Chapter 1 #2
Dr. Murphy glances up at Sloane as the line is secured. “You can stay right there with her. Talk to her. You’re helping more than you think.”
She shifts her attention to the nurse. “Nurse Rivera will stay with you. You’re in very capable hands.”
Sloane doesn’t let go of Elsie’s hand once. Not when the nurse threads the IV. Not when Elsie whimpers and turns her face into her Sloane’s side. Sloane’s free hand hovers uselessly, smoothing Elsie’s hair, straightening a blanket that doesn’t need fixing.
Her phone buzzes on the bedside table, lighting up insistently. Sloane flicks her eyes toward it and back to Elsie, jaw tight, fingers threading harder around Elsie’s hand. The phone vibrates again, each buzz another reminder of the world she’s meant to be holding together outside this room.
She ignores it for as long as she can.
Finally, she breaks.
“Ivy...” Her voice fractures around my name. “She needs me here. But if I don’t show up at work tomorrow, if I miss London prep, they’ll replace me. Dane Black doesn’t tolerate weakness. I’ve taken far too many sick days already.”
Her eyes shine, and for the first time tonight, she looks scared.
“Surely, if you explain, he’ll understand.” Even as I say the words, I know it’s futile. If the rumors are true, that man doesn’t have a heart.
“He won’t,” she says, clutching my hand. “I lied to HR to get that job; they could fire me. And I can’t—” she swallows hard. “I can’t lose this job. We won’t make rent.”
“Look,” I say, squeezing her fingers gently. “I’ll miss my audition tomorrow. It’s just an ensemble part, anyway. I’ll stay here with Elsie.”
The words have barely left my mouth before Elsie’s eyes fill. Like all kids, when they’re sick, it’s their mom they want.
“Please, Mommy,” she whispers. “Don’t go.”
For a long moment, she just looks at her daughter. Then she forces herself to look away.
“I can’t leave her,” she says quietly. “I won’t.”
Her gaze drifts to the IV pole, the monitor, the too-white walls, like she’s finally taking in the reality of the room. A breath leaves her, short and humorless.
“I’ve spent my whole life doing things the right way,” she says. “Planning. Accounting for every variable.” She shakes her head. “And it still wasn’t enough.”
I open my mouth to reassure her, but nothing comes. For once, I don’t know what to say.
Sloane goes very still. Defeat crosses her face before the tightness in her jaw eases, her expression sharpening.
I recognize the look immediately: the moment panic gives way to calculation.
“What if you covered for me?” she asks slowly, her eyes brightening as the idea takes root. “Be me for just one day.”
I stare at her.
“What?” The laugh bursts out of me, too loud in the sterile room.
“Sloane, absolutely not. One day as the right hand of Wall Street’s executioner?
No way. I can’t fake being you. I’m a dancer—I don’t know a damn thing about hedge funds.
Unless Dane Black wants a lap dance between meetings, I’ll be outed in five seconds. ”
“He won’t be able to tell,” she says, like she’s already run the numbers. “Even some of our closest friends can’t tell us apart. And I’ll be at the end of the phone the whole time. I’ll talk you through everything.”
I shake my head, but the certainty in her voice makes it harder than it should be. “I don’t know, Sloane. You’ve worked too hard for that job. What if I ruin it for you?”
“You won’t.” She reaches for my arm. “Just keep your head down. Do exactly what I tell you, and you’ll be fine. He’ll be in meetings most of the day.” Her eyes hold mine, steady and sure. “You can do this. You’re a performer. And I promise—I won’t ask again.”
I glance toward the bed.
Elsie has gone quiet, her small hand still locked around her mother’s finger, her breathing uneven but finally slowing. The machines hum softly, oblivious to the choice sitting heavy in my chest.
I blow out a breath. “This won’t be easy. This isn’t third grade, where I tried to be you for an extra cookie. You’re the assistant to one of the most powerful men on Wall Street. A guy who makes a living out of sniffing out weakness.”
“Just one day,” she repeats, softer this time, as if the more she says it, the less ridiculous it sounds. “One day. And if we’re lucky, Elsie will be on the mend.”
I hold her gaze for a long beat, then shake my head with a helpless huff. “This is insane, Sloane.”
Her mouth quirks, hopeful but cautious.
“But,” I add, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips, “I do have crazy stitched into my bones. Just don’t blame me if it all goes up in flames.”
“It won’t.” She exhales, relief flickering across her face. “I mean—how bad can one day be?”
“Don’t,” I groan. “The list is endless.” I glance toward the door. “I should go. If I’m going to survive being you, I need sleep.”
“Wear one of my suits and heels,” she adds. “And—” she pauses, studying me. “Tie your hair up. It’s longer than mine. Wear my perfume, too.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I manage a weak smile. “Now let me escape before I change my mind.”
“Okay,” Sloane says, already pulling out her phone. “I’ll send you a list of my passwords and notes on everything we’re working on. I’ll also divert my calls and emails to you. If anyone important rings, it’ll go straight to you.”
“Ugh,” I mutter. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re joking anymore.”
I bend and press a quick kiss to Elsie’s forehead before I lose my nerve. Her skin is warm beneath my lips.
“Elsie boo,” I whisper, brushing a damp curl away from her cheek. “Hurry up and get better; my life genuinely depends on it.”
She manages a small smile. It’s enough.
“Okay,” I say, straightening. “Sloane, keep your phone on you at all times.”
“I will,” she promises. Her attention shifts as a nurse appears with a tray of medicine, already stepping into mother mode.
I take that as my cue.
I’m halfway down the corridor before I hear her again.
“Ivy,” she calls.
I turn to see her leaning out of the doorway, eyes bright.
“Thank you. I love you.”
“Ditto,” I say, lifting a hand as I force myself to turn away. If I stop, I won’t leave.
Outside, leaving without Sloane and Elsie feels strange, like a part of me is missing. I sink into the back seat of a taxi as the city flashes by, letting my head fall back against the worn leather, closing my eyes.
But it doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself I’ll be fine.
One thought settles deep and refuses to budge.
Sloane is putting far too much faith in me.
Because from what I've heard, there’s only ever one winner when you go up against Dane Black.