Page 80 of Forbidden Boss (Manhattan Billionaires)

Rome sank into a two-seater couch and brought me down along with him, and I couldn’t resist the urge to rest my head against his shoulder.

“Your home—yourisland—is unbelievably beautiful.”

“That’s all Roseanne,” Wilbur said affectionately.

“If it were up to Wil, we’d be living in some box in New York City.”

I laughed awkwardly, thinking of my own box back home. The one that had felt like impossible luxury compared to my older, dingier box.

“I know enough to listen to you when you insist,” Wilbur said, smiling, “and you insisted on this place.”

“When we bought it, there was just the guest house.” Roseanne waved a hand toward the roof that poked out through the trees, the one I’d spotted on the way up. “Building the main house, the docks, and the landscaping has been the work of a decade.”

“Looks like it’s worth it,” I said, smiling.

“Watch out, Blakely,” Wilbur warned. “You’ll be buying an island next door before the weekend is out.”

Rome glanced at me, grinning. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.”

I laughed, giddy. Who casually talked about buying islands and building lavish residences on them? How was this real life?

But I was here, and all I could do was enjoy the weekend. My brief for this trip was to be myself, and to make sure the Monks couldn’t find fault in myself or Rome. Rome would work on closing the deal with Wilbur and finally secure the older man’s business.

Over the weeks I’d been working at Blakely, I learned this deal was important. A lot of the huge clients had cut their advertising budgets and moved to smaller campaigns for social media. The Blakely Advertising Agency could offer those services, but landing a huge, multi-year, multi-campaign client like Wilbur Monk, whose company had many subsidiaries, would sustain the business through the next half decade.

It was a huge deal. But as I watched the sun go down and chatted with the other couple, it didn’t feel like we were here to close a deal worth nine figures. It felt like we were visiting old friends.

After a delicious dinner of grilled fish, Rome and I retired to bed. He wrapped me in his arms and tugged me close, smiling at me in the darkness of the bedroom.

“They love you,” he said quietly.

“I think they love you too.” I brushed my lips against his. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

His chest rumbled in agreement, and he returned my gentle kiss with a more demanding one of his own. We didn’t talk for a while after that, other than whispered praise and desperate urgings. Later, just before falling asleep, I felt him stroke my hair to push it off my temple. His touch was gentle—loving. I never would’ve guessed that my gruff, arrogant boss could be so tender, or that I’d be the woman who brought it out in him.

This was shaping up to be the best weekend ever.

THIRTY-TWO

NIKKI

It was notthe best weekend ever. The next morning started out pretty good, with a morning kayak on glass-still waters and only a bit of queasiness when I sat down for breakfast. Our hosts were gracious, and we ended up going on a nature walk with them after our food, where they pointed out the natural rock formations on the other side of the island.

Lunch was lovely.

In the afternoon, Roseanne stole me away while Wilbur and Rome disappeared in the older man’s study to talk business, and I found myself watching her press her fingerprint into a scanner to unlock her closet vault.

It was my own personal utopia. The woman hadtaste. Every designer was represented, even some that I’d never heard of. She’d been collecting clothes her entire life and excitedly showed me her favorite pieces from decades gone by.

We started pulling clothes from hangers and creating outfits. I felt like I was back in my old job, helping a client find the perfect gem they didn’t know they wanted. I couldn’t stop smiling. When I paired a black-and-white houndstooth blazer with a silky green jumpsuit, Roseanne tilted her head and considered it, her finger tapping her chin.

“I think you might be a genius, Nikki. I’ve never thought of putting those pieces together.”

I laughed. “I wouldn’t say genius. Maybe obsessive.”

She showed me a few outfits she’d created herself, and I suggested a few simple tweaks to style them, like rolling the sleeves of an oversized blazer a few times, forgoing a belt that had come with a pair of pants in a matching fabric for something that coordinated in a slightly different way, tweaking and manipulating clothes to create more flattering silhouettes.

Roseanne’s eyes sparkled as she snapped photos of the outfits we put together. “I feel like I have a whole new set of clothes!” she exclaimed.

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