The Hook-Up

THE HOOK-UP

Abigail Barnette

Copyright 2013 Abigail Barnette

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook.
Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property
of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed
for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this
book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at
Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this
author. Thank you for your support.

Author’s note: This is a short story/missing
scene/preview of the upcoming book,
The Bride
(March, 2014),
which I’ve written for all you lovely readers of
The Boss
and
The Girlfriend,
as a way to say thank you, thank you,
thank you for making 2013 such an amazing year for me and Sophie
and Neil.

But a word of warning: here, there be some
minor spoilers. If you don’t want to know a single thing about
The Bride
before it releases, stop reading now. This story
will also be included at the end of
The Bride
, so you won’t
miss a thing.

Special thanks to Deelylah Mullin for her
editing skills.

I should have
been embarrassed at the schoolboy thrill I got whenever I saw my
mobile light up with an incoming call from Sophie, but it
couldn
’
t be helped. All
I had to do was think about her— and I rarely
stopped
thinking about her— and I wasn’t Neil Elwood, billionaire, but Neil
Elwood, befuddled teenager.

Which can be damned unfortunate in the middle
of an important meeting one has flown five-thousand kilometers to
sit in on. No matter how discreetly I tried to check the number of
the incoming call, someone would notice that the most important
person in the room had ceased paying attention.

Across the conference table, Valerie tilted
her head, her expression never changing as she stared me down. It
is one of the more effective techniques in her arsenal. It told me
I was caught, and in for the scolding of a lifetime.

I tried to sound apologetic— and not
relieved— at the interruption. “Pardon me. Terribly sorry, but I do
have to take this.” I looked to Valerie. Her pleasant, neutral
smile that never reached her eyes warned me that I would be hearing
about this later. For Sophie, I would take my chances. “Please, do
go on without me.”

Before Valerie could protest, I slipped out
and rounded the corner to my outer office. I answered the call as
the door closed behind me, and held up one finger as I passed my
assistant
’s desk, indicating I
was unavailable at the moment.

“Darling, what a surprise. It
’
s nearly… well, it
’
s about six in the morning there,
isn
’
t it?” As if I had
to do the calculations. I spent every moment away from her thinking
about what she might be doing;
Sophie’s probably sleeping right
now. Sophie’s probably having dinner right now. Sophie is probably
putting lotion on those beautiful feet right now and would she
think it odd if I were to ask to jack off onto them?

She yawned, and I was brought immediately to
our bed in New York, her warm, naked body curled up beside mine.
Only one more night, and I would be home. That did little to ease
the aching loneliness in my chest.

“I wanted to catch you at lunch,”
she sighed sleepily.
“I know
you
’
re going to be busy
later.”

“
Yes,
quite.
” I pulled the door to my private office closed and
went to sit behind my desk. My calendar was open on the computer
screen. There, in blue, blocked out from eight to nine, was
“Dinner.” Dinner with Emir, our acquaintance from the private BDSM
club Sophie and I had visited in Paris. Dinner and a bit more, if
the evening leaned in that direction.

“You have to promise to call and tell me all
about it as soon as you can,” Sophie purred. Her voice, God in
heaven, the low, feminine alto was like the idle of a Ferrari 458
Italia. Although in arguments, I
’
d heard her speaking tone pitch as high as a
revving Lamborghini
Aventador
.

Just the sound of her voice got my cock
up.

“I
’
ll tell you, if there is anything to tell. We
didn
’
t make any firm
plans,” I reminded her. “If the dynamic is strange without you, it
won’t be anything beyond a pleasant dinner with a casual
friend.”

“Well, I hope the dynamic is amazing, and you
have a really good time.” Her sleepy laugh might as well have been
a hand cupping my balls.

“Either way, when I get home you
’
d better be ready for some
incredibly filthy—” a knock on the door jarred me. “Look, darling,
I must go, but I
’
ll call
you before I go to sleep tonight.”

“I’m holding you to that,” she warned me.
“Both the call and the filthy sex.”

Phones
were fucking useless when all you wanted to
do was grab your woman and kiss her senseless. “I love you,
Sophie.”

“I love you, too.” There was a brief pause,
and I held my breath until she added, “Sir,” with the sexiest
giggle.

The knock came again just as I ended the
call. “
Yes, Valerie, for
god
’
s sake come in.
”

“I’m sorry, am I inconveniencing the man who
just ran out on an explanation of a foreign 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 still been desperate to oversee the company. But
now I’d had a taste of life at home, where the television was
always on, but my trousers rarely were. Free time, which I’d never
had much regard for in the past, now seemed incredibly
precious.

Perhaps it was because I
’
d been faced with the very real
possibility of death that I was now recognizing the value of my
life. Sitting in a conference room on a Saturday, when I
could
’
ve spent a rare
day off with Sophie, seemed a tragic waste of my time.

Coming home to an empty house at the end of
the night only reinforced the point. I put my bag down by the door
and glanced up the stairs, a practiced reflex; Sophie and I had
spent nearly a year in our London residence, and it seemed strange
to be here alone.

I wouldn
’
t be, for long. I only had an hour and a half
before Emir would arrive. Only a few members of the household staff
were still on duty, and they were in the kitchen. Without a soul in
the living areas of the house, the feeling of emptiness was
exacerbated.

The realization struck me hard when I clicked
on our bedroom light. Sophie wasn
’
t there, sprawled out on the bed, watching mindless
television. And she wasn
’
t downstairs in the library, hard at work on her
book or her videos. She was across an ocean, despising our
separation as much as I was. But of the two of us, only one seemed
to be under the impression that the other should be patiently
waiting until she was needed.

Neil Elwood, you are the biggest idiot who
ever lived.

It hadn
’
t been so long ago that I
’
d been desperate to be near her, separated
by maddening hospital regulations. More than once I
’
d been gripped with panic,
thinking I might die without ever touching her again. I still
occasionally woke and reached for her in mindless terror, fearing I
was still in that isolation room. That had only been a few months
ago, and we were back to the relationship we
’
d had before the cancer. Me, too busy with
work to make time for Sophie except on the occasional evening or
weekend. Her, pursuing her own career with a single-minded
determination I admired.

And I had been taking her presence in my life
entirely for granted.

I went to the master bath. The fluffy pink
robe Sophie loved so much still hung on the back of the door. I
would have to remember to take it back to New York for her.

In the shower, I thought about Sophie, and
not the usual way I thought about her when I was in the shower. I
couldn
’
t begrudge her
drive and ambition, no matter how… experimental her career path
seemed at the moment. In my twenties, I
’
d based all my job prospects on what superficial
title would grant me access to unlimited cocaine, so she was
fairing far better than I had.