Page 322 of Manhattan Bossholes

“No worse than any of the other guys,” I said.

Trent barked a laugh, already texting. “That’s true.”

As I picked up my phone to dial Dee, I couldn’t help thinking about what she’d last said to me: Don’t give up on life either, honey…wonderful things can happen.

I wondered if she’d known how right she was when she said that. My heart raced as the phone rang. I’d never been so excited to tell anyone anything. Well, certainly not since before I’d lost my parents.

The phone clicked. “Hello?”

“Hi, Dee,” I said.

“Natasha. This is a surprise! It’s so good to hear from you, honey.”

“Are you sitting down?” I asked.

“Am I⁠—”

“Because I’ve got an even bigger surprise for you.”

“Something tells me it’s not about the furniture,” Dee said.

“No, it’s a little better than furniture.” Ha! Who could believe that? “Trent and I are engaged!”

Dee made her congratulations known, very loudly, on the other end of the phone. I had to hold the phone away from my ear until she stopped shrieking.

“I think she approves,” Trent whispered.

I gave him a wry grin. “She’s definitely warming to the idea.”

31

TRENT

Hospitals were all the same—dull, grey spaces that smelled of bleach and vomit. Even looking around Dee’s private room, dressed up with flowers and cards, I couldn’t shake the unease that settled over me. I’d spent far too much time in hospitals with Papa Davis, crowding around a bed with scratchy white sheets and machines that were constantly beeping and whirring.

“You look nervous.”

Surgery day. Of course I was damn nervous! But I glanced over at Dee, forcing a smile. “You seem weirdly calm.”

“I am,” she said thoughtfully, flipping through the briefing package I’d brought to distract her. The new sustainable line was in full swing, and with the final furniture designs approved, marketing had put together a spread for Dee to enjoy. “I’m ready.”

I didn’t want to think about what that meant. What it could mean. She was ready for surgery. Ready to take the leap. To face recovery head on. But also…was she ready for what happened if this surgery went sideways? If she didn’t survive the procedure?

She reached out her hand, and I took it. It felt worryingly frail. Dee had always been this larger-than-life persona. I’d always looked up to her. Now, looking down at her, she seemed so tiny and vulnerable. I wanted to sweep her away from here. To find a cure that didn’t involve a risky surgery to prolong her life. I’d been so caught up in getting Dee to agree to the treatment, I’d hardly taken a moment to consider what would happen if the thing that was supposed to save her failed. Had I pushed her into making the wrong decision?

Dee squeezed my hand. “I’m only going to say this once, and then we’re not going to talk about it again. I’ve made my peace with the decision. I want this surgery, Trent. And whatever happens, it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

A bout of emotion caught me, swelling uncomfortably in my chest. I managed a nod as someone knocked on the door. I turned to see Natasha and Jimmy waltz through the door, shoulders snow-dusted, coffees in hand.

Jimmy flitted to Dee’s side, and she made a show of shivering as he hugged her.

“Hello, you,” Natasha said, stretching up on her toes to peck me on the cheek. I inhaled her familiar scent, letting the cold from her skin leach into mine, stifling some of the red-hot worry that coursed through me. She handed me a steaming cup of coffee.

“Where’s mine?” Dee asked jokingly.

“No coffee for the patient,” Natasha apologized. She bent over and kissed Dee’s cheek in greeting. It warmed the spaces between my ribs. “Nurse’s orders. And I never mess with the nurses.”

“Good thing too,” a voice said. “Because we know where they keep the good pudding.” Rhonda, a middle-aged woman with enough bite to make even my mother tremble in her designer boots, walked in, hands in the pockets of her scrubs. She caught my eye, then flicked her head toward the door.