The Sister (The Boss 6)

“It was…” I made a noise of mingled frustration at my lack of words and elation at what I would have described if I could have found them. “We’re making some major decisions here really soon.”

Deja’s brow creased. “For the better, I hope?”

“For the definite better.” I held back a moment. There wasn’t much I felt I couldn’t tell Deja; she was married to my best friend, the most sexually and romantically liberated woman in all of Manhattan. Knowing all of Holli’s exploits, Deja probably wouldn’t be shocked by one of mine. Still, it felt strange to admit to something that most people would consider unconventional in the extreme.

Oh, what the hell. “We’re actually thinking of moving past ‘casual sex partners’ and like…really dating.”

“He would be your boyfriend?” Deja asked. “Or your boyfriend and Neil’s boyfriend?”

“That second one.” My cheeks went hot.

“Sophie Scaife, you are blushing.” Deja shook her head in wonder. “And over a dude.”

“You have no idea. Deja, he is…” But how could I describe him when, until now, I’d so rarely spoken of him, even to my best friends? The relationship had been hush-hush for several reasons, not the least of which had been our public lives. “He’s just perfect.”

“Can I know about him, now?” she asked gently. “I get that you’ve got that whole secrecy thing going on.”

“It wasn’t really a secrecy thing,” I said, a little uncomfortable. It did seem like it was unfair that I hadn’t told them very much at all about El-Mudad besides, “He’s a hot billionaire.” Especially when, according to Holli, my evaluation of Neil as a hot billionaire was tragically off the mark. She thought he looked too “average”.

“But I do have to keep it a little secret,” I said, just to cover my bases. I didn’t think she or Holli would ever betray me on purpose, but it was easy to let things slip if people didn’t know the boundaries. “Okay, first of all, his name isn’t really Emir, it’s El-Mudad. Emir was just the name he was using at that French sex club.”

“Oh, of course,” Deja said, waving a hand and pretending that was a concept she ran into all the time. “Don’t we all have a name we use exclusively at French sex clubs?”

I laughed. “He’s from Bahrain, his family is super rich, and he lives mostly in France, now, because he shares custody of his kids with his ex-wife.”

“He has kids?” That piqued Deja’s interest. “How many?”

“Two girls, both in their teens.” Or maybe one was a preteen. Where was the cut-off on that?

“How old is he? Like, Neil’s age, or…”

“He’s thirty-six. No, thirty-seven.”

“So, more like my age. Okay.” She made a “not bad” face.

“He’s super hot, and…” I stopped myself. “Wait, I can finally show you a picture.”

I grabbed my phone and pulled up the camera, blushing hard as a scrolled for one I could show her. I picked a quick snap I’d taken poolside on Sunday afternoon. In the photo, El-Mudad reclined, shirtless, on one of the lounge chairs. His hair was slicked back from the water, droplets of which clung to every delicious ridge of his abs and his tight square pecs.

If this whole dating thing became a permanent relationship, I would have this photo made into a plaque that said, “Good job, Sophie!” with two engraved thumbs up.

Deja got up and headed to my desk, leaning over to look. She gave a long drawn out whistle. “Damn…and that’s coming from me. And I am gay gay. Text that to me. Holli will freak out if I got to see him and she didn’t.”

“No problem.” I still held the phone, because Deja’s gaze was transfixed.

“He could be a fence jumper,” she announced finally. “I might jump the fence for him.”

“How high is the fence?” I asked. In the past, she’d described it as The Wall from Game of Thrones, but with razor wire at the top.

“For him?” She considered. “One of those cedar privacy fences. With the family trampoline next to it.”

I turn the phone toward me, again. A totally involuntary, dreamy sigh escaped me. “And it’s not just the way he looks. He’s, like, the sweetest guy ever. He came to stay with me when Neil was in the hospital—”

“I remember that,” she cut in. I think it made her a little nervous when I started to talk about Neil’s time there. For months after my return from Neil’s sabbatical in Iceland, any mention of the incident had brought tears to my eyes.

“No, it’s okay, I’m not going to start sobbing or something,” I reassured her. “And El-Mudad really has a lot to do with that.”

She nodded in understanding.

“So, I don’t want to be super nosy, or sound, like…weird,” Deja began hesitantly. “But is he…”

“He’s bisexual, like Neil and I,” I said, trying to guess her question.