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The Charm Offensive
Cari Lynn Webb
Winning her over means winning everythingSophie Callahan is PI Brad Harrington’s best lead to tracking down the man he’s been hired to bring to justice: Sophie’s own thieving father. But when Brad arrives at The Pampered Pooch, just behind a litter of stray kittens, the pet-store owner is the big surprise. This scrappy, huge-hearted woman with charm to spare touches gets to Brad thein a way no one has ever been able to before. She spends her life finding—and making—homes for others: abandoned pets; , her young niece. He’ll have to tell her why he’s really here. Which means he’ll have to choose between his sail-away dreams and the chance to build a forever home—with her.
Winning her over means winning everything
Sophie Callahan is PI Brad Harrington’s best lead to tracking down the man he’s been hired to bring to justice: Sophie’s own thieving father. But when Brad arrives at The Pampered Pooch, just behind a litter of stray kittens, the pet-store owner is the big surprise. This scrappy, huge-hearted woman with charm to spare gets to Brad in a way no one has ever been able to before. She spends her life finding—and making—homes for others: abandoned pets, her young niece. He’ll have to tell her why he’s really here. Which means he’ll have to choose between his sail-away dreams and the chance to build a forever home—with her.
“What do you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything.” Brad pointed to the stairs. “But there’s a little girl down there who thinks of you as her world. As her everything. As her—”
“Don’t say it.” Sophie lunged forward and pressed her palm over his mouth. “I’m better as Ella’s aunt.”
Brad pulled her hand off his mouth, anchoring her with their linked fingers. She searched his face, watched the emotions in his gaze and the words backing up against his closed lips. Maybe he finally understood.
“I lied.” His voice was low. “I do want something from you.”
Sophie waited. The attic seemed to be closing in on her. She shivered. “What?”
Brad tugged her close. “This.”
Sophie stopped fighting, stopped running and stopped hiding. There was so much she couldn’t be. Couldn’t have. But this moment, she’d take this.
Dear Reader (#uf90b98c7-e577-5a00-bd3a-3c91258254f4),
As a child, our family hopscotched across the US for my father’s job. Living in Pittsburgh meant begging to be allowed into my brother’s backyard snow huts and cheering on the Steelers. Houston brought rodeos and the largest flying cockroaches I’ve ever seen. Northern California introduced us to towering redwood trees and Lake Tahoe. And Hawaii gave us Christmas Day at the beach and a sense of aloha that remains with me today. My parents’ relocations continued after my brothers and I moved out and I’ve been fortunate to experience even more new cities on my trips to visit them.
But one place has been a longtime favorite: San Francisco. I loved to visit the city as a child and I still cherish the time I lived there after college—ever grateful for the lasting friendships I made. Friends who today I consider family. I fell in love in the city and seventeen years later, my husband and I still talk about our first date to the Orpheum Theatre followed by a toast at The Fairmont Hotel.
I’m so thrilled to be able to write a series set in San Francisco with characters who discover all they’ve ever needed can be found in the City by the Bay, if they only open their hearts.
I love to connect with readers. Check my website to learn more about my upcoming books and sign up for email book announcements, or chat with me on Facebook (carilynnwebb (https://www.facebook.com/carilynnwebb)) or Twitter (@carilynnwebb (https://twitter.com/carilynnwebb)). Let me know what your favorite city is and I’ll add it to my ever-expanding places-to-visit list.
Happy reading!
Cari Lynn Webb
www.CariLynnWebb.com (http://www.CariLynnWebb.com)
The Charm Offensive
Cari Lynn Webb
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CARI LYNN WEBB lives in South Carolina with her husband, daughters and assorted four-legged family members. She’s been blessed to see the power of true love in her grandparents’ seventy-year marriage and her parents’ marriage of over fifty years. She knows love isn’t always sweet and perfect—it can be challenging, complicated and risky. But she believes happily-ever-afters are worth fighting for.
To my daughter, Emma, whose laughter brightens every day. I love you more than you know. Don’t ever stop laughing.
Special thanks to Melinda Curtis and Anna J. Stewart for answering every plotting SOS whether it was a late-night text, early morning email or last-minute Skype session. And thanks to my husband and family for their continuous encouragement and inspiration.
Contents
Cover (#ud2cedcec-9e07-540f-9245-e863f1401b7d)
Back Cover Text (#u1eadeec7-508a-5ad0-8816-b8e8447c670b)
Introduction (#u42d6d8c5-eec2-58f5-bb91-0e6e8bea46b3)
Dear Reader (#u90920732-ad8b-52d0-9b60-b48d66f84716)
Title Page (#u9db2a12a-fa95-5452-862c-a8f084708153)
About the Author (#uc3c7ec27-3b3c-507c-9b84-0df457d17c9e)
Dedication (#u62986ca1-4d09-5399-abe0-c9e248bda910)
CHAPTER ONE (#u1604157a-458f-5a4e-837d-0cffede35082)
CHAPTER TWO (#u902670de-484c-5353-9a45-5b411aaebaba)
CHAPTER THREE (#ue601bcd0-1a3e-59b7-a00d-10a782a45141)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ub8ca7c17-265e-5105-8eed-8af2e43795e7)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ud2a09168-0c0e-5c09-bf5c-dc52b95db7bd)
CHAPTER SIX (#u5a1a9ed6-076a-598e-b5a0-6245cdf7bdc1)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#uf90b98c7-e577-5a00-bd3a-3c91258254f4)
“THE WIRE TRANSFER was completed yesterday at the request of George Callahan.” The financial advisor for Pacific Bank and Trust in San Francisco watched Sophie Callahan over a bland manila file folder. “The account is empty.”
Empty. Sophie shifted sideways in the leather chair and crossed her legs as if that might minimize the impact of the woman’s firm yet unapologetic voice. An ache wrapped around Sophie’s throat and squeezed. “You’re certain?”
“Yes. The funds have been withdrawn.” She slid a floral tissue box closer to Sophie as if on cue. As if the efficient financial advisor had played out this scenario many times before and the tissues were standard procedure.
Sophie straightened her shoulders, refusing to slide back into the supple leather chair. The leather was pliant, not because it was expensive but rather from all the customers who’d collapsed after Beth Perkins, senior financial advisor, personally delivered their nightmares. “George Callahan is my father.”
“According to our paperwork, he’s joint owner of the savings account.” Beth opened the manila folder and spun the documents to face Sophie.
Sophie recognized the flourish of her grandmother’s signature in black ink on the bottom of the top page. Sophie’s grandmother had added Sophie to her savings account seven years ago, the very same day her grandmother had told Sophie about her terminal cancer. Her grandmother had never mentioned that her son, George Callahan, was also listed on the savings account. And Sophie had been too busy, first caring for her grandmother those final months, then building her pet-store business and watching her three-year-old niece, to worry about who had access to the bank account.
She struggled now to make herself heard. “All of the money has been moved, then?”
And by all of the money, Sophie referred to the funds her grandmother’s trust had released into the savings account at the first of the year with specific instructions to use for the purchase of the property where Sophie and her niece, Ella, lived. Sophie also referred to the additional money from the Pampered Pooch that she’d deposited at the end of every week so that one day, one day exactly twenty-nine days from now, Sophie would hold the title to the building in her own hands. And Ella would never again have to worry about losing the only home she’d ever known.
Sophie couldn’t let Ella down. She couldn’t fail her only niece. She couldn’t become another rotted branch on the careless Callahan family tree.
“Yes, all of the funds have been transferred from the account.” Beth put on a pair of trendy violet-framed glasses.
Ella would’ve loved the smooth lightweight glasses. But the oval shape only sharpened the woman’s gaze, as if that alone would force Sophie to focus.
Sophie was focused. On her empty bank account.
“There’s a balance due for the wire-transfer fee.” Beth closed the folder and pulled out her keyboard. “Usually that’s deducted from the funds, but for some reason that didn’t happen yesterday. Do you intend to clear that now?”
Sophie jerked back against the chair. “A fee?”
Her father had drained their joint savings account and left Sophie to pay the fee. Her back seemed to be pinned against the leather chair like the large Post-it note tacked to Beth’s bulletin board with “I love you mommy” written in blue marker and stamped with a greasy fingerprint. Sophie had never written notes like that to her parents. Notes like that refused to stick to vodka and gin bottles. As for fingerprints—well, generations of Callahan fingerprints were well documented at police stations across the nation.
Perhaps Sophie should’ve written notes like that to her father. Perhaps if she’d been a better daughter, George Callahan might’ve been a better father. A better father would not have drained the savings account without telling anyone. A better daughter would’ve been more diligent in anticipating such a disaster.
Beth stopped typing and looked across the desk at Sophie. “Would you like me to deduct the fee from your checking account?”
Sophie nodded, her head going up and down like one of those bobblehead dogs stuck to a vinyl dashboard. Because ready agreement was expected from people in stunned stupors. Shock scratched at her throat, stealing her voice and sucking every molecule of fresh air in the cubicle.
Beth’s smile was more of a flat grin, a quick twitch of acknowledgment that neither upset her glasses nor loosened her hair-sprayed updo.
Sophie’s account could not be empty. Not after all the sleepless nights, tears and hard work. That money had ensured Ella a home. That money had ensured that Ella would be safe.
Sophie slipped her fingers under her legs to keep herself still. To keep herself from wringing her hands or running her palms over her jeans in some falsely soothing gesture. She peeled her shoulders off the chair, leaned forward, then lied through a grin that revealed all of her teeth. “My father is always looking for the best return on our money.”
Beth offered another quick twitch of a grin. The twitch of a person who recognized a lie.
Sophie continued, “It was certainly thoughtful of him to move the money to a higher-yield bond.”
The only bond Sophie’s father knew was a jail bond. Had he taken the money to avoid prison? He’d never mentioned jail when he’d called for his weekly catch-up with Ella two nights ago. He’d mentioned a plan to Sophie.
But her father always had a plan. Always some new scheme in the works. That was nothing new. He’d told Sophie not to worry. But she always worried. And he’d told Sophie not to panic. Too late for that.
If only Sophie hadn’t been distracted by an eighty-pound poodle petrified by bathwater, she might’ve asked more questions about her father’s latest scheme. Then she might’ve been able to squelch the fear curdling up through her now. Sophie squeezed her leg. “Who doesn’t want more money these days, right?”
Beth kept up her rapid typing. The hard strike of each finger against the key seemed to punctuate every lie Sophie uttered. “We offer some of the best rates in the city.” Beth pushed a receipt across the desk. “It’s unfortunate your father didn’t meet with me. I could’ve helped him.”
It was unfortunate her father hadn’t spoken to anyone, mainly Sophie. It was unfortunate that Sophie had believed her money had been secure. It was unfortunate her father excelled at finding loopholes and using them to his advantage. He’d just never used Sophie as his advantage before.
Until now.
Beth removed her glasses and considered Sophie. “I certainly hope your father didn’t lock up the funds for a certain period of time given your balloon payment is due in less than four weeks.”
Sophie stretched her dry lips. “There’s one thing my father knows and that’s money.”
Her father knew how to invest in business ventures that stretched the legal limits, use small loans to place bets at racetracks and make timely deposits into slot machines in Reno.
But Sophie would not lose their home or her business. She’d been homeless at Ella’s age. No child should experience that depth of fear, especially her niece, who faced every day with courage and a smile. Without Ella’s smile, Sophie just might forget to smile herself. And if that happened, Sophie feared she might lose more than their home. She just might lose herself.
Sophie pushed out of the chair. She had to get outside. She needed to find more air. She needed to find something to stop the buzzing in her head. She needed to find her father. “I’ll have the money for the loan payment by the end of the month.”
