Page 54 of Forbidden Boss (Manhattan Billionaires)

Rome let out a slight breath, shooting me a quick glance. I thought I read approval there—or maybe it was relief. A lady appeared from a side room bearing a silver tray with three flutes of champagne. Raphael plucked two of them from her tray to give to us, then thanked her as he took the third.

“The cocktail hour will be at five o’clock tonight through that door,” he said, flicking his hand at a huge carved timber door to the left. “The library. The small salon. Dining room is through there. We’re doing casual breakfasts between seven and nine. Come down and serve yourself. Through there to the beach. Water’s a bit too rough to take the kayaks out, but it’s still nice to take in the fresh air once in a while. Sunroom. Billiards room. Upstairs!” He swept his arms out and guided us toward the dramatic staircase covered in rich red carpet.

The decor was a mix of mid-century modern pieces and a few timeless classics. It felt like they’d been here for ages, but the few modern art pieces told me that this place had been curated. I loved it. It was edgy and cool without verging into stiff and uncomfortable.

Compared to the overdone event spaces we’d seen and the stuffy estate owned by the Blakelys, this place was homey and wonderful. I found myself enjoying the glimpses I got, and I readjusted my opinion of Raphael Garcia from penis-perfume-bottle designer to someone who actually had great taste.

“Here we are,” he proclaimed, throwing open a set of double doors. “Your room.”

The three of us stepped into the space, and my stomach dropped. Raphael turned with a smile, sweeping his arm dramatically. I did my best to curl my lips and hide the dismay creeping through my chest.

It was a gorgeous room with high ceilings and ornate crown molding. Even from across the room, I could tell the view from the big bay window would be fantastic. I could see a slice of beach and the expanse of the ocean beyond. The furniture was timber and solid-looking, probably antique. The door to an attached bathroom gave me a view of the corner of a claw-foot tub and cute mint-green tiles.

That was all fantastic.

But there was a problem.

A big, fluffy, king-sized problem.

“I’ll leave you to it!” Raphael announced. “I think I just heard someone else arrive.”

He walked out again, and a member of staff nodded to us as she closed the doors. Our bags had already been carried up and unpacked in the walk-in closet, which I noticed in the quick glance I sent that way. Then my eyes returned to the main piece of furniture which was causing me significant distress.

Namely, the bed.

The one bed. That I’d have to share. With my boss. Whom I’d kissed just yesterday.

Rome cleared his throat. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

I blinked and glanced at him. “Do you think that’s necessary?”

He gave me a flat stare. “Judging by the look on your face, yes, it is.”

I reared back. “What look on my face?”

“The horror and dread.”

“Horror and dread!”

His lips twitched as he said, “It’s right there.”

“I’ll have you know I feel no horror or dread.”

“Do you not?” He turned to face me, and I made the mistake of retreating. Rome advanced, and then he was crowding me against the wall.

My breath quickened. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Whatever this is.”

He paused, then stepped back and shook his head like he needed to clear it. “You’re right.”

“Maybe we should talk about last night.”

“What is there to talk about?”

I moved to peek into the closet, noting the plush seat and big vanity. It was an honest-to-goodness dressing room. This place was a dream. “We got carried away,” I said, running my fingers over the velvet hangers where my clothing already hung. Garcia’s staff movedfast. “We can pretend it didn’t happen and go back to being Rome Blakely and guest.”

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