The Bride (The Boss 3)

I clinked the glass that had been intended for Neil against hers and nodded.

“This really is a lovely party, Sophie. You and Emma did very well.” She took a sip from her glass. “Congratulations on the house, by the way.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t build it. But I’m so glad to be getting out of the city. I come from a small town, and after six years, it’s starting to grate on me.”

“I can sympathize,” Valerie said with one of her sexy, throaty laughs. “I don’t come from a small town, but New York is unlike anywhere else in the world. It can be quite overwhelming.”

Then why are you moving here? a jealous little voice snarked in my head. I translated it to, “At least you always have the office in London, if you ever want to escape.”

“Well, I couldn’t walk away from Porteras, you know,” she said, glancing down as the bartender slid the second glass to me. “It’s been something of a dream of mine to run a fashion magazine.”

“Has it?” That surprised me. Somehow I’d always painted the acquisition of Porteras in shades of dollar amounts.

“Oh, yes,” she said, brightening up for the first time in any conversation I’d ever had with her. “I wanted to go to school for fashion design, but my father rather strongly objected. It was easier to take business classes than endure his scorn.”

“That makes me feel kind of bad for you,” I blurted, before I realized how insulting that might sound. “No offense intended.”

“None taken,” she assured me. “I know that Elwood and Stern buying Porteras put you in something of a strange situation. I hope my mentioning it doesn’t bother you.”

No, but literally ninety-five percent of everything else you say does. I smiled, closed lipped, and shook my head. “It’s all in the past, Valerie. If you guys hadn’t bought the magazine, I would have never seen Neil again.”

“That’s very true.” Her expression was unreadable as she took another sip from her glass. She looked back to me as though she’d just remembered something. “Do excuse me, I’m getting a wave.”

I looked in the direction she was pointing, to a pair of German businessmen I’d met earlier in the evening. Valerie navigated the crowded floor, and I watched her go, still somewhat stunned at the revelation she’d made. I had something in common with Valerie. It was a miracle.

I caught up with Emma on the dance floor, and she motioned me toward the VIP booth. Neil was sitting with a couple I’d never seen before. They were reacting to what must have been a very funny joke we’d just missed, when Neil looked up and his smile got wider at the sight of me. “Ah, Sophie! Excellent. Ian, Gena, this is my fiancé, Sophie.”

Ian—a man about Neil’s age—held out his hand for a friendly shake. “Ian Pratchett. And this is my wife, Gena.”

Gena was a lovely, slightly plump redhead with a cloud of gorgeous, orange corkscrew curls. She reached across her husband to shake my hand. She might have been in her forties, but her skin was so flawless it was difficult to tell.

“Neil has said only incredible things about you, Sophie,” Ian went on. And he winked at me.

Okay, so maybe Ian hadn’t aged as well as Neil had. And maybe he had kind of a sharp looking nose and a narrow face. But that wink… Damn. His Scottish accent didn’t hurt, either.

“Sophie, Gena is a buyer for Barney’s.” Neil gestured to her with a shot glass, which Ian was quick to snatch and fill up.

Gena rolled her eyes. “They went to school together, can you tell?”

“And apparently they still think they can drink like they’re nineteen,” I said dryly, sliding in beside Neil.

“Oh, it’s just a bit of fun,” Ian scolded playfully. He poured out some vodka for himself, then held it up and clinked it against Neil’s. “Sláinte.”

“Where’s Michael?” Emma asked.

“Emma, dear, you look lovely as ever,” Ian said in lieu of an answer.

Neil raised his chin and gave him a warning, “Ian…”

“Daddy, I think you lost your moral high ground in the middle-aged men flirting with younger women game.” Emma rolled her eyes. “I’m going off to find Michael.”

“I see time hasn’t mellowed her any,” Ian fiddled with a straw on the table, and I recognized it as the frustrated motion of a smoker indoors.

Neil’s arm slid around my waist, and I scooted a little closer to him, asking, “Are you having a good time?”

“Fuck me, I’m having the time of my life.” He was so drunk, and so adorable. “Oh, but there’s someone I wanted you to meet, before they leave. Ian, Gena, will you excuse us a moment?”

“Of course,” Ian said, slightly raising his hand in polite dismissal. “Sophie, it was a pleasure meeting you.”