The Sister (The Boss 6)

El-Mudad couldn’t be separated from his children, either. They lived in France. He lived in France, most of the time. There was no way he would be able to turn his back on them, and I wouldn’t want to be with a father who could do that, in the first place.

It had felt so good to rush headlong into this, but now that I had some time away from him and Neil, the insidious practical stuff was creeping in.

I didn’t like it, and it sure didn’t make me enthusiastic in the retelling of my weekend exploits. I was grateful when Deja’s phone chirped its alarm.

“It can’t be eleven already,” she groaned.

“No,” I whined. Though the change of subject was welcome, what it would change to was not. “I do not want to go over financials. You can’t make me.”

Deja raised a laser-precise brow. “You’re right. I can’t. But you do own half this company, so maybe you could pretend to be interested in quarterlies?”

“Ugh, fine.” I pushed my chair back from my desk.

“You’re coming out for drinks with us tonight,” Deja said as we walked toward the conference room. “You have to tell Holli all of this stuff. I will not be able to handle the interrogation, especially when you know I don’t have answers to half her questions.”

“I can’t tonight.” Not only did I want to spend as much time as possible with El-Mudad while he was visiting, I didn’t want to plunge back into the logistics that I was trying so desperately hard to ignore. “But next week. After he goes home. That way, I’ll have plenty more to tell you both.”

“Fair enough.” She pushed the door open.

Inside the conference room, the white screen had been pulled down, and the digital projector overhead illuminated dust motes in the air. It was too bad there weren’t any windows I could escape through. We weren’t that high up, and shattered legs seemed a small price to pay to avoid the hell of trying to stay awake while someone threw numbers I didn’t understand at me.

“Sophie?” Mel hurried up behind me, her face ashen. “Someone’s here for you.”

Oh, god, something’s happened to Olivia!

It disturbed me how quickly my mind immediately shot to that horrible possibility every time our assistant came to me with that look. And it was never anything serious. Usually just a meeting I forgot or a call from someone important.

“Who? I didn’t see anyone on my schedule this morning.” But it would be amazing if someone from, say, Balenciaga or Calvin Klein had shown up, and it became imperative that I missed the quarterly projections. It was a lot easier to pretend to look at those reports than it was to sit through them.

“She says she’s your sister.”

Every drop of blood in my veins turned to ice. Spikey, razor-sharp crystals of ice that punctured all my vitals. Metaphorically, anyway. Nothing was bleeding internally, except all of my ragged emotions.

“Who?” Deja’s head snapped up from the contents of the folder she’d been scanning.

“My sister.” I knew she was up to date on the weirdness involved there. Hence the deep concern etched on her face. I hurried to add, “It’s okay. It’s a surprise, but…”

“I’ve got this,” Deja said firmly. “You weren’t going to pay attention, anyway.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

“Anything you need to know, I’ll brief you later,” she promised. “Just…take care of yourself.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and turned to Mel. “Can you show her into my office, please?”

“No problem.”

I watched her go then snuck to the nearest bathroom. I needed time to calm down, and Mel needed time to carry out my instruction, so it would all work out. Plus, making someone wait was a power move.

Why I felt I needed a power move up my sleeve, I had no idea.

Bracing my hands on the lip of the trough sink, I took some deep breaths. Okay. Your sister is here. No, not your sister. Susan. Susan is here, and she just happens to be related to you. She’s nobody to you. You don’t owe her anything.

Was that harsh of me? It sounded harsh.

Fuck that. I deserved to be harsh, didn’t I? I was being ambushed at work by a woman who’d known I’d existed, but never bothered to contact me to tell me that our father was dead. She was forcing me to confront the fact that she’d had his love and support, while I’d gotten a graduation card and one hazy memory of going to a circus, which I wasn’t entirely sure hadn’t been a dream.

She hadn’t even called me.

I had every right to turn her away, I realized. Just because she’d come all this way, that didn’t mean I had to speak to her. If I wanted to, I could have security remove her. Deny I even knew her. She’s my stalker, I could say. Or, she’s a deeply troubled woman who’s convinced she’s my sister. She’s looking for money. She’s trying to blackmail me.