Page 12 of Forbidden Boss (Manhattan Billionaires)

My eyes were beginning to feel sore, and tiredness was seeping into my bones. All I wanted to do was get away from this guy, curl up in my bed, and feel sorry for myself in peace.

I breathed a sigh of relief as we turned onto my street in Brooklyn. When we came to a smooth stop outside my building, I began to gather myself to leave the strangest car ride in automotive history. Not knowing what to do with the chocolate bar wrapper, I stuffed it into my purse.

“I’d like you to take the rest of the week off,” Blakely finally said as his driver circled toward my side of the car to open the door for me. My ex-boss’s voice was utterly calm. “Come into the office on Monday and we’ll discuss options. My assistant will be in touch to organize it.”

I pulled my gaze from the driver’s movements outside to look at him again. “Other options for what?”

“I’m sure we can come to a mutually beneficial solution here, Ms. Jordan,” he said, his voice dark and silky. The light from outside cast half his face in shadow, carving out the space below his cheekbones and under his bottom lip. “My assistant will be in touch, and we’ll go from there.”

The door beside me opened. “Okay,” I answered, and I got out. The car didn’t pull away until I was inside my building, watching its taillights disappear around a corner from the lobby.

I trudged up to my first-floor apartment, locked myself inside, and collapsed on the couch. I had no idea what had just happened, but at least I’d gotten good chocolate for my trouble.

The meeting on Monday was another story.

FOUR

ROME

“She’s playing hardball.”I bit off the words, meeting Arthur’s troubled gaze across my desk. Cole swore and spun around, shoving his hand through his hair. I pushed away from my desk and crossed the few feet to stand by the floor-to-ceiling windows in my office.

Dozens of stories below us, Manhattan squirmed with life. Pedestrians jostled on the streets and cars sped past in a frantic flow of life and energy.

I loved the city. Loved the chaos of it, loved how there was always something to see or do. I’d grown up feeling like a cast-off, like I belonged nowhere. Now, surrounded by the life and turmoil of the millions of residents of Manhattan, I felt like I was part of something bigger than myself.

I’dbuiltsomething bigger than myself. The one thing I was proud of.

And she was going to take it from me.

From all the way up here, the mayhem on the streets was quiet. All I could hear was the quiet hum of the air conditioning, my computer’s fan, and the movements of the two men behind me.

“Explain to me again,” I said, watching a cab swerve around a bike messenger and speed around a corner, “why she was hired as an independent contractor.”

The tense silence that followed my request prompted me to turn. I met Cole’s gaze as he pinched his lips.

“Cost savings,” he finally answered.

I swung my gaze to the lawyer rubbing his forehead as he stared at the wood grain of my desk. “Arthur,” I asked, “how exposed are we, company wide?”

He grimaced. “You currently have a hundred and seven employees hired as independent contractors. From my preliminary review, at least ninety-three of them could potentially have a case for misclassification.”

“Which is?—”

“A violation of state and federal employment laws. An independent contractor would have their own office, insurance, logos, letterheads. They maintain their own schedules and have specific deadlines and tasks outlined in their contracts… They’re not production assistants running around in a company-owned studio doing tasks set out by their boss.”

“Like buffing a perfume bottle for a shoot.”

He nodded. “Exactly.”

I met the older man’s gaze for a long moment, then looked at my second-in-command. “I want a thorough review of every employee in this company. Anyone who’s been hired as an independent contractor should either be let go if the terms of their contract have been satisfied, or they should be offered full employment with benefits.”

I’d never seen Cole look contrite. He exhaled, then dipped his chin. “Heard. But, Rome, the labor costs alone of?—”

“Arthur,” I interrupted, heat crawling up my neck. “What’s our exposure here? Give me a number.”

The old lawyer cleared his throat and adjusted his tie with careful movements. “Well, that depends on if each of them files independently or if we’re looking at a class-action suit. And then there’s the bad press and the cost of any lost contracts…”

“Give me a number,” I repeated, my voice hard.

---