Page 4 of The Devil of Downtown

“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.