Sophie (The Boss Book 8)

by Abigail Barnette

  I gave him a big hug. "Nobody staying sober for the babies?"

  "No, we have a night nurse for the occasion. Going to be a little strange going home to pump my wife with a stranger downstairs, but it's the one chance we've got," he crossed his fingers in hopeful sarcasm. I didn’t let him know that I was very much aware of how much pumping was going on at their house. He glanced past me. "No Neil, then?"

  They’d been friends since their college days, and Ian was well-acquainted with Neil’s various issues. It wasn't a betrayal for me to explain, "No. We're having a little bit of an issue with Valerie at the moment, and the stress is making him distrustful of his ability to make good choices."

  "Issues? With Valerie?" Ian scoffed. "How unlikely."

  "Behave," I warned him, though I secretly loved that at least one of Neil's friends didn't think the sun shone out of her ass. "Where's Penny?"

  "Off with her girls. Waiting for me to bring her a drink." He nodded back to the line, which had almost doubled. "If I don't return, tell her I've always loved her. Do it in a way she'll like. Quote Braveheart or something."

  "Will do." I laughed and set off across the floor. Chances were, Deja and Holli had posted up somewhere visible. I headed in the direction Ian indicated and found my friends in a cluster near the stage. Deja was swamped with well-wishers, while Holli and Penny stood politely aside. Holli spotted me first.

  As much as I wanted to compliment her on her amazing Iris Van Herpen mini dress with its arrangement of fluted pleats spilling black chiffon like a melting piano, I had one burning question. "Is Lana here?"

  "Not yet." Holli chewed her bottom lip and toyed with one glam curl. "Do you think I look hot?"

  "Super hot," I confirmed. "Do you think she’ll think I’m cool enough?"

  Penny laughed. "You guys are worried about impressing a celebrity, and I'm just happy to be out of the house."

  "It's okay to have different priorities," I said, a little defensive.

  "Where's Neil?" Holli asked, looking around behind me, as though I'd sprinted ahead and abandoned him.

  "Somewhere alcohol isn't." Speaking of which… "I need drinks and hors d'oeuvres."

  "I have to stay and be a trophy wife," Holli said under her breath. "I'm sure you understand?"

  I gave her a fist bump. "Trophy wives, unite."

  "I'll come with you," Penny volunteered, smoothing the front of her daring, super-structured pink Alexander McQueen with cut-outs at her waist and sheer mesh from the knees down. "I have no idea where my husband went or when he'll be back."

  “He was over there.” I pointed, but I’d lost visual confirmation in the crowd. “Trying to get you a drink.”

  A waiter brushed past us with a tray of luscious cream-filled pastries, garnished with raspberries and mint leaves. I snagged a couple, and we forged ahead. "I'm starving. I forgot to eat before I left."

  "Isn't that a little dangerous with diabetes?" Penny asked doubtfully. Then she quickly apologized. "Sorry. That's none of my business."

  "Nah, don't worry about it. I appreciate that you care." Of course, so many people cared about my diabetes that I was starting to feel like the heroine of one of those Lurline McDaniels novels my mom got nostalgic over. "But I'm sure I'll be fine. I don't even notice most of the time that I have any problems."

  "Oh." Penny sounded doubtful, but she didn't pry further.

  Though the bar we found had a much shorter line than some others, it was still a long enough wait that I ordered two Long Islands so I wouldn't have to rush back.

  Penny sipped a rum and Coke as we found our way back to Holli and Deja. As we approached, I recognized El-Mudad's jacket. He stood beside Ian, deep in conversation with both him and Holli.

  Ian saw us and brightened. "Sophie! Look who I found. You didn't tell me he would be here."

  "Officially, I had no idea that our good friend would be here." I emphasized the "good friend" part.

  "Sorry," Ian said sheepishly. "That never occurred to me."

  "There have been some...words exchanged. About our living arrangement," El-Mudad explained.

  "Yeah, the picture of you guys leaving 1 Oak didn't help," Holli pointed out. "It looked like you'd just been fucking or something."

  "Yes. In the men’s room," El-Mudad observed placidly, taking a sip from his glass.

  Penny choked on her drink.

  When Deja finally got a chance to break away from industry people to join us, she looked as though she was officially done peopling, possibly forever. "Oh my god, Sophie, I'm so mad at you for stepping down from the magazine. You could be fielding some of these conversations."

  "I'm bad at conversations," I reminded her. "Great at talking, bad at conversations."

  "No. I have had many wonderful conversations with you," El-Mudad insisted. Sometimes, he couldn't tell when I was self-deprecating on purpose. I winked at him.

  My stomach pitched a little. Ugh, the lack of food and abundance of drink was going to be an issue. I had to slow down if I wanted to keep it together for my flower-crowned goddess of song. Pretending to check my invisible watch, I asked, "So, is she even going to be here?"

  Deja frowned. "Of course, she is. And by the way, I've seen what she's wearing."

  "I am so jealous right now. And slightly horny," I admitted. Also, increasingly nauseated. I should have eaten before we left, belly-bloat be damned. I sipped my second cocktail slowly, hoping in vain that it would somehow settle my stomach. "When does she get here?"

  "She will be fashionably late," Deja said, checking her phone. "She's heading over right after a Spotify podcast or something."

  "How ever will we kill time?" El-Mudad's arm slipped around my waist. "Would it be too scandalous if we danced?"

  "It might be." On the other hand, it might distract me from the fangirl nerves there were obliterating my guts. "Okay. I'm game. We didn’t arrive together, we didn’t leave together, and if anyone takes a picture, it’s not like we’re the only ones dancing.”

  “I’ll dance with you next,” Ian offered, raising his glass as if to toast. “That way, he’s not your only partner.”

  “Wow. You’re shockingly good at deception.” It sounded more like Penny was accusing him than admiring him, but when he gave her a wink, she visibly melted.

  El-Mudad and I moved onto the dance floor, where a few couples already swayed to a mellow instrumental cover of Billie Eilish’s "when the party’s over," which should have been horrible on its face but was quite catchy.

  “Stop being so jumpy,” El-Mudad whispered against my cheek as he held me close. I couldn’t quite remember when he’d pulled me into his arms.

  “Am I being jumpy?” I looked around. The room was super fuzzy at the edges. “I think that drink is hitting me harder than I expected it to.”

  “I would say so. Your speech is very...not mumbled...what is it...” His brow creased. It was super rare for El-Mudad to not know a word in English. Usually, it happened when he was distracted or upset.

  “Slurred?” I most definitely slurred.

  He stopped moving and stepped back. “Sophie, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I’m…” Having a difficult time hearing the music. Or not vomiting. “I think I got too drunk.”

  “Let’s go sit down,” he said, guiding me with a hand at my back that slipped up higher and higher.

  Nope. I slipped down lower and lower.

  A female voice gasped, “Sophie, oh my god!” but I didn’t know who it was. Just like I didn’t feel the impact when I hit the floor, but I sure got down there somehow.

  El-Mudad leaned over me. “Sophie! Sophie, can you hear me?”

  “I think maybe…” Damn. I’d downed two drinks in quick succession, on an empty stomach. “Blood.”

  “You’re bleeding?” He grabbed my head to check it for wounds. “Deja, ambulance!”

  “Blood,” I repeated because I couldn’t remember what I had meant to say. I closed my eyes and clenched my back teeth a
gainst the puke rising in my throat. I choked, and someone turned me roughly onto my side.

  “Sophie! Sophie, stay awake!” El-Mudad frantically pleaded.

  So, I opened my eyes.

  And unless Gotham Hall had installed a drop-ceiling and fluorescent lighting, I was not the fuck at the party anymore.

  I groaned and sat up. The tape on the back of my hand tugged when I moved; it held an IV in place. A nasal cannula tickled my nostrils. I pushed it down with a grimace.

  “Oh, thank god,” Neil said from somewhere in the dimly lit room.

  My mouth was super dry and tasted like all the worst parts of the alcohol I’d consumed. I rasped, “Did I miss Lana?”

  Neil sat beside me on the bed and took my un-IVed hand. “I’m afraid so, darling.”

  My head was killing me. Even the soft light at the head of the bed was too much. I squinted in pain. “Can you turn that off?”

  He moved quickly to do so.

  When it was as dark as possible, I croaked, "Can I get some water?"

  "No. Oral swabs only."

  I whined as he tore open a packet, but I was desperate. I opened my mouth, and he put in the ghastly lemon sponge tip.

  "It's refreshing to be on this side of an NPO order," he mused as he watched me desperately suck whatever moisture I could get out of the awful swab. There had been so many times during his long chemotherapy and transplant journey when he'd been denied food or water, so it was no wonder he would rather be on the other end of the stick.

  I pulled the ineffective sponge from my mouth. "What the hell happened?"

  "I have terrible news for you," Neil said, retaking my hand. He paused long enough for me to nearly drop dead of fright, then said, "You have diabetes."

  "Fuck." I covered my eyes. "It was the Long Islands, wasn't it?"

  "It was absolutely the Long Islands," he said, not nearly sympathetic enough. "But in a broader sense, it was the fact that you refuse to take care of yourself at all. You’re not even wearing your glucose sensor. What on earth were you thinking?"

  "I thought I wanted to avoid a lump in the dress." I really didn't like how parental he suddenly sounded.

  "I’m sure you looked lovely on the floor." His increasingly scolding tone didn't help matters.

  "Hey, can you back off a minute? I'm sitting in a hospital bed right now?" My throat burned. I was about to rip open whatever was on the IV pole and guzzle it down.

  That immediately subdued him. "I'm sorry. I'm frightened, Sophie. I haven't been so frightened in a very long time."

  My earlier nausea returned. I'd scared him.

  I’d scared him because the last time he’d rushed to the hospital, it had been for Emma.

  I fought my way upright enough to rise on my knees and put my arms around him, despite the inconvenient IV line. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

  "You have to stop this," he gasped hoarsely against my cheek. "I can't live without you."

  "Hey, hey." I sat back and took his face in mine. "Please don't talk like that. I promise, I promise. I will start managing this and stop pretending I don't have…"

  "'Da sugar?'" he finished for me, quoting my grandma in a near-flawless Michigan accent.

  I laughed, but my heart still fell. "Yeah. This is enough to snap me out of denial."

  "Not getting to meet Lana?" Neil asked with a subdued half-smile.

  "No. Putting that look on your face. I never want to see it again." I swallowed the lump in my throat and lightened the subject before I could break down and cry. "But that other thing, too. I didn't even get a glimpse of her."

  Neil frowned and reached into his pocket for his phone. "Well, she got a glimpse of you. Holli thought it was important for you to know that El-Mudad carried you past her on his way out. She said…" Neil tapped the screen and read, "'How is somebody already that fucked up? How late are we?'"

  The strangest mix of shame and pride washed through my brain but hit the other part of his sentence’s breaker wall. "Wait, El-Mudad carried me out?"

  "He did." Neil pocketed his phone again and looked up at the ceiling. "Right past all of those paparazzi there to see your imaginary girlfriend."

  My gut churned. "Why are people even interested? I mean, seriously. Because I accidentally talked to a celebrity, now I have to be one?"

  "Not a celebrity. A socialite." He patted my arm. “I may not have been entirely...well, I wasn’t dishonest. But I wasn’t realistic about the life you were going to end up leading with me. My money has always come with visibility. My parents were visible in society. My ex-wife was.”

  “You donated to all that landmine stuff and did charity things with Paul McCartney,” I added. “I googled you when we were first dating. Or when we were not dating. I googled you when we were fucking and pretending we weren’t dating.”

  We both laughed at that. We’d been so deluded back then.

  “But I knew you sometimes ended up in magazines. I guess I thought I was uninteresting enough that hiding in Sagaponack would be enough.” It had worked, for a while, even when I’d been writing books and getting interviewed by magazines. “I guess I didn’t help things by going to fashion week all the time.”

  “And El-Mudad did have a higher profile than either of us. He is, after all, one of the most ‘eligible bachelors’ in New York now.” Neil grimaced at the term.

  “We were never going to have a normal life, were we?”

  A small smile touched his lips. “You were never going to have a normal life with or without me. You were always going to make an extraordinary place for yourself in the world. Some people can make billions of dollars and never get recognized on the street.”

  “We don’t get recognized on the street,” I pointed out. “We get recognized when we go places where a lot of interesting people are. And they somehow infect us with their interestingness. So, maybe we just...stop. No more glamorous parties. No more fundraisers with rock legends.”

  “No more Ascot,” he added morosely. “We’d be all right with that life of seclusion, but El-Mudad might be unwilling to give up going to clubs and flashy nights on the town. I suspect he might enjoy some of this attention.”

  I shook my head. “Not anymore. We thought it was funny…”

  “But it got out of hand,” Neil finished for me.

  “Yeah.”

  Both of us fell silent.

  After a long moment, I said, “No more daring damsel rescues. I promise. And we’ll all keep a low profile for a while.”

  “I managed to step out of the public eye pretty successfully after my divorce,” Neil mused. “I was too busy having sex with you to get into any real trouble.”

  “That was a good system. We should go back to that.” It was easy to joke, but no matter how big the house was, there were still three kids in it. That put the occasional damper on sexy times.

  “You should go back to sleep,” Neil said softly. “A crash like yours takes a lot out of a person.”

  “Are you staying?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound as whimpery as I suddenly felt. I didn’t want to be alone in the hospital.

  “I’m not sure they’re thrilled about it, but yes. I’m staying,” he said, standing so I could get comfortable. “El-Mudad went home to the girls. I told him you would understand.”

  I pulled the thin, yet somehow way too warm, blanket up and rolled to my side. “How did your TV night go with Rashida?”

  “It was lovely. We watched three episodes before she fell asleep.” A fond smile touched his mouth. “The program is dreadful. Far more violent than anything I would have allowed Emma to watch. But I certainly see why it appeals to a young teen.”

  “Dean is hot,” I croaked. “And bi.”

  Neil raised an incredulous eyebrow.

  "Okay. Not canonically." I shifted, trying to get comfortable. "Yet."

  "Go to sleep, or I'll call them in to sedate you," he gently threatened.

  I felt a momentary stab of guilt as I watched him try in vain
to find a comfortable position in the standard-issue hospital recliner. Still, I let it pass when I considered how many uncomfortable chairs I'd slept in through his health troubles. It didn't take him long to doze off, anyway; within ten minutes, he was snoring.

  I reached for my phone on the rolling bedside table and positioned it so the light wouldn't disturb Neil. He had texted me earlier in the evening. I tapped the message open, and the picture that filled my screen melted my heart. It was a selfie from an extreme downward-angle to show Rashida curled up asleep beside him on the couch with her head on his knee. I pressed my hand to my chest at the look of love and happiness on his face.

  And I thought about how worried he'd been just moments earlier. How helpless.

  He needed me. El-Mudad needed me. The girls. And I'd been so reckless.

  I turned off the phone screen, tipped my head back, and closed my eyes. I had to take care of myself. I had people who depended on me.

  I'd never really been afraid of my death before. But there was a first, terrible time for everything.

  Chapter Four

  After my twenty-four hours observation period—and a thorough re-scolding from Neil—I’d returned to Sagaponack a bit less confident about my immortality than before. So much so that I’d made an appointment with a nutritionist, exerting my stamina and checkbook to get an appointment right away.

  I went to the early morning meeting alone, despite Neil's protestations. Though much of the introductory information I received was old news from my good old diet fad days, I did walk away with an understanding of just how serious my condition was.

  Pretty serious, as it turned out.

  I drove myself home from the meeting crying, a folder stuffed with a meal plan and chart for tracking my blood sugar levels riding in the passenger seat beside me like the Grim Reaper. All I wanted to do was go home and curl up with at least one hot guy and languish in my poor health with near-Victorian levels of hysteria.