Page 24 of Forbidden Boss (Manhattan Billionaires)

Clara shook her head. “Definitely not. Try these pants on. We’ll call a tailor if they need to be adjusted.”

I ducked behind a curtain and pulled the pants on. A pale cream silk blouse appeared on the rail above my head. It had a slight sheen and little pearl buttons, so by default it was my favorite piece out of the three. I walked out from behind the curtain and slipped on the blazer Clara held up, then turned to look in a floor-length mirror leaning on the wall.

“Perfect,” Clara said. At my grimace, she shook her head. “Trust me, Ms. Jordan. It’s perfect.”

“You can call me Nikki,” I told her. “Although in this suit I feel like more of a Ms. Jordan.”

“It’s a good suit, Nikki.”

I smoothed my hand down the fabric of the pants on my thighs, feeling the weight and softness of the weave. “I know,” I told her. “It’s just not me. I like something a bit more…unique.” Something with at least one element of flair.

Clara snorted. “You don’t want to stand out where you’re going.”

My black stilettos and black shoulder bag worked just fine with the outfit, so I carefully folded my dress and shoved it in my bag. “Right,” I said, trotting after her as she headed for the door. “About that. Where am I going, again?”

She eyed me critically. “Your hair is fine. I’d recommend wiping the lipstick off.”

“Why are you evading my questions? Where am I going? Who’s Joanne?”

“Nikki, I’ve got a job to do, and that job is to get you ready. We’ve succeeded.”

“Ready forwhat?”

We got back in the elevator and headed up. I frowned at the numbers above the door, wondering what I’d gotten myself into. I didn’t feel like myself. My armor had been stripped away, and now I was wearing someone else’s clothes and living someone else’s life.

But—deep breaths—it was just a job. It was the best job I could hope for right now, and I might as well make the most of it. I counted to ten and steadied my nerves.

It was one dinner. How bad could this Joanne lady be?

The elevator doors opened, and Clara led me to an office in the opposite corner of the floor to the location of the conference room. She knocked on the frosted glass door, and I heard the deep rumble of Rome Blakely’s voice on the other side. Clara opened the door and strode in, gesturing for me to follow.

Blakely was wearing glasses. They were rectangular with slightly rounded edges, the frame a deep blue that brought out the color of his eyes. He frowned at me and took his glasses off, pressing the end of the glasses’ arms on his bottom lip.

I looked at that depression on his firm mouth, and heat swept through my middle.

His gaze traveled from my shoes, up my beige pants, and over the silk blouse, finally coming to rest on my lips. He frowned slightly, and a vein of stubbornness split open inside me.

“I’m not taking the lipstick off,” I told him.

His gaze slid the final distance to my eyes, and he blinked slowly. The heat in my abdomen got a smidge warmer. Anger—and something else. It made me uncomfortable to be studied so blatantly, but it also made me feel alive.

He set his glasses down and stood. “Fine,” he told me.

“Who’s Joanne?” I blurted.

It didn’t surprise me when he flicked his eyes toward me then glanced at Clara. “Is the bird ready?”

“Whenever you are,” she confirmed.

He nodded, then without so much as a glance at me, walked out of his office behind Clara. I had no choice but to follow, with no idea where we were going, who we were meeting, or why everyone refused to answer my questions.

There was a moment, then—just a second, really—when I considered throwing in the towel. I could quit, walk out of here, and never come back. Sure, I’d lose the benefits and the perks and the salary, but at least I wouldn’t be ignored and treated like a prop. At least I could be my own person and be proud of my own integrity.

Then Rome paused on the threshold and looked at me. His eyes were dark. They sent that same heated shiver coursing through my veins, and I discovered that that flame of stubbornness hadn’t yet been extinguished.

I was a professional. When I set my mind to something, I followed through. I’d signed up to be this man’s companion, so I’d accompany him to his social events, and I would be good at it—no! I’d begreatat it. I would be the best damn companion he’d ever had. He’d have no choice but to keep filling my bank account (and my closet) to the brim.

It didn’t matter that he was a billionaire with all the power, and I was pretty sure he was toying with me. He was just as bound by that contract as I was. After all,hewas the one who’d thought I was trying to sue him. He thought I’d been negotiating before, when I’d just been confused.

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