Free The Hook-Up by Abigail Barnette Page A

rights deal
that ’ s going to make us
millions?” Valerie unbuttoned her jacket as she sat in the chair
across the desk from mine. “You know, it occurs to me that you
aren ’ t really here.”
    “I ’ m here.” I gestured around me. “I am fully aware
that I am not at
home.”
    “You know what I mean.” Her forehead creased
in annoyance. “I ’ m
surprised you didn ’ t
drag her along on this trip. You might have gotten more done if you
weren’t busy pining away like a puppy for his master.”
    “She didn ’ t want to come. Too much traveling lately.” I
didn ’ t want to talk
about Sophie with Valerie. It made me vaguely uncomfortable, as
though I were betraying Sophie in some way. Though I found it a bit
tiresome that the two were so hostile toward one another, I came
down on Sophie ’ s side
every time. It would have been wrong of me not to.
    But it was difficult to stay annoyed when
Valerie reminded me so strongly of our daughter. The way Valerie
tilted her head to one side, eyes narrowed, was an almost exact
copy of Emma ’ s own
expression of incredulity.
    “Neil… there wasn ’ t any reason I couldn ’ t have handled this rights deal on my own. And even
if I couldn ’ t have,
Jonathan could have done. If he ’ s to take over operations here while you ’ re handling the New York office
and I ’ m finishing the
restructure of Porteras , Shouldn ’ t we have left this job to him?”
    “Don ’ t be absurd.” Leaving Jonathan in charge would have
been akin to leaving a baby with a loaded gun. “He ’ s only been with us for—”
    “Twelve years. He has worked here for twelve
years. And he worked for your father for six.” The way she rolled
her eyes reminded me of Emma, as well. How could two women be so
alike, and yet so different? And why did they both seem to find me
hopelessly stupid?
    Valerie paused, as if to regroup. “You were
fine with leaving Jonathan in charge when you were sick.”
    “That was when I was sick. I ’ m well now.”
    “ Well ” being a relative term. I still tired easily,
and the nightmares of my time in protective isolation certainly
didn ’ t help me rest.
    Valerie shook her head. “You ’ re obsessed with control, Neil.
You ’ re living in New
York and, what, commuting to London now? Is that how it ’ s going to be for the next twenty
years?”
    “Do you really think I could wait and retire
at seventy?” An extra five years, think of what I could do with
that…
    Valerie ’ s mouth opened, poised to deliver another withering
remark, but she refrained. “Fine. Let ’ s go back and listen to that very boring man, if
you ’ re not too busy
making the world spin ‘round.”
    “Is the worst of it over? Is it safe to go
back in?”
    “Unfortunately, no. But you have to go back,
anyway.” She stood and gestured toward the door. “Shall we? Or do I
move our meeting in here?”
    “God no.” I stood and straightened my tie
reflexively. “This office is my bunker. I can ’t compromise it.”
    “And when you’re working from the New York
office full time, shall we erect a memorial on your desk, or just
seal the doors the way they do when a pope dies?” Valerie stopped
short and turned to me. “Oh, I was thinking of dinner out tonight,
at that Ethiopian place we liked. Seven-thirty all right?”
    “No, I have plans tonight.” Plans I
didn ’ t need to share
with her. There was too much shaky history there.
    The rest of the workday was interminable.
Caught between missing Sophie and anticipating the potential of an
evening with Emir, my attentiveness to all other concerns was
minimal, at best.
    Not for the first time, I wondered if
returning to the office after cancer was even possible.
I ’ d gotten so used to
not working, and easing back in had become more difficult than
previously imagined. Though I ’ d never really stopped working. As much as I
may have protested when Sophie admonished me for my
mid-chemotherapy work habits, I ’ d