Page 29 of Forbidden Boss (Manhattan Billionaires)

“I am not,” Rome replied tersely. He cleared his throat, then awkwardly shifted so his arm rested on the sofa behind me. “Nikki and I are together. She will be accompanying me to events for the foreseeable future. I thought this would be a good start.”

“Really, Rome,” his mother chided, “do you think that’s appropriate?”

“Which part?” Will cut in with a laugh. “And what, exactly, did you mean when you met through colleagues? Yours, or hers?”

“It all makes sense now,” Natasha said, her lips smiling but her eyes telling a different story as she looked me up and down.

I sat there stiffly, knowing they were insinuating exactly what I had when I first saw the contract, and visualized the beautiful quilted black Chanel flap bag I’d buy myself as a reward after this ordeal.

These people couldn’t hurt me. They looked down on me, but they didn’t realize they were the ones who had nothing. No compassion, no grace, no love.

Throughout it all, the father remained silent. He stared at his phone, seeming completely checked out. A deep sense of sadness filled me. I should have been feeling discomfort, or embarrassment, or something that made sense. But all I could see were people who threw barbs at each other and lacked the ability to connect.

Maybe Rome’s father had the right idea. It was easier to disengage completely.

My gaze drifted around the room. There was a family portrait above the fireplace, but it only had the two parents and Will, looking like a young teenager. On the opposite wall, I saw another photo of Will in a cap and gown, holding a diploma.

This must have been an intimate room because the rest of the spaces we’d walked through had very few personal touches.

But—

“Where are the pictures of you?” I asked, glancing at my boss.

A heavy silence met my words. Rome, holding the stem of his wine glass in his left hand, cleared his throat. “There aren’t many of them,” he replied. “I spent most of my youth away at boarding school before I left for college.”

“Rome was so bright,” his mother explained, and it was the first nice thing I’d heard her say about him. “We knew it would be best for him to get an education at a good school.”

I nodded. “But wouldn’t there have been summers…holidays…vacations?” I pointed to a photo of young Will on a sailboat, laughing at the camera.

“He was a very studious boy.” This gruff rebuke came from Rome’s father, who watched me through deep-set eyes from across the room. The first thing he’d said since I walked in.

“My parents were in the midst of a big business transition when I was small,” Rome explained, turning his head toward me but not meeting my eye. His face was oddly blank, his eyes flat as they stared at nothing. “Massachusetts was a good place to grow up. I made lots of friends.”

“Wellthat’sthe most surprising thing of all,” I said, because apparently when faced with uncomfortable situations, my internal filter malfunctioned.

I clamped my lips shut.

Finally, Rome lifted his gaze to meet mine, disbelief written in his eyes and the line of his mouth. “Excuse me?”

It was funny—there was one part of my brain screaming at me to pipe down and back off. But there was another part that had hated seeing him shut down the way he had before, and I loved the fact that I’d brought that spark back to his eyes.

Sure, the spark was fury, and it was aimed at me. But I liked it better than blankness.

I had to spend time with the guy, after all. If I was going to milk this opportunity for all it was worth—and get the fabulous wardrobe to match—it was better to be myself the whole while. That’s what I told myself, anyway. I ignored the part of me that wanted to make Rome feel better.

He scowled at me. “I have friends.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Ido.”

“I believe you.”

“Jordan,” he snarled. “I have friends.”

A wicked smile curled my lips. “Name one.”

“Cole.”

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