Sophie (The Boss 8)

“That was something I’ve meant to talk to you about,” he said, which was never a great sign.

“Can you talk while we change my sticker?” I gestured to my shoulder, where my glucose monitor sensor should have been attached to my upper arm.

“Already?” He lifted his eyebrows.

“Just a day early. I accidentally pulled the tape off in the shower this morning, and then I hit it getting into the car. Bloop, came right off." I shrugged.

“Oh, Sophie,” he groaned. “You know I hate doing that.”

“I know. But El-Mudad isn’t available, and you are. If we do it now, it won’t cut into grown-up alone time tonight.” Not that it took a long time to do it. “Come on. This way, I won't have to poke my finger before dinner. And you’ll be distracted by whatever you’re going to scold me for.”

I moved toward the door, and he followed me begrudgingly. “I’m not going to scold you.”

“You’re not going to tell me I’m going overboard like at Target?” I hoped that wasn’t the case. El-Mudad and Neil had both promised they were okay with me donating as much money as I wanted, even if it surpassed any possible tax benefit. “Don’t worry. The financial guy said he would limit me if I endangered your fortune.”

“Dale will always think we’re endangering our fortune. That’s his job. But that isn’t my concern. We have plenty of money.”

Plenty. Too much, once the pitchforks came out. But trying to convince a billionaire who’d grown up with billionaire parents of that was a difficult task.

All the supplies for my glucose monitor were in a big, pretty box El-Mudad had given me to keep things organized and still match the bathroom. However, the sharps container on the wall was still red plastic, which irritated him but was required by our contract with the housekeeping service. I took the teak crate to the bedroom while Neil washed his hands.

I took off my blouse, squirted some hand sanitizer, and opened the new sensor packaging to get it ready for the applicator.

“I don’t know why you won’t even consider one of those ninety-day set-ups,” Neil grumbled as he emerged, wiping his hands with a paper towel.

“Because I don’t want something I can’t move. I like to be able to cover it up.” He knew how I felt about disclosing my disease to the whole world.

Ugh. Disease. I hated that word.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he reminded me. “Maybe that’s another charitable endeavor you could pursue. The Sophie Scaife Foundation for Needlessly Embarrassed Diabetics.”

“Haha. But you don’t get how our society views people with type two diabetes. It’s the ultimate failure to some people. It’s a sign that you have no self-control.” My shoulders slumped. “I wish I didn’t have to remind you of this all the time.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” he agreed, chastened. “It just hurts me to see you tormented over this. You didn’t fail. Your pancreas did. And that’s why I think you might consider turning your philanthropic efforts toward education efforts, raising awareness—”

“Buying people insulin because the price is criminally high?” I picked up the applicator and slid in the sensor. “Okay, we’re ready to go.”

Neil visibly shuddered. Placing a new sensor wasn’t that big a deal. All he had to do was hold the applicator against my skin, press two buttons, and inject a long ass needle into my arm. Total non-issue. It wasn’t the needle or the possibility of bleeding that bothered him but the notion that he might cause me pain.

I couldn’t help but shake my head. “You get off on causing me way worse pain than this.”

“You get off on worse pain than this,” he retorted. “But this is decidedly non-sexual.”

“Well, just remember all the disgusting stuff I did for you when you had cancer,” I said with a snort.

He grew suddenly serious. “I do, Sophie. I will never take that for granted.”

I leaned over for a kiss and pressed an alcohol wipe into his hand. “Cyborg me, baby.”

“Promise you’ll think about throwing some money at the disease that’s currently causing you so much grief.” He tore open the packet and swabbed the cold antiseptic over my skin. “I hope that doing so will alleviate some of your nonsensical guilt.”

He was right. It probably would make me feel better to do something other than wallowing in self-pity because I could no longer eat a whole roll of raw cookie dough in one sitting.

“Neil? Sophie? Molly is looking for you.” El-Mudad pointed over his shoulder with his thumb as he entered the room.

“Oh good, you’re here.” Neil stood and snapped off his gloves. “My hero.”

El-Mudad sighed in amusement. “I’ve seen you cane her bloody.”

“And that, as I have told you both many times now, is a completely different set of circumstances.” Neil stood and brushed his hands together and stepped aside.