The Bride (The Boss) Read online

  My heart dropped.

  “I’m really sorry. I know that it affected you negatively, and I know—”

  “It didn’t affect me negatively,” I interjected. I didn’t even need to consider whether it had or not. It was just a fact. “The only thing that happened from Gabriella knowing that I was fucking my boss was that she asked me to stop fucking him if I came to work for her.”

  “Wait, you weren’t…” The left side of her face squinched up slightly. “Why did you get fired?”

  “Neil fired me for knowing about Jake being a mole, too.” I drummed my fingers on the table in the silence that followed. “I mean, like I said, I was fucking my boss. I don’t know how I thought that was a wise career move. I guess we both did some pretty unethical shit in the name of personal relationships.”

  She nodded slowly in agreement. “That we did.”

  “But for my part, I’m sorry, too.” I wanted desperately to tell myself that what I’d done in ratting out Deja wasn’t nearly as bad as what she’d done spying on me and Neil, but it was almost worse. I didn’t get fired for Deja tattling on me, after all. “Maybe I should have talked to you first, gotten your side of the story, something. Anything other than how it went down.”

  “It went down the way it went down because shit happens and when it does, the person who caused it should clean it up. That’s just a fact of life. And Mr. Elwood did get my side of the story, and he wanted to be sympathetic, but he’s running a huge company. I understand why I got fired.” Deja sighed and took a sip of her mojito. “It is what it is. And despite what Holli may have said, he didn’t threaten me by saying I’d never work in New York again. He’d just stated it as a fact. A fact that my bank account can definitely attest to.”

  I shifted in my seat a little. I wanted to know—I desperately wanted to know—but I was afraid to ask the question that had been burning in my mind for months. “Do you…do you think Holli will ever forgive me?”

  Deja’s pause was like a dagger through my heart. But then she said, “I can’t imagine that she would ever be happy without you. She’s always comparing your friendship to, oh, what’s that boring book about the white girls in Canada? One of them dyes her hair green by mistake?”

  “Anne of Green Gables?”

  She bumped the side of her fist against the table. “That’s the one. Not being able to remember that is going to be the marriage ender.”

  “Probably. Holli loves those books. Although, I’m not sure she’s comparing us so much to the green hair as she is the part where they get drunk on cordial.”

  “Well, I was more of an R.L. Stine girl. But I understand the reference when she says you two are kindred spirits.” The pain on Deja’s face looked as though it rivaled mine; she was as torn up about my falling out with Holli as I was. “I know she said some…pretty strong things—”

  “She accused me of being with Neil for his money.” I wouldn’t let that one go. “I get enough of that from everybody else. I can’t believe she went to that place.”

  “I’m not going to make excuses for her. But can you see why she might be—why anyone who had a suddenly rich best friend—would have been frustrated? This isn’t all about my firing. She was having a hard time watching you go off on your own. Some of that was the money; we were living pretty tight for a bit there, and now more so. I mean, we’ll make it, but there was some jealousy there.” Deja spread her hands in a what-can-you-do gesture.

  “I think that’s natural. Unfair, but natural. It’s not like I could ask Neil, ‘hey, could you do me a favor and stop being rich?’” Though we received monthly statements from the financial firm that handled our money, I’d never had the courage to look at them. I had no idea how much we really had, and although I knew that wasn’t wise of me, I found our wealth too intimidating. I couldn’t hold it against Holli that she was intimidated as well.

  Deja grimaced in sympathy. “I think the biggest problem was that she saw you slipping away. You know I love her, but Holli has this sense that the world revolves around her. That’s one of the things that makes her so magical. But it also means that she can’t handle change very well. Something like this was inevitable; if she pushed you away, she didn’t have to see you drift away.”

  “I miss her so much.” Well, there were the tears. I wiped them away on the back of my hand.

  “I know you do. She misses you, too. I just hope that her pride…” She didn’t finish the sentence.

  “There’s been so much change lately. I mean, good changes, too, obviously.” I shook my head and looked over at the photo hanging in the booth. A model styled strikingly to resemble Audrey Hepburn.

  “Ugh,” Deja said, and I noticed her studying the print, as well. “I’m sorry, I get that it’s classic, but it is really overdone. If I had a magazine, I vow I would never run some ‘tribute to white Hollywood glamor’ bullshit.”

  “Wouldn’t it be cool to race bend some of those images?” I mused. “Black Audrey Hepburn, black Marilyn Monroe.”

  “No, Asian Audrey Hepburn,” Deja corrected me. “It’ll remind people how racist Breakfast at Tiffany’s is.”

  “Ooh, good one.” I sighed. “Too bad we’re not in charge.”

  It was like a bolt of lightning had hit the table between us. We stared at each other, wide-eyed, barely breathing.

  “Can we…” Deja’s tongue rolled across her bottom lip. “Can we do that?”

  I had the money. We both had the experience. And we both had spotty ethical pasts…

  My ribcage swelled with decisive breath. “Yes, we can. We can do this.”

  * * * *

  I found Neil in the turret balcony, lying on the big double chaise longue. His black sweater and dark jeans broke the black-and-white striped pattern of the cushions. He glanced up from his Kindle when I stepped outside, but his eyes quickly returned to the words on the screen.

  “You’re back sooner than I expected.”

  “I have to admit, the helicopter is convenient.” I took a few steps toward him. The day was unexpectedly chilly, and the breeze coming off the sea made me glad I was wearing a cardigan. Neil, on the other hand, was sitting there in his bare feet. When he was immersed in a book, it was almost like he didn’t feel any physical discomfort. “You should have socks on, at least.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” he said, never looking up, but a faint smile bent his mouth. “Let me finish this chapter, and I’m all yours.”

  I hated to bother him while he was reading, but this was important. I walked over, the Birkin bag hidden behind me bumping my thighs with every step. I loomed over him a moment, then dropped the bag on his knees.

  He looked up.

  “I’m selling it.” I stood with my hands on my hips. “It’s going to auction. Deja has a connection at Sotheby’s.”

  “You’re not still feeling guilty for buying it, surely?” He set his reader aside and pushed himself up.

  “Well, maybe a little. But I am glad I did. Because it’s going to provide the capital for my new magazine.” I said nothing else and waited for the information to sink in.

  Now, he was interested. He folded his arms on his chest, and one ankle over the other. “You have my attention.”

  “A women’s magazine. Career stuff, beauty stuff, health, fashion, etc. Featuring all body types, all ethnicities, and absolutely none of this ‘trends guys love or hate’ bullshit. I want this to be a real women’s magazine. Not a magazine about women pleasing men.”

  “So, less Cosmopolitan, more Ms.?”

  I shrugged. “More like a bastard child of the two of them.”

  He looked like he was considering the idea, and I quickly added, “I’m using our money to do this.”

  “Oh, I assumed so.” He bracketed his chin with thumb and bent fingers, stroking his jaw absently. “I would recommend you discuss your budget and start up with our financial adviser, though.”

  “I will.” This was the part he might not be all that enthusiastic abo
ut. “Deja and I are doing this. Together.”

  “I think that’s a wise choice. Deja has worked in the industry long enough to build up a wealth of necessary contacts.”

  “So…” This was a tough question, one I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to. But Neil had been in this business far longer than I had, and I needed to hear his honest opinion, which I could always trust him to give me. “Do you think we can pull this off? I mean, not as a hobby. As a real thing? Do you think we can do it?”

  He scooted over so I could sit beside him. “I think you could do anything, Sophie. I really do.”

  “That sounds like some generic ‘believe in yourself’ bullshit.” I had to call him out on it. If we didn’t keep this conversation a hundred percent real, I would always wonder, in the event that I failed, if he’d just placating me.

  “No, it isn’t. I employed you. I know how hard you work. And I’ve seen your frustration over the past year when, with the exception of your book, you haven’t been working. You have the drive, and it sounds like you have a very practical idea.” He shrugged and slipped his hands into his jeans pockets. “I’m not going to tell you that you won’t fail. Starting a magazine, hell, even running one, is incredibly difficult. But you’ll have a lot of support, emotionally, practically, and financially. You have a good start. So yes, I think you can do it.”

  Tears had welled up in my eyes, and I thumbed them away. “Wow. So…this is what it’s like to have someone believe in you, huh?”

  “It’s a good feeling, isn’t it?” He put his arms around me. “I will always believe in you, Sophie. As arrogant as it may sound to admit this of someone that you love and plan to marry, you and my younger self have a lot in common.”

  I hugged him, feeling foolish for being so vulnerable. But if I couldn’t be vulnerable with Neil, I’d have to maintain a twenty-four-seven front, and I loved him too much to not let him see the real me, warts and all. “We do? Even this whole ‘lost year’ thing of mine?”

  “Darling, I had a baby with a woman I had absolutely no future with when I’d just gotten out of college. It should have been the biggest mistake of my life, and it wasn’t. But believe me, it was sheer panic at the time.”

  Oh f—“What’s Valerie going to think?”

  Neil’s features slid into a frown of confusion. “About what?”

  “About the magazine. About me going in to business with Deja? Who got fired from your company for just talking to Gabriella?” I rolled my eyes. “And she still thinks I was trying to destroy Porteras from the inside out. Not to mention the fact that my publication is sort of similar to Porteras and—”

  “Oh, fuck Valerie,” Neil said with an annoyed shake of his head. “I’m sorry. Sophie, you must have realized by now that Valerie’s problem with you has nothing to do with what happened at Porteras. It’s an easy way to justify her dislike for you because you’re with me.”

  I wasn’t sure my jaw would actually close after that. He’d admitted that his relationship with her put a strain on our relationship, and he’d done the work to make it up to me by listening to my concerns and setting boundaries. But he’d never said a word against her. Which I admired, but it was somewhat gratifying to hear that the sun no longer shone out of her totally innocent ass.

  “I’m not stupid,” he continued, his tone softening. “I haven’t been…fair to you. I’ve pretended that the only interest Valerie had in me was platonic. But I realized a long time ago that Valerie will always be either waiting for me, or wanting me to wait for her. I don’t even believe that she’s in love with me, I think she just can’t bear the thought that I might be happier than she is. But I respect her, and she’s my business partner and the mother of my child. That doesn’t mean she has any say in what you do with your life. You’re marrying me, not my past.”

  “Fair enough.” What else could I say to something like that? “So, the magazine is on.”

  “It appears so.” He paused. “Just don’t sell that bag. Please. I’ll buy it from you. It’s too lovely.”

  “Okay, maybe I’ll keep it.” I picked it up and tapped my fingers on the leather.

  He hugged me and kissed the top of my head. “And if by chance you’d ever want to sell your company—”

  “It’s not for sale,” I said with a contented sigh. I stepped back. “I need to go do something. Finish your chapter.”

  I went to my office in the loft over the den. I woke up my MacBook Air and got to work. First, I emailed India. I apologized for having altered her career path, but writing another book wasn’t in the cards for me at the moment. I’m Just The Girlfriend was one of the most scary, painful things I’d ever done. I wasn’t one of those people born with ink their veins, and it seemed stupid to force myself to continue. I let her know all of that as gently as possible, and added:

  PS. If you’re ever looking to return to the fashion world, I’m starting my own magazine. You’ll always have a place there, you just have to let me know when you want it.

  After I hit send on that bit of awkward business, I composed a message to Valerie. This one was a little trickier. I typed, proof-read, edited, re-edited, wondered if I could reasonably get away with a few mild jabs, then decided that honesty was going to be the best policy, not just when it came to Neil, but when it came to other people, too.

  Valerie:

  I know you don’t like me. I don’t like you, either. But I appreciate the way you tolerate me for Neil’s sake. It shows how good of a friend you are, even if you and he don’t always see eye to eye.

  Though I don’t forgive your repeated attempts to harm the relationship between Neil and me, I should have never said the things I said to you at Emma’s rehearsal dinner. It wasn’t the mature way to handle the situation, and my assertion that I would somehow be justified in demanding Neil cut you from his life was petty and hypocritical. And for that I’m sorry.

  It seems unlikely that you and I will ever truly let go of our animosity toward each other, but I love Neil, and I love Emma. I’m committed to protecting them. Can we agree, for their sakes, to stop with the manipulation and pretending? I’m willing to meet you halfway, if you can afford me the same courtesy.

  When I was finished there, I opened a new compose window and took a deep breath to brace myself. Then, I started typing.

  Holli:

  I miss you so much. I want to fix all of this, but I don’t know how.

  My fingers hovered over the keys. There was nothing more I needed to say, and nothing more Holli would need to hear. If Deja had told her about our meeting—and if she was going to forgive me—I had this one chance. I wasn’t going to blow it by rambling on like an idiot. I sent the brief message, and it was out of my hands.

  When I was done, I sat back and stared at the screen, not willing an immediate response. I wanted her to think about this, so any reconciliation that was going to happen wouldn’t someday be crushed under the weight of resentment.

  “Sophie?” Neil called from downstairs, his voice echoing from the next room.

  “Yeah, I’m up here. I just got…distracted,” I called back.

  He reversed his path, and in a few seconds, he was headed across the little bridge into the loft.

  “I was just going to plan dinner, and I thought you could help, if you weren’t busy. If you’re in the middle of something—”

  “No, no.” I shook my head. “I just spaced out a little.”

  I got up and we walked to the kitchen, Neil keeping two paces behind me. “I don’t wish to be invasive, but what were you doing? You seem so relaxed. Are you high?”

  “Kind of, but not in the way you’re thinking.” I stopped and faced him. “But no. I’m keeping it to myself for now. And not because I’m withholding or avoiding. I just don’t want to jinx anything. But suffice it to say, I think therapy is really working.”

  “Well, then we’ll have to do something to celebrate. An exquisite wine with dinner?” he asked, looping his arm around my waist as we fe
ll into step together.

  “Look, since we’re pretty much failures at veganism already, how about really good beer and—”

  “Cheeseburgers,” he said with me.

  I knew there was a reason we were together.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After Emma’s wedding, life slowed to a crawl. I hadn’t abandoned the magazine idea, and neither had Deja, but it was tricky, with Holli still not talking to me. I’d asked Deja point-blank if she was lying to Holli about the project, and she’d reassured me that while Holli hadn’t exactly expressed enthusiasm, she hadn’t outright objected.

  I took that as a sign of progress.

  Though I was champing at the bit to launch an honest-to-god magazine, I was trying to do things right. We’d contacted freelancers, both writers and photographers, and approached cosmetics companies and some designers I’d gotten along with well when I’d been Gabriella’s assistant. We were aiming for a modest, but hearty, first issue.

  Neil was great about helping out when I needed him and backing off when I asked. I hadn’t been joking when I’d told him therapy was working; it really was, both for us as a couple and for him by himself. After a brief setback, his hospital-induced PTSD had become manageable once again. For a while, he had to work through some dissociation; every now and then, I would hear him talking to himself, saying things like, “I am in my kitchen, at home, making a sandwich.” Sometimes it was tougher, and he’d ask me for help, something he’d been unwilling or unable to do before. I think he finally believed that it would be a life-long process of recovery.

  Valerie had responded graciously to my email, agreeing that it didn’t make sense for us to always be at odds, and apologizing for what she’d said. That was when I’d decided to tell Neil about what had happened.