The Sister (The Boss 6)

Deja frowned, and when I gestured to the man she’d just been speaking to, she asked, “Andrew?”

Andrew. Damn it. Deja knew that. I should have known that, too. “Ugh, right. Andrew. I have such a hard time remembering everyone’s names.”

“I’m sure Neil doesn’t know the name of everyone who works at Elwood and Stern,” Holli said with an awkward laugh.

“Well, Elwood and Stern isn’t a staff of sixty people,” Deja responded flatly. Her eyes grew wide and apologetic as she added, “But Sophie doesn’t work with some of our departments.”

“Just like you’re more familiar with some departments than others,” I agreed with relief. For a second, I’d thought Deja had been doing one of those cool, casual nineteenth-century ballroom burns. I was terrible at both recognizing and doling those out.

“Anyhow, no, I wasn’t talking to Andrew about that. But you’re right, I should,” Deja said, getting back to the original question. “It was this great little company that’s owned by Emily in accounting’s brother.”

I nodded like I knew who Emily in accounting was.

There were only two people in accounting.

My face flushed. “Excuse me. I just got really hot all of a sudden.”

“It’s roasting in here,” Holli agreed. “All of these people can’t possibly work for you guys.”

“I’ll be right back,” I said, and headed quickly for the bathroom. I felt like a total fraud. I didn’t belong at a party for a magazine I barely ran. How could I even pretend to?

If Deja had been snarky with me, it was fully warranted. I really didn’t work at Mode. I showed up, threw my ideas around, looked at pictures and pieces that I had no idea about, then breezed away like the most self-important dick on the planet. And I’d worked for the most self-important dick on the planet. Even she had put in longer hours and had more commitment than I had. So, I could throw a party. Big whoop. I hadn’t even thrown the party. I’d just paid somebody else to throw it.

I wasn’t a boss. I was a benefactor.

Safely enclosed in a bathroom stall, I set a timer on my phone. A quick three-minute cry, then I would free up the spot for someone who actually had to pee. I leaned against the wall, grabbed some toilet tissue to blot under my eyes, and let my face crumple.

What the hell was I doing with my life? Twenty-eight years old and what had I done so far? I’d used my rich husband’s money to buy a magazine so I could play pretend with the college degree I’d worked so hard to get. And now, I was bored with it? Four years ago, editor-in-chief of a fashion magazine I had founded would have been a dream life I would have hopelessly fantasized about. It had become a reality, and I didn’t want it.

Oh, god. I don’t want the magazine.

But it was all I knew. My first job had been at Porteras. My second job was owning Mode.

Even though I didn’t feel better when my phone chirped, I delicately cleaned up my under-eye area, cleared my throat, set my shoulders, and flushed for cover. Then, I stepped out and smiled at one of the girls waiting. “Hey, Amy!” I said, because I could thankfully remember her name. “Are you loving this party?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “So great. I think Adam Levine is here!”

“Oh…cool.” Wait, since when don’t I care about party crashers? And famous ones?

What was happening to me? It was like the Sophie I used to be and the Sophie I was now were totally incompatible people.

As I staggered out of the bathroom, my first instinct was to tell Holli and Deja that I didn’t feel well and I needed to leave. But I’d ducked out on Mode enough as it was. I would stay put until the DJ packed up his things. From now on, it was going to be total commitment.

****

Despite the fact that I’d lived exclusively in the Fifth Avenue penthouse with Neil for close to a year before we’d bought our house, and despite the fact that we still spent the occasional night or weekend in the apartment, it always felt a little strange to be there on my own. Part of it had to do with the size and emptiness of the place. Then, there was the fact that it had been Neil’s marital home with his ex-wife, Elizabeth. Though I knew it was silly, I couldn’t help the occasional stab of jealousy when I slept in the bed they’d shared, got my clothes out of her side of the closet, or sat on the furniture she’d picked out. Those moments were fleeting, and I almost didn’t notice them anymore, but they seemed amplified when I was in the place alone. It was as if I needed Neil’s permission to be there, or I was intruding, somehow.