Sophie (The Boss 8)

We flew into our usual helipad, where a car waited to take us to the party. Mode had come a long, long way from its early days; we were partying at Gotham Hall instead of a warehouse nightclub.

"You're sure this is not a Batman party?" El-Mudad asked, still puzzled and slightly disappointed.

"I'm sure. It's just the name of the building," I told him for what seemed like the fiftieth time. “You know, you could throw yourself a Batman party whenever you wanted.”

We pulled up in the arrival line, and I flashed him a smile. "See you inside?"

"Of course." He kissed my hand, then quickly let it go and slid as far toward the other side of the car as he could. I didn’t wait, launching myself from the car and knocking the arrivals attendant’s arm aside as he reached for the handle. I slammed the door shut before anyone could spot a second passenger.

I wasn't a huge star who commanded the attention of every camera flash, but walking a red carpet was zero fun. Most galas and publicity events required it, even if you weren't that important. The biggest issue was trying to keep my eyes open while lights flashed in them. I wanted to thank the photographers who didn't think I was important enough to have my retinas burned out. Luckily, this red carpet was particularly short. Stop a second for photos, walk past the handful of press—

"Sophie Scaife?" someone called, and I turned. A woman thrust a digital recorder in my face. "Jacqueline Barre for the Post. How does it feel to be here tonight, celebrating the meteoric rise of the magazine you founded?"

Wow, actual questions? When we attended charity galas, I usually just barnacled to Neil’s elbow and let him do all the work. "Wow, meteoric. Um, well, tonight isn’t just about the magazine. I’m here because Deja Williams graciously worked with the Elwood Rape Crisis Center to help us raise money for survivors all over the United States, and I’m representing them tonight.”

"Flying solo. All right. But you’ve been spotted out on the town with a friend recently," she said, quickly whipping to the subject she really wanted to ask about. "Do you think El-Mudad Ati will show up?"

"I don't know Mr. Ati's schedule," I said, adding a cold, "Thank you," as I walked away.

What the fuck? Why did anyone care about my love life? Just because El-Mudad was a super-rich, "eligible bachelor" who'd recently moved to New York and had a higher profile than Neil? How were we supposed to keep our relationship secret if El-Mudad was going to be subject to so much scrutiny?

It made me clench my teeth. I had to relax my neck intentionally.

Once inside, I tried to focus on the amazingness of the party. It wasn't hard to do; the venue alone was super impressive. I'd been to fashion shows in the tall, round main room before. It was more like a Roman temple than an event space. Tonight, rose-gold light bathed the walls. Lana's gorgeous photos from the shoot projected onto softly wafting white silk panels around the room. A jazz quartet played on a small, round stage in the center of a dance floor.

Oh my god, is she going to sing? I will die. Totally die.

A group of influencers who’d entered in front of me split off to check out the gift room situation, and I slid around the perimeter of the space, looking for anyone I knew.

Or anyone I didn't know but had a crush on and listened to her albums all the time.

When I ran into Ian near one of the bars, I was a little disappointed that he wasn't her. I had also hoped that when I did run into him, he would be with Penny. No matter how long ago our hook-up had been, it still felt kind of weird being alone with my friend's husband, whom I had previously fucked, and whose ex-wife I had continued to fuck casually during and after their divorce.

"Is that Sophie Scaife? Or a girl from a Robert Palmer video?" Ian teased, stepping out of the drink line. Ian was the kind of person who would be hard to miss in a crowd. Tall, with dark hair going gray in the sexiest, dignified way, and a handsome, animated face with a smile that could incinerate the panties off a woman, Ian had the irreverent charm of a total extrovert.

Penny was a super lucky woman.

"You'll lose your place!" I gasped, gesturing to the quickly closing gap in the line he'd vacated.

"Oh no! I thought you'd be able to get me into a super-secret VIP bar!" Despite living in the U.S. for over thirty years, Ian still had a thick Scottish accent. According to his wife, it became even more inscrutable when he was drunk or exhausted, two things he was very likely to be at an event with an open bar and two infant twins at home.