The Baby (The Boss #5)

by Abigail Barnette

  “Your phone?” Neil reminded me quietly, handing Penny his coat. As glam as she was tonight, she was on the clock.

  “Right, my phone.” I reached into my purse and handed my cell to her. “Purse can get checked with the coat, I don’t care, but keep my phone on you, okay?”

  “It wouldn’t have killed you to take one night off, darling,” Neil said tersely and under his breath.

  I gave him a pass because he was nervous.

  He was right, though. I could have just left my phone at home, because there was never a down time to check it. The bars were open, hot hors d’oeuvres were on offer, and waiters circulated with the cold ones. Everyone wanted to talk to the man they would be throwing their money at later, but Neil managed to break away from the schmoozing for a minute to take me for a turn around the floor with the other couples dancing to the accompaniment of the band.

  “Sophie!”

  I turned to see my best friend, Holli, dragging her wife, my business partner, Deja, across the dance floor. A standout as always, Holli wore a floor-length dress of amethyst organza, the deep neckline plunging from the halter back to the thick sequined band at her natural waist.

  “So, that’s why you needed the double-sided tape,” I said, gesturing to her chest as she approached. “I hope you really battened down the hatches.”

  “It’s not like a titty’s going to just flop out,” she grumbled, self-conscious as always about her flat chest. “But, yes, everything is secure. I won’t embarrass the Englishman.”

  “Good. Because he’s worried enough as it is.” I glanced over to where Neil stood with two other dudes in tuxedos. They were all laughing loudly at something I would probably not find terribly funny.

  I was so glad Holli and Deja were there to hang out with me.

  Deja had already shown me the dress she’d planned to wear, since it had been delivered via courier just days ago. It was a black Ziad Nakad gown with a starched, structured boat-neck top that angled into points of fabric above her shoulders. The bodice was detailed with flashes of gold, and the skirt clung to her legs and ass like Catwoman’s suit before flaring out into a wide skirt from her knees. “Holy shit, you look amazing!”

  “I told you I could make it work,” She said, tossing the half-bob on the side of her head she hadn’t shaved, yet.

  “So, is this open bar?” Holli asked with an impatient wiggle. “Cash bar?”

  “Open. This is more of a ‘thank you for your money’ party than a ‘give us your money’ party.” I frowned. “No, wait. It’s kind of both.”

  “‘Thank you for your money, now give us more of it, but here’s free booze?’” Deja suggested, and I laughed.

  Even though gala fundraisers weren’t exactly my choice of party, with my friends there, it wasn’t so bad. I got a little break from being the trophy wife, every now and then, and they kept me apprised of which celebrities were there. They were also awesome about stepping back and giving me space when Neil did need me on his arm, whether to introduce me to someone or to bring me into a conversation with an important donor. When those obligations were fulfilled, there were Holli and Deja, waiting to get back to partying.

  While Holli and I were dancing to a big-band version of Hot Chocolate’s “You Sexy Thing”—Neil seriously needed to fire whoever had been in charge of entertainment for the evening—Deja skidded up to us and whispered, “Courtney Cox just went into the ladies’ room!”

  “Let’s go!” Holli grabbed my hand and nearly dragged me off the floor, but Neil intercepted us.

  “I hate to spoil your fun, darling, but I believe it’s time for me to thank our donors,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

  I turned to Holli. “Take pictures.”

  “Take pictures of Courtney Cox using the toilet?” she asked, making a face.

  I shot a nervous look at Deja. “Don’t let her.”

  “No, of course not.” Deja gave Neil a smile. “Break a leg.”

  “Thank you,” he replied. Though there was still a frisson of tension between the two of them, owing to the nasty bit of corporate espionage we’d all gotten caught up in, Neil and Deja were getting along a lot better than before. They’d never been outwardly cold to each other, but having her at the house or him at the office was occasionally awkward.

  The party planner led Neil and me to the dais at the base of the stairs, where someone had set up a microphone.

  “I suppose there’s no more delaying it,” Neil said, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

  “Hey.” I reached up to hold his face in my hands and force him to look down at me. “You’re going to knock this one out of the park.”

  “I know I will. It’s the coming up from the dugout that’s nerve wracking.” He cleared his throat. “Shame that Emma and Michael haven’t arrived, yet.”

  “They haven’t?” I was so busy hanging with Holli and Deja I hadn’t even noticed.

  He didn’t get the chance answer. The band ended their number, and the leader announced that he was turning the floor over to “your host for the evening, Mr. Neil Elwood.”

  Guests drifted closer to the stairs. They were all clutching drinks of some kind, which was good, and they were all smiling, which was even better. Neil would definitely notice those two things, and it would put him at ease.

  “Well.” Neil flashed his brilliant smile. “I expect I’ll be called upon for a few favors after tonight.”

  Gentle laughter rippled through the crowd. Neil would usually chalk it up to the open bar out of false modesty; he knew the effect he had on people. But tonight, he was nervous. More than nervous. He was petrified. He hadn’t said as much to me, but I could tell, knowing him the way I did. His posture wasn’t as easy, and it really did seem like he was concentrating on commanding the room.

  “In November of last year, I publicly announced my intent to create and fund the Elwood Rape Crisis Resource Center. I met with…concerned resistance.”

  More scattered chuckles issued from the crowd. I had no doubt some of them were uncomfortable; a lot of Neil’s business acquaintances had voiced their opinions—forcefully—at the time. People who had huge sums of money could be incredibly stingy with it. It was probably why they had so much.

  “But what many of you did not know was my close, personal connection with the subject.” I’d heard his speech. He’d practiced it on me, so I knew what he was afraid of. He cleared his throat, and my own tightened in response as he continued. “When I was twenty years old, I was raped by a man with whom I’d previously had a consensual sexual relationship.”

  Everything in the room froze, and the mood changed perceptibly. It was the first time he’d publicly acknowledged his sexuality, though Stephen Stern had gleefully included it in his seedy tell-all.

  He’d failed to mention the rape, of course.

  “At the time, there weren’t many resources for men who shared my experience. The prevailing attitude was that rape occurred in dark alleys, to women walking alone late at night. Men, it was thought, couldn’t be raped. Unfortunately, that attitude seems largely unchanged, as do our other attitudes about what constitutes sexual assault and who is worthy of calling their experiences rape.” He paused, letting that unfair reality sink in. “When I began discussing this foundation with my wife, Sophie, I told her that if I could only help one person struggling to recover from sexual assault, I would be happy. And she said, ‘Neil, you wouldn’t be happy helping that one person. You want to change the world.’”

  My face flushed. I could remember the exact moment we’d had that discussion. We’d been flopped on the couch in our den, clicking through television channels, when he’d stopped on a rerun of Law & Order: SVU. It had been such a surreal segue; one minute, I’d been playing the Kardashian game on my phone; the next, he was telling me he’d met with lawyers about forming a charity.

  I looked around the lobby. This had gone far beyond charity. This was the change he really wanted to see in the world.
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  He went on. “I know that changing the world is a rather lofty dream. At the moment, I’m content to change New York. Everyone at the Elwood Rape Crisis Resource Center, from the doctors, nurses, and therapists who will provide continuing care, to the phone staff who will provide support and direction to those who inquire about our services, will treat survivors with the respect and dignity they deserve.

  “The trauma of reporting a rape often forces a survivor’s hand when making the decision to go to the authorities. Our first educational program, which launches this spring, will host department heads and special committees from twenty police precincts in Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Queens—”

  A roar of applause rose up at the announcement, covering the end of Neil’s sentence. He nodded along with them, clearly containing a huge grin that would burst out when he was no longer trying to be professional. When the clapping died down, he continued, “Facilities for temporary safe relocation of victims of domestic violence will open in February—” More applause interrupted him. “And counsellors will be available for on-going one-on-one and group therapy, regardless of a patient’s ability to pay.

  “These are just a few of the services this foundation will provide, and I am committed to seeing these help women, men, teens, and children, regardless of race or the sex they were assigned at birth. It is my hope that we may well change the way rape and sexual abuse are treated and reported in New York City. Perhaps, with your generous donations, we may provide an example to the rest of the world. Thank you all for coming, and please, enjoy your evening.”

  He turned away from the microphone as everyone continued to applaud, and he made a beeline for me. I managed to step up on my tiptoes and tell him, “That was amazing. I’m so proud of you!” before well-wishers overwhelmed us. People shook Neil’s hand and complimented my dress. They praised him for being so candid about his experience and thanked him for sharing it. A reporter asked him a couple of quick questions, and Neil managed to disengage by promising a full interview later. The band started up again, launching into an upbeat tune that pulled people to the dance floor and gave us a moment’s respite to get a few words in to each other.

  “Is it just me, or are your cheeks really sore, too?” I said in a low voice, my aching smile still frozen on my face.

  “It’s just you. I’ve never been more inclined to smile in entire life.” Neil looked down at me, his eyes wet. They were tears of joy, I could tell. He blinked them back, but I was so glad to see them. They were such a beautiful change from his tears of pain I’d become used to.

  “I’m so proud of you.” I wouldn’t kiss him, because I didn’t want to leave a lipstick print. But I reached up and brushed my thumb across his cheek, and it was a suitable stand in.

  I wouldn’t even point out all the many occasions in our personal life when he’d had plenty of reason to smile. Like our wedding day, for example. I would tease him about that later.

  A figure in a black dress cut a line through the crowd, headed straight toward us. It was Penny, flushed, her hairline glistening with sweat. Her dress was rumpled, or maybe it just looked that way from how she was holding it up to avoid stepping on it as she practically jogged across the floor.

  “Penny?” I asked, and she handed me my phone, her eyes wide.

  “I’m so sorry. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to miss the first call. They were only ten minutes apart, but I feel terrible. Just really—”

  “Calm down, Penny,” Neil said gently.

  “Yeah, it’s just a phone call.” I slid my thumb across the screen.

  Presbyterian Hospital?

  The same number lit up my screen, and I answered. “Yes?”

  “Is this Sophie Scaife?” the voice on the other end asked brusquely.

  I looked up uncertainly at Neil, then turned my attention back to the phone. “Yes, it is. Who is this?”

  “This is Officer Sue Granger with the NYPD. You were listed as an emergency contact in Emma Van der Graf’s cell phone. We’re going to need you to come down to Presbyterian Hospital as soon as possible.”

  “Wait, I don’t…I don’t understand. What’s happened?” I asked, and Neil reached out as if to take the phone from me. Which was exactly what I didn’t need, because he would freak out and it might be nothing.

  “Ms. Van der Graf has been in an accident. We need you to come down.” She paused. “You might want to contact her family.”

  “I am her family,” I said, my lips numb. There was a buzzing noise in my head. “I mean, we’ll be there.”

  I hung up and turned to Penny. “Get into my email and search my contacts. You’ll find a number in there for Valerie Stern. Tell her to go to Presbyterian Hospital immediately.”

  “Sophie, what’s happened?” Neil’s eyes were so wide I swore I could see his panicked pulse in them.

  “It’s Emma.” My chest tightened. I barely had enough breath to get my next words out. “She’s…there’s been an accident.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I’d never actually feared for my life while Neil was driving before, but he ran nearly every red light trying to get across town to reach the hospital. The words of the officer kept repeating in my mind. Mrs. Van der Graf has been in an accident.

  I was Emma’s emergency contact? Had she been drunk when she made that decision? I was so going to make fun of her for that, once she was feeling better.

  Neil parked on the street, and we raced inside, through the emergency room entrance. The hospital staff directed us to the surgical floor. The ride up seemed to take forever, and Neil practically charged the elevator doors before they opened. I spotted Valerie and her new boyfriend, Laurence, through the windows of the waiting room. They sat with their heads close together. Their coats lay over the backs of the uncomfortable looking chairs.

  When we entered, they looked up, Laurence’s face grim, Valerie’s eyes bloodshot and full of tears.

  “What…” Shallow breaths interrupted Neil’s speech. “What’s happened?”

  “An accident,” Valerie said, her voice quavering. “Michael is dead.”

  I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt too heavy, and I couldn’t fight against it. This is what it feels like to drown. I leaned back on the closed door. Michael was dead? He wasn’t. I’d just heard him, talking to Emma as she spoke on the phone with me.

  He’d…he’d just been alive.

  Neil’s hands came up to cover his mouth. His eyes searched the room, as though the solution to this awful problem were somewhere to found. “Emma. My god, she must be devastated.”

  The look on Valerie’s face made vomit crawl up my throat. She dropped her head. “She doesn’t know. She’s in surgery, right now.”

  “Surgery?” Neil staggered backward and put out a hand to catch himself, grabbing the back of one of the chairs. He fell into it, paler than I’d ever seen him. “What… How bad was this accident?”

  “They were on the West Side Highway. The car next to them slid out,” Laurence explained, as Valerie leaned her head against his shoulder. “They fishtailed and were hit by another vehicle.”

  I remembered Neil saying, Tell her to give me an early birthday present and show up on time.

  There was no chance he would forget he’d said that. I could practically see it playing across his face.

  “Michael didn’t even make it out of the car. Emma was unconscious.” Valerie’s words burbled out with her tears. “They’re working on her, right now. All they’ll tell us is that it’s serious.”

  “Serious like serious condition, or critical?” I asked, but that was stupid. They didn’t give you information like that at the hospital in the real world, did they?

  No one answered me, anyway. We all sat there, paralyzed with shock.

  I turned to Neil. “I’m going to have Penny bring us some clothes. Do we need to do anything else?”

  “I called the au pair, so she knows they won’t be home on time—” Valerie’s voice caught.

  Michael wo
uldn’t be home, at all.

  “Where are Michael’s parents?” Neil asked, his voice dull, his inflection eerily neutral.

  “Gstaad,” Valerie said with a helpless shrug. “They’ve been informed.”

  Informed. What was happening? This wasn’t us. We didn’t have tragedies. Well, we did, but they weren’t like this. They were…drug problems and family squabbles. Not this. Not this horrible death and the threat of…

  No, Emma was going to be fine. Because if she wasn’t…

  “Does anyone need anything?” I asked, and rose on numb legs to go to the hallway.

  I fished my phone from my coat pocket and dialed up Penny.

  “Sophie?” She answered nervously.

  “Do you still have the key to the apartment?” I asked her, struggling to keep the tremor from my voice.

  “Yeah… Where are you? Is everything all right?”

  “I need you to go to the apartment. Get us some clothes. Some jeans and a sweater for Neil, um, some jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt for me.” This was good. This felt like making progress, in a hopeless situation. “And drive them here to New York Presbyterian.”

  “Oh. Yeah, sure.” The tone of Penny’s voice indicated she understood the severity of the situation. “Right away.”

  “Thank you.”

  I hung up and clutched the phone to my chest. I wanted to call someone else, to deliver some kind of order, just to feel like there was something I could do to change anything about this situation.

  Michael was dead. Emma would never see him, again. Olivia would never… God, she wouldn’t even remember him.

  I wanted to cry. I felt like a traitor for not crying.

  I picked up my skirt and held it with one hand as I opened the waiting room door. I felt stupid in a black-tie gown in a hospital waiting room. And I should have asked Penny to bring shoes.

  Neil looked up from chewing his thumbnail. His eyes were red, and from the slouch of his shoulders, I could tell he felt every ounce of the pain that was to come for Emma.