The Sister (The Boss Book 6)

by Abigail Barnette

  “Okay, first of all? I never had to give you my kidney. I wanted to,” I stated firmly. “And if you think I’m just going to drop off a bunch of gifts and disappear from your life, I’m not going to. Unless that’s what you want.”

  “It’s not what you want?” she asked, more of that tough exterior crumbling.

  “No. It’s not.” I wished there was some way I could make her trust me. “I just found out I have sisters. After a lifetime of being an only child. I didn’t grow up with you guys, and the bond you all have is something that I missed out on. But I don’t want to keep missing out. If you can find room for me in your life, I’ll be there. Whatever way you want me to be.”

  She sniffed and looked down. I saw a tear fall to stain the knee of her jeans. “Okay.”

  I leaned forward and put my hand on her knee, covering that tiny drop. “Molly. I promise you. I know what it’s like for someone to walk out. I’m not going to walk out on you.”

  “Sorry.” She looked up and wiped her eyes behind her glasses. “I’m just upset, you know? It’s been a shitty day.”

  “It has been,” I agreed. “I wanted more than anything to make this better for you. With all my heart, I wanted it. And if I can’t help you this way, I’m going to help you another way.”

  Her head turned slightly, and she looked at me with almost suspicious curiosity. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean—” I slowed myself way down. “I have to talk to your mother. But there are doors that my money can open for you. In ways that aren’t fair. But we’re talking about your life. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make sure it’s a good one.”

  After a thoughtful silence, Molly said quietly, “I wish I would have known you before now. Like, when I was a kid.”

  “I definitely understand the sentiment. There are a lot of people in my life who I wish I had known longer.” The man who waited for me upstairs, for example, Googling away and trying to save me the way I wanted to save Molly. “But I think we meet people we need when the time is right. I wasn’t the same person back then as I am now.”

  “I’m not, either. Like, I can read. That’s one thing.” She snorted a laugh, and a weight in my chest lifted. “Okay. If you promise you’re not going to just vanish…if you promise that I can trust you…”

  I took her hand in mine and squeezed it, looking directly into her eyes. “I promise, Molly. I’m your sister. For life. I’m not going anywhere.”

  It was a promise I was damn sure going to keep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Though it was nice to be home, again, returning to New York with a feeling that I hadn’t really accomplished anything didn’t put me in the best mood. Even Olivia’s baby cuddles weren’t enough to break me out of my funk. I returned to work with a caged animal under my ribs, an anger and disappointment clawing to get out.

  “Good morning,” Mel said, rising from her desk to follow me into my office.

  I tossed my coat across the sofa and sat at my desk to start up my computer. “What do I have today?”

  She kept her gaze trained on the tablet in her hand, one finger sliding across the screen. “Not a lot. You’ve got Jason coming in to show you his September picks, and Deja wants to brainstorm our winter focus at two—”

  “What happened to the meeting with the Yves St. Laurent guy?”

  “Don’t worry about that. Deja has it handled,” Mel assured me.

  That rage and unfairness that had tormented me since we’d returned built up in my throat in the form of a shout that I had to force down. “Excuse me?”

  Mel looked up, puzzled. “She thought since you’d just be getting back today, you’d want an easy—”

  “Because I can’t handle this job as well as she can. Right.” I opened a drawer and took out some paperclips, just to have a reason to angrily slam it again.

  “I…don’t think that was the reason,” Mel said, shifting uncertainly from one foot to the other.

  Even though I knew she wasn’t the cause of all the things I felt at the moment, Deja had become the sole target of my anger. How dare she take over one of my meetings without asking, like I was so helpless that I needed training wheels or something to do my job?

  “I don’t appreciate the two of you going behind my back to make changes like that,” I snapped at Mel, and got to my feet. I stomped out the door and made an immediate left into Deja’s office without knocking. Stephenie sat at Deja’s desk, glossy photos laid out in front of them. I must have looked like a sea witch or something, judging from their startled reactions.

  Good. I hoped everyone would be afraid of me. Maybe then, I could get a little god damn respect around here.

  Do you really deserve respect, though? I asked myself. You’re totally expendable, and you know it.

  That only made me angrier, because I did know it. The magazine didn’t run itself, but it sure ran well enough without me.

  “I need to talk to you,” I said, then, to Stephenie, I added, “Without an audience.”

  She scrambled to collect her things and hurried out while Deja asked, “What’s going on, Sophie?”

  “What’s going on?” I stepped aside so the extraneous parties could exit. Stephenie closed the door behind her with a last wary glance at me. “Well, for starters, I came in here prepared for a meeting I’m not going to.”

  “Is this about the St. Laurent thing?” she asked, frowning in confusion. “I thought you would be happy that I—”

  “That you what? That you don’t think I can do my job?”

  “I never said that,” she insisted firmly. “Is that how you feel?”

  Yes. “No. And you shouldn’t feel that way either.”

  “I told you, I don’t,” she insisted firmly.

  “Then, why did you swoop in and clear my schedule without asking me what I could handle or if I needed help?” I demanded.

  She leaned her elbows on her desk and held her hands open. “Because I knew you were going through a rough time, and I also know that you’re kind of bad at asking for help.”

  “You’re kind of bad at asking if you should give help!” I hated that the rest of the office could hear us, but I was too pissed to stop. “I am going through a rough time. But feeling useless and expendable here isn’t going to make that any better.”

  “Then, stop being so fucking useless and expendable!” Deja exploded, slamming both hands on her desk.

  I took a step back, staggering with shock.

  “You take off whenever you want because you know I’m going to be here to run everything. Then, when you’re ready to play magazine editor, you show up and want everything your way. I’m sick of it! And I’m sick of you thinking everyone should feel bad for you when you don’t get exactly what you want. I get it. Your life is a fairytale, so it needs a villain, right? Guess what? It’s not going to be me!”

  “I don’t think that about you at all!” I shouted back. “And my life isn’t a fairytale. It’s a life, just like anybody else’s.”

  “If you think your life is really like anybody else’s, you’re delusional,” Deja seethed. “I have been running this place from day one, while you’ve been making out checks and patting yourself on the back. You’re off writing memoirs and taking weeks off at a time to live adventurously, and I’m supposed to share credit with you for how well this place is going? Then, I’m supposed to coddle you so you don’t feel like you’re less important than me?”

  “I never asked you to coddle me!”

  “No, you didn’t ask! You expected.” She jabbed a finger in the air in my direction. “I have spent my entire professional life working behind the scenes for white women so they could seem competent. I’m not doing that for you, just because we’re friends. Just because you have money.”

  “Why do you have to make it about the money?” I demanded. “I never asked for it.”

  “Stop talking about everything in your life like it’s something that just happens to you! You’re a victim of ever
ything! Even the good stuff. You’ve written two bestselling books and it’s like, ‘Oh, hi, I’m Sophie, I did this thing, and I won’t take a shred of credit for it because it just happened to me. Feel sorry for me.’ Grow up. Accept responsibility for your life!”

  We stared at each other in stunned silence. Deja and I had never fought before. I didn’t know how to proceed, and she didn’t look real sure, either.

  One of us had to say something. I supposed I should take her advice and stop being the victim. “You’re right.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “I do make myself the victim,” I went on. “And I’m not doing right by you here. I’m stepping down, effective immediately—”

  “Don’t.” She held up a hand. “Don’t pull this passive-aggressive bullshit where you’re going to leave because I said something mean to you.”

  “It’s not passive-aggressive bullshit. I promise.” Not that she had any reason to believe me. Because I wasn’t sure that I wouldn’t have pulled exactly that passive-aggressive bullshit before now. But she was right. My life wasn’t like anyone else’s. At the moment, it was filled with so much bullshit that my mind was constantly going in seventeen directions at once. The difference between me and everyone else was that I had the means to step back from some of them. “I’m not trying to get you to beg me to stay. If I wanted to be here, I would be here. But I’m never here. So, clearly…”

  “You don’t want to be here,” she finished for me. She put her head in her hands and blew out a long breath.

  “It’s nothing personal,” I rushed to assure her. “But you’re right. I do want to run off and have adventures and write books. I’ve been trying so hard to have something other than what I have, without giving anything up. But I can’t be the Sophie I was when we started this place. She doesn’t fit me.”

  “She didn’t fit you the day we met,” she said, looking up to meet my eyes with a sympathetic, but ultimately fed-up expression. “She probably didn’t fit you, before.”

  “I’m not sure she did,” I admitted. “I probably didn’t notice it because I don’t ever want things to change. Sometimes, we want things we can’t have. No matter how much money we’ve got.”

  “Or ambition,” she added. “I don’t think you realize how…well, insulting you can be about the opportunities you have.”

  “Insulting?” How had I insulted anybody? “I really try hard to act like everyone—”

  “Like everyone else,” she interrupted. “That’s the problem. You’re not like everyone else. Everyone else doesn’t have billions of dollars. And you’re super bad at pretending you don’t. You’ve got that rich-people removal from reality, where you think you can be on equal footing with everyone else. And you just can’t.”

  Man, did I ever feel that in the pit of my heart. But she was right, again. “It’s hard. I’m not saying that to sound like a victim. But I never thought it would be so hard to adapt. Or that adapting would take this long.”

  “You’re trying to walk with your feet in two worlds. It’s not working out,” she stated, far more gently than before. “That doesn’t mean you can’t still love the people you loved before. But it’s not fair to expect us to love the fake you that you put on to feel less guilty about the advantages you have. You have to let us accept you for who you are. You have to trust that we can do that.”

  I looked down at my feet in my crystal-embellished Miu Miu flats that I’d bought without worrying a bit about my credit card debt or if I really needed them in the first place. I thumped my toes on the carpet of the office that I visited rarely because my entire life didn’t depend on the success or failure of this magazine. Then, I faced the woman who’d taken our idea and actually made something of it, when I probably never would have been able to. The woman who wanted to have a child and not be constantly worried that her coworker was dragging her and the business she depended on down.

  “Deja…I want to give you something.” I took a deep breath. “I want you to have Mode.”

  Her sharp laugh was cut off by her own realization. “You’re not joking.”

  “I’m not.” I shrugged helplessly. “You agreed—this life doesn’t fit me. And I’m not doing anything here but being in the way. I don’t need this place, anymore. So, why don’t I just hand full control over to you?”

  “Because what happens if I decide to sell this place in a year, make mad profit, and you missed out, and it spoils our friendship?” she asked.

  “It won’t,” I promised. “I’m not stupid. We’re going to involve lawyers and make sure neither of us gets burned. But Mode is yours. Sell it if you want to. Just not to Elwood and Stern.”

  She laughed. “No, I don’t think they’re going to be very interested, anyway.”

  We smiled at each other in silence for a moment, until she looked away and said, “I’m sorry for being so tough on you.”

  I waved my hand. “Nah. I needed to hear that stuff.”

  “I could have been nicer. I swear to god, pregnancy brain is real.”

  “It so is. When Holli’s friend Alexis was pregnant, she totally forgot about getting fu—” Wait, what?

  Deja’s eyes widened. “Uh.”

  “You’re not…” I gestured at her midsection.

  “Nope,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “Yes.”

  “Yes, you’re pregnant?” I clarified.

  Still shaking her head, she said, “I wasn’t supposed to tell you. Holli was going to tell you.”

  “You didn’t mean to. You have preg—” My throat dried shut. I cleared it. “Pregnancy brain.”

  Oh, my god. My best friend’s wife was pregnant? Their whole lives would change. Everything would change. God, we hardly saw each other as it was. Holli wouldn’t be able to just run over to my mom’s hot tub whenever she wanted.

  “Sophie, are you okay? Because you look really pale.” Deja asked with a concerned frown.

  “I’m fine,” I squeaked. “I’m just going to go call Holli.”

  I hurried back to my office before Deja could demand I keep my knowledge secret. Snatching up my phone, I tapped her contact and fell back on the sofa.

  She answered, “Get back to work, bitch.”

  “What are you doing, right now?” I asked. I wasn’t sure “I know your wife is pregnant” was the kind of thing you blurted out over the phone.

  Well, between Holli and I, it might have been a thing to blurt out over the phone. But I wasn’t taking chances.

  “I’m really busy. I went to the dentist today, and I’m wiped out.” She groaned.

  “What did you have done at the dentist?” I couldn’t remember her mentioning having anything serious coming up.

  “Oh, just a cleaning,” she said. “It’s all that green I smoked after, what what!”

  Yup, that sounded about right.

  “Get your worthless stoner ass up and meet me at—” I would have normally told her to meet me at our old standby diner, DiNicio’s. But I wasn’t trying to live in the past, anymore. “You know what, meet me at my house. Bring your suit, we’ll crash Mom’s hot tub.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at work today?” she asked.

  I would tell her that part later. “Just get ready, I’m sending a car.”

  So. I didn’t work at Mode, anymore. I had yet another fashion magazine office I needed to clean out. And a whole bunch of employees just beyond the door who’d listened to my shouting match with Deja. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like I knew exactly what I was getting into.

  ****

  I could have waited in the city and shared the ride with Holli, but I wanted to be able to talk to Neil first. I found him in his study, “not working”.

  He glanced at me briefly when I entered. “Rough two hours at the office, dear?”

  “Yeah, about that.” I went to one of the red leather wing chairs by the windows. I didn’t even know why we had them. It wasn’t like Neil entertained company in this room. �
�We need to talk. Where’s Olivia?”

  “Mariposa just took her for her nap.” Neil looked up from the screen for just a second. “One moment.”

  Waiting for him to finish what he was “not working” on was like waiting for the principal to read your teacher’s report right in front of you. Which was silly of me; Neil was my husband, not an authority figure. He wasn’t going to scold me, and he couldn’t punish me. The worst thing he could be was disappointed. Or miffed that I hadn’t consulted him. I hated those possibilities, but sometimes, they were unavoidable in relationships. This wasn’t something we wouldn’t be able to get over, but I didn’t look forward to a strongly negative reaction or a possible argument.

  He clicked the trackpad and swiveled his chair to face me. “Sorry. Something came up at North Star, and I had to email Geir.”

  Though Neil’s brother was running their Icelandic media company and Neil was technically retired, they all still consulted each other on the running of things. “You know, for some who’s retired—”

  “Yes, yes, all right,” he shushed me. “What brings you home in the middle of the day?”

  “So, super weird thing.” I got to my feet and paced in front of the window. “I don’t have a job, anymore.”

  “Oh?” Neil’s eyebrows rose. “As in…”

  “As in I’m no longer co-editor-in-chief of Mode magazine. And after I meet with my lawyers, I won’t own it as a partnership with Deja.” I bit my thumbnail. “I’m giving it to her.”

  “Giving it?” he repeated, as though I’d just spoken a foreign language. “She’s not buying you out?”

  “How is she going to buy me out when I bought everything to begin with?” I stopped pacing and faced him. “I’m going to maintain some financial interest here. I’m not just throwing the money away. If Mode continues on its upward trend, it might not stay independent for long. Obviously, if a larger publication bought it, I would stand to make some pretty good money, unless I walked away entirely.”

  Neil’s expression of pride made me feel sixty feet tall.