Page 32 of Forbidden Boss (Manhattan Billionaires)

Then she grinned. “See? Fabulous. I told you.”

I wanted her. It hit me all at once. I wanted this woman like I’d never wanted anyone before.

I wanted to spread those long legs and bury myself between them. I wanted her to turn back around so I could pull the zipper all the way down to the base of her spine and run my tongue back up the bared expanse of flesh. I wanted to feel the weight of her breasts in my palms. I wanted to kiss her until she gave herself to me fully, completely.

Blinking, I cleared my throat. She was my employee. I’d specifically chosen her to be my companion to these events so I wouldn’t have to date anyone. So I wouldn’t have to complicate these networking opportunities by dating someone who wanted sex—or worse, affection.

“We’re going to be late,” I told her.

She straightened, grasping that tiny, inconvenient-looking purse in both hands. “Right.” A smile lifted her lips, but I could tell it was forced. “Lead the way.”

I held the car door open for her, my hungry gaze on the way her body moved as she entered the car. Angry at myself for feeling out of sorts about a woman who didn’t mean anything to me—a woman thatworkedfor me—I slid into the seat and nodded at my driver, who’d gotten out to close the door behind me.

But she was just there beside me, and now, in the confines of the car, her delicate perfume teased me and tormented me. The shape of her breast against the embroidered fabric drew my gaze, along with the nip of her waist, and her long, long legs. Heart pounding, I sat there, sick with wanting.

“Wilbur Monk is a potential client we’ve been courting for months,” I said, dragging my gaze away from the bare flesh exposed by her plunging neckline and toward the front of the vehicle. I popped open the small fridge and grabbed one of the chocolate bars Nikki liked. “He’ll likely be there with his wife.”

She looked at the chocolate bar I handed her, brow raised. Clearly, the promise of good-quality chocolate and almonds wasn’t worth the power struggle, because she took it after only a moment’s hesitation. As she opened the wrapper, she said, “Roseanne Monk. A patron of the arts and regular attendee of the New York City Ballet. She attended three shows at New York Fashion Week last year and made complimentary comments about Rodarte specifically.”

I clamped my lips shut, glancing at Nikki, who shot me an impish grin.

“You did your homework,” I noted.

She took a bite of the bar, made the same maddening little moaning noise she’d made the first time she’d eaten one, swallowed, and said, “These are so good. And I did more than my homework. After I read the dossier that Clara sent through, I did extra research.” She swept her arm down her side, tracing the edge of the lace. “You’re looking at a Zuhair Murad dress from the most recent ready-to-wear collection. Mrs. Monk viewed the most recent haute couture show when it was presented in Rome. She was photographed in the front row. And this”—she patted the bow-shaped crystallized purse—“is a Judith Leiber clutch that wasveryhard to procure on time. But when I was scouring the internet for photos of the happy couple, I saw her wearing a lot of unique bags, at least three of which were Judith Leibers. So I took a chance.”

“Right. She likes fashion.”

Nikki let out a long-suffering sigh, then shook her head. “Blakely, how do I explain this? The woman is a fashion girlie. I am a fashion girlie. I’m wearing head-to-toe icebreakers. You want me to stand at your side, look the part, and help you land this contract? This is what it looks like.” She gestured to herself, arching dark brows.

I grunted, my gaze touching the neckline of her dress, the embroidered, embellished fabric, the crystal clutch. “At least you’re making use of the clothing budget.”

Her lush lips curled into a wicked smile. “I haven’t even gotten started, honey.”

The words sounded like a promise. Despite myself, I found my lips twitching. I wanted to find out what she had in store. Wanted to see how good she’d look on my arm at every event. Wanted to hear the things that came out of her mouth and see the flash in her eyes when I made her angry.

But that was beside the point. She was here to facilitate a relationship with a client. Nothing more.

“Good. Let’s go over the other people who will be there.”

Nikki settled into her seat, shifting so her knees pointed toward me. I kept my gaze away from the slit in her dress and focused on what was important: work.

TWELVE

NIKKI

The fundraiser was heldat the New-York Historical Society, a gorgeous building made of white stone with a dramatic colonnade at the front. As I stepped out of the car, my gaze was drawn up the wide steps, past the dramatic entrance, and up to the row of windows on the second floor. It was a gorgeous building, and I was in a gorgeous dress, and I couldn’t quite believe this was my life.

Rome’s hand brushed my lower back, and we walked up the steps together. There was something thrilling about being at a beautiful venue, dressed to the nines, with an attractive man as my date. Logically, I knew it was simply my job. I was able to take his arm around my back and explain it away as Rome simply acting the part.

But there was another part of me that took the warmth of his hand on my back and made it mean something more. My cheeks flushed and my heart thumped a little bit harder. I found myself leaning into his touch the slightest bit, my shoulder brushing his, catching a hint of his warm scent whenever he moved.

His face was granite-hard, as if he dreaded walking into the event but knew he had to. It was the same hardness that had sat across from me at the negotiation table earlier in the week. It would be easy to think of him as a heartless, hard man who would do anything to close a deal. But then I thought of that little boy whose parents shipped him off to boarding school, and I wondered…

What if he pursued his business goals so ruthlessly because it was the only thing he had? He’d needed to hire me to be his date to this event, and all the others on the calendar. So he had no significant other, few friends, and a fraught relationship with his family. He was all alone.

I knew how hard that was. I had friends, but even so, I never quite felt like I was understood. Like I belonged.

We were greeted by an usher in a crisp white shirt and black vest who directed us to the event space. Soft music filtered through between the noise of many conversations.

---