The Sister (The Boss Book 6)

by Abigail Barnette

“He has other kids—one married my high school crush. If you can believe that luck,” I joked grimly.

  Holli raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, lucky her, as you relax in the hot tub on your Hamptons compound that’s owned by your sex machine husband with his huge—”

  “Whoa! Whoa!” Mom held up her hands. “I do not want to hear about any of that.”

  “Oh, please, like you’re not going to play Never Have I Ever with us at your bachelorette party.” Holli punctuated her statement with a long swig from her bottle.

  Mom turned back to me. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this while we were still in Calumet?”

  “There really wasn’t a good time. I was really freaked out the night it happened, and the next day, you were all engaged. I didn’t want to shit on your happiness.”

  She looked heartbroken. “Soph, honey. It’s not shitting on my happiness to be upset about your father dying, whether you were close to him or not.”

  “I wouldn’t call it being ‘not close’. I would call it being a total nonentity to him.” How could that hurt and not hurt at the same time? “But I also needed some time to think. I wasn’t withholding to spite you.”

  “I would never think that,” Mom promised.

  “I just don’t want to make any rash decisions about all of this. I have to decide what to do from here. Do I contact my…his kids? They haven’t contacted me.” That had been the constant loop in my head since the night of my big panic attack freak out. If they knew I existed and they didn’t contact me, did they really want to know me? Or were they thinking the same thing about me? Could I handle the rejection if they didn’t want to know me? It wasn’t like I wasn’t used to being rejected by my father’s family. I’d been practicing my whole life.

  “You don’t have to decide that, now,” Holli said.

  “That’s right,” Mom agreed. “You need to think of yourself first. Protect yourself.”

  “Protect myself?” I had a sudden, vivid mental image of my daddy issues running at me like that army from Braveheart.

  “You’ve had a couple of rough years,” Holli reminded me. “If you’re not ready to launch yourself into another vat of complicated, boiling emotions, nobody is going to think less of you.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I closed my eyes and tipped my head back as I sank farther into the water. “At least you guys are up to speed, now. So…let’s talk about something else.”

  “Yes!” Holli agreed, slapping the water. “Let’s talk about your trip to Las Vegas!”

  I flinched as she sang the last word.

  Mom looked to me. “What is she talking about? Are you going to Vegas?”

  “No, actually. You are.” I gave Holli a glance so pointed I could have performed laparoscopic surgery with it. “I just didn’t get a chance to tell you.”

  “What?” Mom sounded confused and delighted, but that was no guarantee she’d agree to actually go.

  “Neil and I wanted to do something nice for the two of you.” At a specifically determined time which happens to coincide with our lover coming for a visit. “We have a friend coming to visit for a week in August, and he has his own driver. We thought we could spare Tony and send you guys to Vegas. There are some really, really nice suites at the Bellagio.”

  “Oh, Sophie…I don’t know.” Mom’s reaction was not what I had expected. The mom I knew would jump at the chance for a free vacation. “I’m not sure Tony will go for it.”

  “Does he not like Vegas?” I asked, my mind racing. “You guys can go somewhere else. We have an apartment in Venice—”

  “Do you not want me around when your friend comes?” Mom frowned. “If you think Tony and I will cramp your style, we can stay out of your hair.”

  “It’s not that at all. And you’ve already met him. It’s not like I’m ashamed of you or something. It’s El-Mudad. You met him last year.” From the corner of my eye, I caught Holli looking between the two of us like she was following the ball in a tennis match.

  “The guy who came and stayed with you while Neil was in the hospital?” There was a slight tone of judgment there.

  I ignored it. I knew what my mom had thought; that El-Mudad and I had screwed around while Neil had been in the hospital. Though that wasn’t the case, it was better than her knowing the alternative. I could live a thousand lifetimes without my mother being aware of the threesomes I had with my husband and another guy, and she could live two thousand lifetimes in the same state of ignorant bliss. We had a silent agreement, even if she didn’t know about it.

  Holli knew, though, and she jumped in. “You’ve got to go to Vegas, Becky. It’s the complete tits. Big ones.”

  “I just don’t know that Tony is going to be okay with taking money from his employer to run off on a vacation.” She shook her head. “I mean, I’ll talk to him—”

  “Tell him it’s an engagement present,” Holli suggested. “What’s he going to do? Say thanks for the all-expenses-paid trip, but no thanks, I don’t like having a good time?”

  “Oh, he likes having a good time,” Mom said with a knowing swig from her bottle.

  “Ew.” It was bad enough that I’d found out about their relationship by walking in on them. Of course, it had kind of been payback from the universe for how Emma had found out about me. I still had a hard time laughing at that memory.

  “I’m not dead from the waist down,” Mom horrifyingly went on. “If I have to hear about your husband being a sex machine—”

  “Husbands are off the table!” I declared.

  “I don’t have a husband,” Holli pointed out cheerfully. “I have a wife. So, I can talk about our sex life in detail, right?”

  “I have to work with your wife. And you already tell me too much,” I reminded her. It’s very difficult to look someone in the eye after hearing all about the thorough work over she’d given my best friend the night before. It was even worse when the texts, were still rolling in during that eye contact.

  Holli scowled. “No sex talk allowed, no weed allowed. I’ve been in funner hot tubs in convents.”

  Mom and I both gave Holli the look.

  “What? I have,” Holli insisted, adding, “You don’t know my life.”

  “Like I said, I’ll talk to Tony. But I can’t promise anything.” She paused. “And Holli?”

  Holli tilted her head.

  “I never said no weed allowed.”

  “I just have to get something out of my purse real quick.” Holli shot to her feet, water streaming from her body as she hurried across the patio.

  “Mom!” I gasped in shock.

  She shrugged. “What can I say? It’s a whole new me. You’ll just have to get used to it.”

  Chapter Five

  We celebrated the release of our first print issue with a party at Vandal. The hip venue on Bowery wasn’t exactly local to our Brooklyn office, but Deja had insisted that it would be the perfect treat for our staff. Looking around the space, with its boldly patterned walls, jewel-toned velvet armchairs and banquettes, and a bar overflowing with booze, I had to agree. Vandal was more than fit to host a magazine’s launch party.

  “This is the coolest,” Holli said, leaning against the bar. She looked amazing in her chunky red patent leather ankle boots and sleek magenta Valentino dress. The long, satiny sleeves and unique double-scoop neckline accentuated the length of her arms and neck. Holli was born with the physique of a model and the brain of that stoner kid from Clueless.

  “Neil didn’t come?” she asked, motioning to the bartender. He sprinted past other people waiting to be served, drawn by Holli’s tractor beam sexuality.

  “No, he couldn’t make it.” My gaze flickered to all the bottles on the shelves, and she was astute enough to follow my gaze.

  “Gotcha.” She nodded to the bartender. “Three whisky sours. And she’s paying.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s an open bar. I’m already picking up the tab.”

  Holli shrugged. “I know. I just like saying it.�
��

  She looked over my shoulder, and I turned to spot Deja chatting with one of our advertising guys. She laughed loudly at something and threw her head back. She looked more like a rock star than an editor. With a breathy sigh, Holli mused, “Isn’t she hot?”

  “She is,” I agreed. One, because it was true, two, because Holli expected me to, and three, because that was the friendship we had. Holli knew I would never try to swoop in and steal her wife. Friends didn’t do that stuff.

  Not that it would have worked to try in the first place. Holli and Deja were so ridiculously in love with each other, they were basically fused at the soul.

  “Hey…is everything okay with you two?” Holli asked.

  “With who two?” It took me a blink to realize she meant Deja. “Oh. Oh, yeah. I think. Why?”

  “No reason. Just…I don’t know.” Holli looked suddenly very interested in the chunky teal Lucite bracelet around her wrist. “Maybe she’s kind of tense because of this whole print issue thing. It’s a pretty big responsibility to have.”

  Okay, record scratch “Yeah, it is,” I agreed.

  “Right, but like…” Holli’s smile faltered then came back as a careful reproduction of a real one. “It’s not the same for you.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked cautiously.

  “It’s just stressful, you know?” Holli shrugged. “There’s a lot riding on this.”

  My stomach soured. “You think I wasn’t stressed about this?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m just saying that maybe, due to your level of involvement…” She sighed and pressed her palm to her forehead. “I’m not saying this right.”

  “You’re saying it just fine.” Did I sound defensive? Why would I be? I had no right. “I don’t do as much work at the magazine as she does. I know that.”

  Then, why did I feel so hollow, hearing my best friend say it?

  “Your feelings are hurt,” she said flatly, so I couldn’t deny it.

  “You didn’t hurt my feelings. I hurt them.” I looked down, embarrassed. “It’s just that—”

  “Three whisky sours,” the bartender interrupted, sliding the glasses toward us.

  Holli intercepted the one that glided my way. “Ah-ah. These are mine.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Can I get a seltzer water, please?”

  “Sure thing,” he said, and moved away. But not far enough that I felt comfortable resuming my conversation with Holli. He’d be back too fast. I waited awkwardly until he handed me my drink, then I turned back to Holli.

  “You didn’t hurt my feelings,” I tried, again. “I’m disappointed in myself. I could be doing more. I should be doing more.”

  “Then…do more?” Holli asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “I know it’s hard because you’re all the way out in the Hamptons, but you’re the one who moved out of the city and started a magazine in Brooklyn.”

  “I know,” I agreed.

  “And I get that you’re busy with family stuff, but maybe Deja and I might be busy with family stuff, too?” she went on gently.

  “Right.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

  “Maybe the two of you need to have a sit down soon,” Holli suggested. “Just to talk about expectations versus reality. I think if she had some kind of idea of what she can count on—”

  “Hey! There’s my co-editor in chief!” Deja approached from behind, and I turned, hoping my smile would catch up with me. “Did I not tell you this place would be perfect?”

  “You were right.” I raised my glass as though I were toasting her. “Who put it all together? We should kick a free ad their way. Or was that what you were talking to Jonathan about?”

  Deja frowned, and when I gestured to the man she’d just been speaking to, she asked, “Andrew?”

  Andrew. Damn it. Deja knew that. I should have known that, too. “Ugh, right. Andrew. I have such a hard time remembering everyone’s names.”

  “I’m sure Neil doesn’t know the name of everyone who works at Elwood and Stern,” Holli said with an awkward laugh.

  “Well, Elwood and Stern isn’t a staff of sixty people,” Deja responded flatly. Her eyes grew wide and apologetic as she added, “But Sophie doesn’t work with some of our departments.”

  “Just like you’re more familiar with some departments than others,” I agreed with relief. For a second, I’d thought Deja had been doing one of those cool, casual nineteenth-century ballroom burns. I was terrible at both recognizing and doling those out.

  “Anyhow, no, I wasn’t talking to Andrew about that. But you’re right, I should,” Deja said, getting back to the original question. “It was this great little company that’s owned by Emily in accounting’s brother.”

  I nodded like I knew who Emily in accounting was.

  There were only two people in accounting.

  My face flushed. “Excuse me. I just got really hot all of a sudden.”

  “It’s roasting in here,” Holli agreed. “All of these people can’t possibly work for you guys.”

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, and headed quickly for the bathroom. I felt like a total fraud. I didn’t belong at a party for a magazine I barely ran. How could I even pretend to?

  If Deja had been snarky with me, it was fully warranted. I really didn’t work at Mode. I showed up, threw my ideas around, looked at pictures and pieces that I had no idea about, then breezed away like the most self-important dick on the planet. And I’d worked for the most self-important dick on the planet. Even she had put in longer hours and had more commitment than I had. So, I could throw a party. Big whoop. I hadn’t even thrown the party. I’d just paid somebody else to throw it.

  I wasn’t a boss. I was a benefactor.

  Safely enclosed in a bathroom stall, I set a timer on my phone. A quick three-minute cry, then I would free up the spot for someone who actually had to pee. I leaned against the wall, grabbed some toilet tissue to blot under my eyes, and let my face crumple.

  What the hell was I doing with my life? Twenty-eight years old and what had I done so far? I’d used my rich husband’s money to buy a magazine so I could play pretend with the college degree I’d worked so hard to get. And now, I was bored with it? Four years ago, editor-in-chief of a fashion magazine I had founded would have been a dream life I would have hopelessly fantasized about. It had become a reality, and I didn’t want it.

  Oh, god. I don’t want the magazine.

  But it was all I knew. My first job had been at Porteras. My second job was owning Mode.

  Even though I didn’t feel better when my phone chirped, I delicately cleaned up my under-eye area, cleared my throat, set my shoulders, and flushed for cover. Then, I stepped out and smiled at one of the girls waiting. “Hey, Amy!” I said, because I could thankfully remember her name. “Are you loving this party?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “So great. I think Adam Levine is here!”

  “Oh…cool.” Wait, since when don’t I care about party crashers? And famous ones?

  What was happening to me? It was like the Sophie I used to be and the Sophie I was now were totally incompatible people.

  As I staggered out of the bathroom, my first instinct was to tell Holli and Deja that I didn’t feel well and I needed to leave. But I’d ducked out on Mode enough as it was. I would stay put until the DJ packed up his things. From now on, it was going to be total commitment.

  ****

  Despite the fact that I’d lived exclusively in the Fifth Avenue penthouse with Neil for close to a year before we’d bought our house, and despite the fact that we still spent the occasional night or weekend in the apartment, it always felt a little strange to be there on my own. Part of it had to do with the size and emptiness of the place. Then, there was the fact that it had been Neil’s marital home with his ex-wife, Elizabeth. Though I knew it was silly, I couldn’t help the occasional stab of jealousy when I slept in the bed they’d shared, got my clothes out of her side of the closet, or sa
t on the furniture she’d picked out. Those moments were fleeting, and I almost didn’t notice them anymore, but they seemed amplified when I was in the place alone. It was as if I needed Neil’s permission to be there, or I was intruding, somehow.

  And then, there was Emma. Or more accurately, there she wasn’t. Every time I entered a room, I expected to see her. With her feet curled beneath her in the living room. Slouching over a book at the kitchen island. Places where she used to be but couldn’t be anymore. It was like a haunting without the ghost.

  My heels clacked on the checkered marble floor in the foyer, and I tossed my purse and keys on the huge round table in the center. If the housekeeper had thought Neil was coming, there would have been a great big flower arrangement on it, but since it was just me, a tall, brightly colored glass sculpture stood there. I’d never seen it before. I dug out my phone and snapped a picture. I texted Neil, what is this ugly thing and when did you buy it? Then, I kicked off my shoes—Neil the neat freak wasn’t there to scold me—and headed for the kitchen.

  And because I’m a big, stupid baby, I turned every light in the house on as I went through the living room with its serene white furniture and the dining room with its table so long it could have hosted the Last Supper. I found dinner waiting in the refrigerator, along with neatly handwritten instructions about how to reheat it. By the time I slipped it into the oven, Neil had texted back.

  I haven’t seen it ages. Elizabeth bought it.

  Great. More Elizabeth all over the place.

  The weird thing was, I hadn’t really had a problem with Neil’s ex-wife until I’d met her. She’d been perfectly polite, and her life had moved on without Neil, so there was no reason for me to be threatened. Something about seeing the beautiful, poised socialite Neil had been madly in love with before me had shaken me up, and I’d only realized it after I’d tried to write it as a humorous anecdote in my second book. She’d told me that she’d read I’m Just The Girlfriend, and in hindsight, that had seemed gross and intrusive. While I was totally cool with thousands of strangers reading about the intimate details of Neil’s and my everyday life, she and Valerie were probably the only two people I didn’t want to read it. That horrible time when he was in and out of the hospital, near death for a few weeks, had been just Neil and me, alone. It was ours. Like the apartment, I didn’t like sharing it with Elizabeth, even in a passive way.