Page 18 of Forbidden Boss (Manhattan Billionaires)

“Gentlemen,” he said, voice low. “Please.”

Clara entered a moment later, defusing the last of the tension. She pushed a trolley into the room, then grabbed a pitcher of water off it and set it in the middle of the table, followed by glasses for everyone. Then she walked around and gave Phil his coffee. He thanked her politely and she gave him a curt nod.

The final item she moved from the trolley to the table was a carved crystal bowl full of foil-wrapped somethings. I peered at them, recognizing the brand of imported Belgian chocolate.

As I glanced up, I caught him watching me intently. His jaw was tight and his eyes slightly narrowed, like he was holding himself back from showing his anger.

But why was he angry?

And why the chocolates? A bribe? Something to throw me off?

Well—joke was on him because I’d been thrown off for days.

I leaned back in my seat and shifted uncomfortably, waiting for someone to speak.

Blakely arched a brow, faint amusement twinkling in his eyes. He reached a long arm across his side of the table and plucked one of the chocolates from the bowl. The only noise in the room was the crinkling of the foil paper. He held my gaze as he inspected the truffle, then popped it in his mouth.

My mouth watered despite myself. I didn’t know if it was the sight of Rome Blakely staring at me like he wished he was eating me instead of the chocolate, or if my poor nerves had finally decided to lay down their arms after a long and arduous war.

I just wanted to get this over with.

Phil spoke into the heavy silence. “My client mentioned that you wanted to speak to her about options. Might we know what options you had in mind?”

Blakely patted his lips with a small square cocktail napkin, then nodded at the lawyer to his right. Arthur pushed a packet of papers across the table to me, then another set across to Phil.

When I read the words CONTRACT OF EMPLOYMENTat the top of the page, I frowned.

“When it came to my attention that Ms. Jordan had been let go after the unfortunate incident with the Garcia campaign last week, I felt compelled to look into her background,” Blakely started, talking to Phil. He shifted his gaze to me. “You’ve worked in fashion for the better part of a decade, and you’ve completed a certificate in business management.”

My palms were clammy. I nodded. “That’s right. I was the primary buyer for a vintage clothing store.”

“We can use someone with your expertise,” he replied, which was crazy. What expertise was that? Vintage brands? Old manufacturing techniques? Textile quality?

Maybe. But it didn’t seem likely. None of this made sense.

Phil was busy reading through the contract beside me. He made a strange noise, like a mix between a grunt and a choking gurgle. “Companion? What exactly does that mean?” His frown was severe as he lifted his gaze to glare at Blakely.

Rome Blakely leaned back, smiling slightly. “Exactly what the contract says.” His glittering blue eyes shifted to me. “Your job duties would include accompanying me to social functions and events to act as my on-call plus-one. You’d have to know my clients’ details and be ready to make appropriate conversation. You’d represent me, and the company, to various stakeholders.”

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in, then I was on my feet. My chair shot back and crashed into the windows behind me. “I am not an escort.What is this? What are you trying to do? Did you bring me here to humiliate me in front of your legal team?”

My cheeks stung, and I knew they were stained red. My broken finger throbbed. I wanted to grab the pitcher of water in the middle of the table and smash it over Rome Blakely’s head. Then I’d take a handful of those fancy chocolates and shove them down his gob.

“Please, Ms. Jordan,” the other side’s lawyer said, placating. He’d calmed down after his confrontation with Phil, and his face was back to its normal beige color. “Turn your attention to section 7.2.1 of the contract. ‘No physical or sexual contact is to occur between Employer and Companion, beyond what could be considered normal professional conduct. Refer to the Blakely Advertising Agency Code of Conduct,’” he read, then added, “Which we’ve included in Appendix B.”

I realized I was breathing heavily. Halfway through the older man’s speech, I’d stopped glaring at Blakely and started glaring at him. I dropped my eyes to the page, which Phil was helpfully pointing out. It read exactly like he said.

Slowly, I sat down.

“It wasn’t my intention to offend you,” Rome said, his voice warm and low. “My apologies for the clumsy delivery. What I’m looking for is someone who can attend any and all events as my companion, hold her own in conversation, and represent the company appropriately.”

A refusal hung on the tip of my tongue. The last thing I wanted to do was spend more time with this man. He was arrogant and rude, and his behavior made no sense. Carrying me from the supply room in his arms while telling me to be quiet? Picking me up from the hospital after firing me? Calling me here just to intimidate me and then offer me this crazy job?

This was nothing but trouble. My life might have been on the way to the gutter, but I knew accepting this would be a terrible decision.

It was basically signing up to be a paid placeholder. It was humiliating.

The back of my throat burned, but I kept my back straight.

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