Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“This is a little more than that.” Emma held Olivia tighter. “The fact that Dad has been walking around with this for years…and, now, to have it written in what I frankly thought was a tacky-sounding book in the first place… I can’t imagine what he must be going through.”
“He’s going to be okay. He’s stopped drinking, and he’s going to therapy. That’s really all that we can do at the moment.”
“He stopped drinking?” Emma’s eyebrows knitted together. “Dad has a drinking problem?”
Oh boy. “Emma…there is a lot of stuff your dad doesn’t tell you, because he doesn’t want to hurt you. I know that’s insulting because you’re a grown adult, but you’re always going to be his little girl.”
Olivia squawked, and Emma adjusted her position. “Is there any other secret my father is hiding from me? Is his cancer back? Is he being indicted for tax fraud? Are the two of you moving to Malaysia?”
“I promise, he’s not hiding anything else.” Now that we’d had the big, awkward discussion, my appetite had returned. I reached for the platter she’d slid onto the coffee table. “I think you should probably give your dad a call today, though. Let him know that we talked, and tell him how you feel. But, I have to warn you, he’s extremely fragile, even though he’ll play it off like he’s fine.”
“I would expect no less,” Emma said with a roll of her eyes. “Thank you, Sophie. I really appreciate you telling me, since my dad couldn’t. Does Mom know?”
“She does. But, if you need to talk to her about it, I would appreciate it if you asked your dad’s permission, first.”
“I don’t know if I can forgive her.” Emma’s gaze darted to mine. “All these years, we’ve still been having Christmas and birthdays and flying out to Scotland to visit him…and she knew all this time? How can she look him in the face?”
That, I couldn’t answer for her. I couldn’t even think of it. I wanted to be mad at Valerie, but I didn’t know when she’d found out, or what the circumstances were with her brother. I didn’t want to know. Were it me, I would have cut ties with Stephen immediately. “I don’t know. That’s something you’d have to ask her.”
As for myself, I had questions of my own for Valerie. That evening, after a tearful phone call to Neil, Emma headed home with a tired baby. I decided I should be with Neil, no matter the late hour or the fact that I had to be back in the city at ass o’clock in the morning.
In the car, I dialed the number I really didn’t care to dial. Valerie’s voicemail picked up immediately.
“Hey, Valerie. It’s Sophie. Scaife. Neil’s girlfriend, um…” God, why did I always sound like such a moron trying to talk to this woman? “Anyway, I have something really important I want to see you about. I was hoping you could fit me in sometime this week. It won’t take long We’re obviously both really busy, but I do really, really need to talk. Just give me a call or something.”
I hung up and weighed my phone against my palm. Whether or not I had a ton of crap going on this week, I couldn’t move on to my future with Neil if I didn’t clean up the shit in our past. Making peace with Valerie, especially over this, was next on my to-do list.
* * * *
The next morning, Valerie’s assistant responded to my voicemail with some very clipped sentences about “Ms. Stern’s impossible schedule”, and “limited availability”. She tried to shut me out with times like, “Wednesday at four, for fifteen minutes” or “Tuesday at ten-thirty, for five minutes”. I strong-armed her into later that day, at noon.
I arrived at Porteras with my laminated “VISITOR” tag clipped to my blouse. When the elevator doors opened and I saw the familiar lobby, the reception desk and modern white couches, I realized that whether I’d worked there in the past or not, I was stepping into enemy territory.
Though many of my colleagues from Porteras had left to go with Gabriella Winters to work for her new magazine, some had stayed, and it seemed like everyone knew who I was. Unfortunately, I was the devious whore who’d slept her way from the beauty department to my own magazine, funded by my sugar daddy’s money. I held my head high as I approached the desk. “Sophie Scaife for Valerie Stern.”
“Sophie,” Valerie called across the lobby. She stood with the door to her office—once Gabriella’s office, then Neil’s, then Rudy’s—and invited me inside.
“Hi,” I greeted her awkwardly as we walked through the doors into the room where I’d done my former dream job. My old desk was covered with someone else’s things, like it was flaunting jewelry from a new suitor to make me feel inferior.