The Bride (The Boss 3)

“I’m actually in the city right now. I mean, we were going to head back, but… I mean, I’m here now.” I twisted my necklace absently. Did I want to do this? I wanted to fix things with Holli, and now, I had what seemed like an opportunity. But if it didn’t happen, if I did more harm than good…

“Can you meet me? For lunch or a drink or something?”

“I can do a drink.” It was less of a time commitment than lunch. If things didn’t go well, we wouldn’t be stuck staring at each other over half-eaten plates of food, wondering when we could run away without seeming rude.

“Okay, so…two o’clock?” Her relief poured over the line; it had never occurred to me that Deja would feel like I was entitled to anger over the situation.

“Two is fine. Just text me an address.” When I hung up, I turned to Neil, my eyes so wide that my eyelids kinda hurt. “That was Deja.”

“I assumed it was either her, or Holli. Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I’m…cautiously optimistic?” I shrugged. “Look, I don’t know how long this is going to take, and I know you wanted to get home. Why don’t you go on ahead, I’ll call the helicopter guy and get a last minute charter, and I’ll be home before dinner. Or, I’ll hire a car and be back after dinner. Just keep it warm for me.”

His eyebrows hitched up a fraction, either in surprise that I would voluntarily get on a helicopter again, or that I was cavalierly making a choice that I would have dismissed as frivolous and bourgeois just a few months before. “If that’s what you want to do. I’ll have Tony drop you at the apartment?”

Before I got out of the car, Neil gave me an extra-long kiss in lieu of a pep talk, which was appreciated, and made sure I would be okay one final time before he and Tony set off for home. And while I really was cautiously optimistic about this meeting, I dreaded it. I ate some lunch and tried to watch some television. I called and arranged a charter back to the house. I went through some of the stuff we’d left behind, to see if I’d forgotten anything I couldn’t live without once I found it, but there was nothing. I ended up sitting in the kitchen, drinking too much coffee and watching the clock until it was time to leave.

Deja sent a text with the address of a bar in the village. I took the subway—it was nice to revisit the stinky, stale air of my first NYC mode of transport—and found the place. It was quiet, dark, and uncomplicated.

Deja was waiting in one of the high-backed booths, facing the door. Her chest rose with a visible breath when I stepped inside. She’d changed her hair since I’d last seen her. Now one side fell in an impeccable asymmetrical bob so straight it looked like you could cut yourself on the ends, and the other side clipped short in a graceful arch around her ear. As always, she was dressed rock star cool, to the point that a passerby would likely stop and wonder if they’d seen her on TV before. Her dark, exaggerated eye makeup looked effortlessly applied, and the subtle bronzer on her dark, golden brown skin accentuated her perfect cheekbones.

“Hey,” I said, feeling like a slob in the long-sleeve T, jeans, and mostly bare face I’d just planned to wear on the drive back to Sagaponack. Though I wasn’t in fashion journalism anymore, “look” was always on my mind, whether it was healthy or helpful or not. “You look great.”

“Thanks.” She plucked at her matte black leather vest, worn open over a long, tight white t-shirt with burnouts that revealed a black cami underneath. “I didn’t know what to wear.”

A server stepped over and took our drink orders, and Deja and I sat in part awkward silence, part inconsequential awkward chitchat until the woman returned with them. I sipped my rum and coke through a straw. I needed something to fortify myself for the helicopter.

It was Deja who broke the silence. “Look, I’m really nervous. Because I feel like I only have one shot at this.”

“One shot at what?” I hoped this was about a reconciliation between me and Holli. If it wasn’t, I would be crushed.

She folded her hands on the tabletop. “First of all, Holli doesn’t know I’m here. She carries a grudge like some people carry mononucleosis. It might be better if we don’t mention this to her.”

“It doesn’t matter. She won’t communicate with me, anyway.” Did that sound petty and hurt? If it did, maybe I was entitled to a little bit of that. If Holli was still mad, then this wasn’t about us becoming friends again. At least, not today.

“Good. Second,” Deja went on, “You deserve an apology. I was dishonest with you from the moment I met you.”

“You were the mole, weren’t you?” I hadn’t wanted to believe it was actually her. I’d been perfectly happy with India’s explanation that it had been Jessica, and a few other people who’d remained loyal to Gabriella. “But you didn’t even work for Gabriella. You came in later. HR even investigated your work history, there couldn’t have been any link to her, or Neil wouldn’t have hired you. It would have been—”

“Suspicious?” She nodded. “That’s why Gabriella and I thought it would be so perfect. Nobody in the industry knew anything about me.”

“Then…what’s your relationship to Gabriella?”

She took a deep breath. “My mom and Gabriella grew up together. They went to the same private school, they even went to the same rich girl summer camp,” Deja said with a bitter laugh. “I went there, too. But I wasn’t as good at fitting in as my mom was. I was kind of an angry teenager. I got good grades and everything, and I got admitted to Bryn Mawr. I was planning to go there when my mom died.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” In fact, the amount I didn’t know about Deja was just starting to hit me. I knew she loved Holli. I knew she was a good person. So, how did a good person end up involved in a bunch of espionage crap?

You ended up in a bunch of espionage crap.

r /> I decided I had to reserve my judgment, lest I damn myself.

“This isn’t an excuse. At all. But when my mom died, I was self-destructive. I was going to blow my entire life, because I was mad at myself for not fulfilling my mom’s expectations of me when she was alive. And my dad was no help. He got remarried within, like, a year, and I don’t know if I wasn’t ready to let my mom go or resentful that he could, but I had no guidance.

“Gabriella stepped in before I could ruin everything for myself. She practically bought my way back into school, she gave me a place to live… She basically became my second mom.”

“But how did I not know this before? I mean, Manhattan is a pretty small island, for a place with eight million people living in it. How did no one know?” Especially since Gabriella was such an iconic figure in the fashion world. Because of her glamorous image, tabloids scrambled to unearth anything possible about her, and they were scary good at their business.

“I didn’t want people to know that I was close to Gabriella because I wanted to get by on my own steam. And I did. I didn’t get my promotions at Rock Monthly because of her. I didn’t have her make any calls or put me in contact with any people. But she gave me advice, and she’s stopped me from doing stupid things to my career so many times…