The Sister (The Boss 6)

Now, I knew how he felt when I did it to him.

“I’ll be fine. I promise.” I couldn’t actually promise. I assumed he knew that. “I’m just nervous. This will be the longest I’ve ever been in the same room with her. What about you? Will you be fine?”

He grimaced, suddenly very interested in the lights indicating the floors we passed. “Of course.”

“It’s not an ‘of course’ question.” The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. I fished for my keys in my purse as we stepped into the entryway. “You’re not going to be confrontational or cold to them, right?”

“I’m not exactly thrilled about the purpose of their visit,” he admitted, holding the door for me so I could step into the foyer. “Would you like me to have your kidney already taken out and on a platter when they come in?”

I nudged him with my arm. “Be nice. This is going to be awkward for them, too. Probably more than it will be for us. I just don’t need you contributing to that atmosphere.”

“This isn’t about me, remember? I’m supposed to be here for you, and that’s what I plan to do. You’ve certainly swallowed your pride and hidden your feelings toward guests in this house over the years.” His tone was mild, but coupled with his words, it sent a very definite message: I’ll be just as nice to them as you ever were to Valerie.

“You know what? I’ll take it.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Do you need to change?”

He glanced down at his white button-down and dark blue jeans and frowned. “Am I not properly attired?”

“No, you’re perfect.” I, on the other hand, felt a little too dolled up in my heels and capped sleeve, floral printed sheath dress. What had I been thinking? I wanted to put them at ease, not make them feel like they’d accidentally stumbled into a photo shoot with Rich Assholes Magazine. “I’m going to change, though.”

As I moved toward the bedroom, Neil caught my hand. I turned back. I was glad I did. His warm green eyes locked on mine in tender assurance, and the brief squeeze he gave my fingers was as good as an hour-long psych up talk.

“Go check on dinner,” I said, nodding toward the kitchen, where the caterer would already be hard at work.

I hadn’t left much in the way of a wardrobe in the closet, but I did have a few key pieces. I swapped my dress for a pair of dark indigo jeans and a lavender silk blouse, and my heels for black ballet flats. I’d spent way too much time on my makeup to throw all the effort away, now, but I took off my pearl earrings and necklace—it wasn’t like I was going to take them on a tour of the White House Rose Garden or something.

The impression I’d been trying to make when we left the house was a lot different from the impression I wanted to make, now. I thought. It would have helped a lot to know what impression I actually wanted to make.

I used to take such pride in knowing that I never tried to be someone I wasn’t, but I’d never really confronted the fact that who I was had completely changed since I’d met Neil. It wasn’t just the money; the things that had happened to us—cancer, death, mental illness—had forced me to take on roles I’d rather myopically assumed I would never have to take. Now, confronted with yet another role, I didn’t know how to make it fit. Wealthy-Sister-with-Compatible-Organs seemed more couture than pret-a-porter.

I left my hair in the bouncy curls I’d worked hard to make “just so”. I’ve always felt that makeup and hair are like armor. A good blow-out or perfect cat’s eye made me invincible in the face of danger.

“Darling?” Neil called from the bedroom. “You should go to the kitchen. It smells divine.”

“I don’t want to get in their way,” I said, emerging from the closet. “What do you think?”

“You look a bit more casual than when we arrived,” he observed, and sat on the couch in front of the fireplace. “That’s not like you at all.”

“I don’t know what I’m like in this situation.” I sat beside him and pulled my feet up, kicking off my shoes. “I didn’t want to seem…stuffy.”

He didn’t say anything but put an arm around me to gently pull me against his side. “You have never, for a single day that I have known you, seemed stuffy.”

“Well, you’re not a very good judge of that. I mean…English.” I shrugged and gave him my best wide-eyed, innocent look.

“Very funny.” He sighed, and I wriggled even closer, letting my head rest on his chest.

“I guess stuffy isn’t the right word,” I corrected myself. “Snobby. That’s the one I meant.”