Page 2 of Forbidden Boss (Manhattan Billionaires)

“Will do,” I replied, staring at the giant penis. It had to be intentional. There was just no way dozens of people could design and approve this bottle without knowing they were mass-producing perfume-filled phalluses. Just no way.

“Nikki?” a voice called out through the metal door. “How are you doing?”

It was Eleanor, the prop stylist for the shoot. She was a few years younger than me, in her mid-twenties, and she’d been the only person to befriend me on set so far. Over the whole of the studio was a thick sense of urgency, a palpable fear of messing up. Thankfully for them, I was here to take the fall for everyone as the daily screwup.

“I’m okay,” I answered.

My prison wasn’t the worst place to be. The storage room had light and air, and I’d been able to sit on one of the tables on the back wall. One side of the room was covered in shelving that held various props and cleaning supplies. I’d been tasked with polishing the penis before its big moment on stage. It wasn’t until I was done rubbing it down with a microfiber cloth that I realized the door behind me wouldn’t open. I had to call Eleanor before anyone even noticed something was wrong. That had been nearly two hours ago.

“The locksmith was stuck in traffic but he’s down with security as we speak, so it won’t be long.”

“Thank you. Is everyone freaking out about the shoot being delayed?”

There was a pause. “It’s not too bad.”

I snorted. “Be honest.”

Through the door, I heard Eleanor’s soft huff. “Ophelia’s losing her mind. She’s rushing around trying to get everyone to get back to work, but there’s nothing to do until we can get the perfume bottle out. The last shot we need is with the big one.”

I eyed the proverbial big one through slanted eyes. “Right. Why is she so worried all of a sudden?” And where was this urgency two hours ago, when the lock on that stupid door first jammed? It took them nearly forty minutes of messing around with keys before they even contacted a locksmith.

“Well…” Eleanor dropped her voice so I had to press my ear to the door. “I heard someone say Rome Blakely is on the way down.”

“Ah,” I answered. “That explains it.”

“Ophelia’s worried he’ll fire her on the spot. It’s costing them a hundred thousand dollars an hour to hold the talent here for this project.” They’d hired famous models for the shoot, but the number still staggered me.

“That’s a lot more than I get paid in a year,” I noted.

“You and me both, girl.”

Cringing, I tried the door handle again, just in case. It rotated into nothing, not engaging the latch to open the door.

“Would he really fire her for something that isn’t her fault?”

“Well…he’s been known to fire people for less.”

I heard the subtext of her words and swallowed thickly. “So my new job might be over a lot faster than I expected, is what you’re saying.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” she protested, but her voice lacked conviction.

“Right.”

“Ophelia’s calling me. The locksmith will be here soon.”

I grunted halfheartedly. The minute that door opened, my employment at this advertising agency would be over.

New York is an at-will employment state, so if Mr. Blakely did see fit to pin this disaster on me, it wouldn’t be the first time I was let go for less-than-scrupulous reasons. The whole reason I was working this crappy job in the first place was because my previous boss decided he didn’t want to follow through on his promises to promote me. When I finally worked up the nerve to ask him about it, he fired me instead. That wasafterI’d paid for a business management certificate out of pocket after he’d told me he’d reimburse me once I got promoted.

Like an idiot, I’d bought his bullshit. Had the debt to prove it.

A consultant had informed my former boss it’d be cheaper to replace me than to pay me what I was worth, and that was the end of that.

Life hadn’t exactly been going according to plan lately. The loss of my job seemed to be the first domino in a long line of increasingly alarming events. First, the promotion turned into a firing, leaving me high and dry with a useless certificate and a lot of debt. Then the landlord for the rent-controlled apartment I’d been living in for years told me he wouldn’t be renewing my lease, so I had three months to find somewhere halfway affordable if I didn’t want to end up on the street. That was just over two months ago, so time was ticking.

Then, the cherry on top of the crap sundae, the guy I’d been half-seeing told me he met someone else.

It nearly broke me, which hadn’t made sense to me at the time. I didn’t love the guy, and he didn’t love me, but his rejection stung. It was so patently clear that I’d been a placeholder for him while he looked for a woman he wanted to keep. And maybe I’d been a placeholder for my landlord, so he could make some money off his place while he lived his life elsewhere. And, hell, maybe I was a placeholder for my old boss, who let go of me without so much as a reference.

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