers, feeling finally at peace. Except for the unexpected chill that pebbled her arms.
    "Kinda cool to be out here in that dress."
    Sophie closed her eyes. It was That Voice, accompanied by warm, rough hands on her shoulders. Hands that made That Voice seem like a triple-A battery. The golden electricity running through Sophie now was nine-volt.
    She turned, stunned to see Biff. Hadn't she just decided he wasn't Parker? But what about the voice? The electricity? She narrowed