“Ms. Banister, correct?” John Granger said, stepping out from the shadows on the back porch where she had exited. He leaned lightly on his cane.
“Yes, Sophie Banister, and you are—?” She lifted her chin in a show of strength. She might be poor, but she wasn’t for sale as some rich man’s one night plaything.
“John Granger, at your service,” he said, taking her hand and bowing low.
Heat flooded her cheeks, and her confusion grew. What did he want? Was he mocking her?
“Nice to meet you,” she said, shifting her weight on her heels. Her feet were killing her, and all she wanted was her bed.
“I’m glad I finally got the chance,” Granger said, a smile on his full lips. “You didn’t make it easy.”
“Well, I had a job to do, and it’s getting late. I need to get home. What’s this about?” Sophie asked, glancing at her watch.
“It’s about a proposal. May I buy you a drink in the restaurant next door?” He tilted his head in that direction toward an expensive bistro that was still open.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I really need to get home to my baby daughter,” Sophie said, swallowing thickly as she leaned against the wall. She could have fallen over with exhaustion.
“I understand. I know you’re tired, and I won’t keep you long. I think you might be interested in what I have to say,” Granger said, a confident look on his face.
“Fine. I have to walk that way to catch the bus anyhow.”
“Wonderful.” He offered her his arm, the cane in his other hand.
Sophie paused for a beat and then took it. At least they would be in public, and she would make her excuse as soon as she could to get away after the drink.
“So, how long have you lived in Chicago? Do you like it?” He asked as they walked at a brisk pace.
She could tell he had a slight limp, but he barely seemed to need the assistance of the cane. She wondered what injury he had.
Small snowflakes tumbled into Sophie’s face as the predicted snow began for the night. “All my life. I did like it. Now, it’s very expensive for me.” She bit her lip, kicking herself for saying that. What if he thought she was a gold digger?
“I see. It is a lovely place—full of life and cold tonight, but I’m used to that.” Granger laughed. “Here we are.”
He opened the front door of the bistro for her, and she walked in, sighing as the warmth hit her face. She had never been in this place or in any of Chicago’s upscale dining spots. The restaurant was posh with leather booths and gleaming silverware. Gold edging gleamed from every surface, or so it seemed.
“Table for two, Louis,” Granger said to the tuxedo clad host.
“Of course, Mr. Granger. Follow me.” He bowed and then led the way.
Sophie closed her mouth after realizing it was hanging open. They knew John Granger here. She was out of her league.
Granger’s hand was on the small of her back, gently guiding her through the low lit restaurant. She quite liked the sensation, in spite of her trepidation about what he might want or expect from her.
“Is this table to your liking?” The host pointed out a cozy corner booth.
“Yes, is it for you, Sophie?” Granger asked, studying her as if her opinion truly mattered.
“It’s perfect,” she mumbled.
“Good,” Granger said.
They both sat down. Sophie studied the man across from her. He was handsome—wickedly so, her best friend Abby would have said. His looks were gypsy-esque—dark and Other. Granger was night to her Irish Catholic day. Sophie was all red hair, green eyes, freckles, and pale skin.
“I know your time is valuable, so I’ll get right to it.” John Granger leaned forward and folded his hands on the table.
Just then, a waiter appeared. Granger ordered them both dry martinis and an appetizer of fondue.
“Thank you. I must admit that I’m confused about why you wanted to speak to me,” Sophie said, fighting not to twist her fingers together as she always did when she was nervous.
“I understand. I’ll get right to the point. Please hear me out. What I ask might seem a little shocking,” Granger said, a tight smile on his face.
Chapter Two
Sophie nodded and waited a moment. What in the world could he possibly want to ask her that would shock her more than asking her to go to bed with him? That had to be what this was about, wasn’t it? It was a strange way of doing things, though. He could have already gotten to the point if spending the night with her was his aim. She was sure he could have most any woman he wanted in this city. Why would he choose her—a pale, quiet working class girl from Chicago whom he didn’t even know?
“I am coming up against a deadline in my personal life—an important one. My father is dying, and with his death, the family estate will be up in the air as things currently stand.” A deep frown drew his brows together.
Sophie nodded, not knowing what to say. What did this have to do with her?
“Though I’ve made money and plenty of it, and I’m a 27 year old man, that doesn’t matter in terms of the will my father has made. I’m the oldest of two sons, and the house—Haven House—will go to me when he dies, if certain stipulations are met. I must say that
