Page 27 of Forbidden Boss (Manhattan Billionaires)

And I’d already put my foot in it.

Clearing my throat, I used every bit of willpower to keep that stupid smile in place as I changed tack, trying to appear demure and uninteresting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Blakely.”

The woman just blinked and slid her gaze to my boss. No words were spoken, but they seemed to communicate just fine. The woman whirled and strode toward the open French doors.

And by “the woman,” of course, I meant Rome Blakely’smother. Which meant this was his home. And he’d brought me here with zero warning or preparation.

Suddenly, the horror faded, and I was angry. He’d done this on purpose! This whole thing—the outfit change, the helicopter, the introduction—was just a way to get me off-balance.

It was his way of saying,You thought you had the upper hand? Think again, Jordan.

And that pissed me right off.

Rome tipped his head to indicate that we should follow. I walked beside him and hissed, “You don’t think you could have warned me?”

“About what?”

About what?About what? Apparently, billionaires could suffer from extreme obtuseness.

Glaring, I spoke through clenched teeth. “About the fact that tonight’s engagement was a dinner with your mother, you dimwit.”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.” He seemed unruffled, cold, even. When I paused, he stopped and gestured impatiently toward the doors. “Please.”

“Not until you tell me exactly what’s going on.”

“We’re having dinner with my family. It’s a monthly affair. My mother insists.”

“Right. And you didn’t think it would be a good idea to mention that to me at any point during the past hour or so?”

“Again, Ms. Jordan, I don’t see how that would change anything.”

“I could mentally prepare myself! I could google her and see if I could find at least one safe topic of conversation. I could googleyouso I can pretend like we actually know something about each other. Other than the obvious.”

His brow twitched. “Which is?”

“That you’re a colossal jerk, Blakely.”

His jaw clenched, and his gaze bore into mine. “There’s nothing to prepare. Your job is to accompany me to social functions. This is a social function. You’re here in a professional capacity. Now please, let’s go inside and get this over with.”

Without waiting for an answer, Blakely turned and stalked toward the open doors. The set of his shoulders was rigid, and there had been a hardness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

Even when he’d been furious with me, when he thought I was litigious and vindictive against his precious company, he hadn’t looked like that.

It only took me a second to take stock of the situation and decide to trot after him and make the most of it, but in that second, I realized a few things.

First, Rome Blakely didn’t have a good relationship with his parents. He hated this monthly engagement, and he was doing his best not to show it. Second, him not telling me about it might not have been a way to get back at me for anything. It was possible, I realized, that Rome hadn’t mentioned it because he hadn’t wanted to talk about it at all. Maybe what he needed was support. He’d dragged me along here because, on some level, whether he knew it or not, he wanted someone in his corner.

And, hell, the man was giving me twenty-five grand a month to spend on clothing and beauty. The least I could do was make pleasant conversation with his uptight family, right?

That’s how I justified it to myself as I followed, noticing his mother beyond him speaking to an employee in an all-black uniform. The employee nodded, glanced at me, then ducked into a room. Through the crack he left open in the door, I saw him hastily set another place at the dining table.

Mrs. Blakely turned toward us, her gaze flicking to my suit, down to my shoes, to my purse, and finally up to my lips. There was a minute tightening of her features, and I understood why the lipstick had been discouraged. This was one hell of a judgmental woman, and apparently, she liked dinner guests to display precisely zero personality.

This would be fun.

But I wasn’t part of this world, and thus, couldn’t be judged by its standards. I wasn’t going to make myself a bland, blank canvas just because some rude woman didn’t like the look of a bit of lipstick.

It’s not like I was marrying her son; I was working for him. And when I’d read the contract earlier, it hadn’t mentioned anything about lip color.

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