Page 36 of Forbidden Boss (Manhattan Billionaires)

Now, I’d never been a lazy person. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to work—in fact, in the short amount of time I’d been in the position, I spent many hours educating myself on the people in Rome Blakely’s social and professional circles, then made sure I was prepared for every event coming up on the schedule.

This included attending briefings at the Blakely offices with Clara and other members of the team, as well as going back through the company’s archives to make sure I knew about brand relationships and campaigns that had been significant, depending on who would be attending each event.

So it wasn’t that I wanted a free ride. I was working more than I ever had before—although a lot of the work was enjoyable. For example, when I spent four hours getting my hair and nails done before last night’s gala and deciding on the exact perfect dress to purchase.

By the time I’d fixed my hair into an updo—it still had a lot of product in it from last night’s event, so I did the best I could—and slipped on some vintage cigarette pants and a button-down top, my phone buzzed to let me know the car was downstairs.

“Hi, Keith,” I said to the usual driver who held the door open. Peeking inside, I asked, “No boss today?”

“We’ll pick him up on the way.”

“Got it.”

My knee bounced as I clipped my seatbelt on, and I pulled out my compact to check my makeup once again. When we pulled out to start heading toward Manhattan, a flutter went through my belly.

I channeled my nervous energy into studying the document Clara had sent through. It didn’t take me long to become engrossed in it. We were meeting three men who were planning a Super Bowl commercial for the following year’s event, which our company was hoping to produce.

I jumped when the door next to me opened. Suddenly, the car was full of Rome. He sat next to me as Keith closed the door, his eyes coasting over my hair, makeup, and outfit.

“You made it,” he noted. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“Hello to you too, Mr. Blakely,” I answered with a heavy dose of snark. “Of course I made it. I take my job seriously.”

His eyes were dark in the dimness of the back seat. He blinked slowly, nodding once. “You sounded exceptionally groggy, is all.” He paused. “Did something keep you up last night?”

Keith drove smoothly, but my heart still hammered. This was ridiculous. I wouldn’t be able to accompany my boss to all these events if I got tongue-tied every time he looked at me. Was he tall, attractive, and commanding? Yes. Did he make me wonder what it would feel like to be his, even for just a moment? Sure. I was human, after all.

But was I a complete idiot and about to give in to those urges? Absolutely not.

So, I covered my nerves with a snort. “As a matter of fact, something did,” I told him. “Or rather, someone.”

His body went still. “Oh?”

“A man, specifically.”

“A man.” He gritted out the words. The focus of his attention felt almost heavy. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and then he relaxed, as if by force of effort. “I wasn’t aware you were seeing anyone. That might get complicated. You remember that you signed an NDA?”

“The man that kept me up insisted on parading me around this charity event long after most of his clients had left, and then instead of letting me go home and go to bed, he drove there with me and insisted on debriefing me when it was well past midnight.”

The air in the limo, which had become stifling, lightened considerably. I met Keith’s inscrutable gaze in the rearview mirror, then turned to Blakely and popped a brow.

He gave me a stony glare. “Get used to it, princess. We’ll debrief after every event.”

I hummed, and the car stopped. We’d arrived at the restaurant.

The lunch went well. I discovered that one of the men was an avid scuba diver and spent most of the meal talking to him about his various dives. I had just been reviewing one of the underwater campaigns that the Blakely Advertising Agency had done for yet another perfume launch, and I’d gone down a research rabbit hole about diving. So I was able to pretend like I knew what I was talking about—at least enough to carry my side of the conversation.

Being a companion to Rome Blakely, it turned out, was easy. People loved talking about themselves—and the powerful people who ran companies and signed deals with the likes of Rome Blakelyreallyloved talking about themselves—so all I had to do was persuade them that I hung on their every word. It was like dating, except I didn’t care about the outcome so there was no pressure.

The scuba diver, Dean Garrett, was about a decade older than me, in his mid-forties, but he looked fit and healthy. A strong hairline framed his handsome face, and he smiled at me with straight, white teeth. He looked like a man who threw his money around and was used to getting what he wanted.

I’d gotten the impression Dean liked feeling like a big, important man, so I was really hamming it up. “I don’t think I could ever do a night dive,” I told him, shivering dramatically. “So scary!”

“I could take you,” he told me, grinning. “Keep you safe from all the things that bite down there.”

And there it was—the fine line between being an entertaining companion and crossing over into murky flirtation. I’d misjudged it, apparently.

Before I could come up with an appropriately soft refusal that wouldn’t offend the other man and ruin my boss’s business chances, Rome’s hand slid across the back of my chair. “She’s not going diving with you, Dean.”

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