Page 51 of Forbidden Boss (Manhattan Billionaires)

In the car, when the evening was over, I watched the play of the streetlights over her face, her dress, her folded hands. I glanced down at the heels on her feet, wishing they were propped on my shoulders. We didn’t say a word to each other until we stopped outside her apartment.

Keith got out, and Nikki met my gaze.

“The car will pick you up tomorrow at noon. We’ll take the bird over to Garcia’s place.”

Her eyes were dark and liquid. She dipped her chin. “Sure.”

Keith’s shadow moved outside her door, and I knew I only had a moment longer with her. “Thank you,” I blurted.

“For what?”

“For tonight.”

She held my gaze for a long moment, then gave me a little half-smile. Keith opened the door, and then she was gone. I waited until she disappeared from view, then gave my driver a nod. By the time I got home, I was cold and alone and empty.

NINETEEN

NIKKI

Twenty-five grand went quickwhen you bought a designer dress and purse for your first event in the calendar. I’d rented the gowns for future events, but the money had still disappeared in a flash, which was as ridiculous as it was true.

As I packed for a weekend in the Hamptons, I found myself grimacing at my first few purchases. I had to look the part for an entire weekend, and garbing myself in head-to-toe designer gear would cost several months of my clothing and beauty budget.

But I was resourceful. I scoured consignment stores and chose a few key pieces. I raided my own closet and decided that style mattered just as much as labels. We’d be rubbing elbows with people in the fashion world, so leaving a good impression mattered.

My apartment was mostly packed up. When we got back from the weekend, I’d be moving into a place that Clara had found for me on the Lower East Side. It wasn’t company-owned, and when I expressed that I wasn’t entirely comfortable tying my living situation to my work, she assured me all she’d done was get my rental application in front of the right people. It was a hell of a lot better than homelessness.

Zipping my suitcase, I smoothed my hand down the blue tweed of a vintage Balmain suit dress I’d bought years ago when I sourced clothing for my old store. It had two rows of buttons down the front with a subtle peplum effect at the hips. The dress went all the way down to mid-shin, and it made me look like I had curves for days. I’d had it tailored to fit me, and it made me feel powerful and put-together.

To me, clothing was more than just fabric that covered my nakedness. It was a way of expressing myself. Sometimes I was able to lift my mood simply by putting a favorite outfit on. Combined with makeup and hair, I’d used clothing and beauty as a way to lift myself out of funks since I’d been a teenager.

Today, my clothing was meant to say,I belong here.

The company car picked me up, and I was carted across the bridge and to the Blakely offices. We drove straight to the underground garage, where I bundled myself and my suitcase into a private elevator and shot up to the top floor.

My heart rattled. As I rose through the building, I tried to stay composed. I was calm. I was professional. I was here to do my job.

But it was also the first time I’d see Rome since the gout fundraiser the night before. Since the kiss.

The elevator slowed to a stop. The doors opened. I took a deep breath and stepped out.

I wore patent leather black pumps that clacked on the hard flooring, the wheels of my little suitcase clattering behind me. Clara looked up as I rounded the corner, then gestured to the frosted glass door separating us from Rome’s office.

“He’s waiting for you,” she said, then got up to help me with my suitcase. “I’ll get this loaded up.”

“Thank you.”

Not a woman to waste any time, Clara was on the phone and dealing with my suitcase within seconds. I, on the other hand, wanted to waste all the time I could scrounge instead of facing the man who had kissed me like it meant something to him before telling me it could never happen again.

With a deep breath, I lifted my fist and rapped my knuckles on the glass.

“Come in,” Rome’s deep voice said from the other side.

I inhaled. Straightened my shoulders. Exhaled.

And entered.

He stood with his back to me, his gaze on the skyline spread out beyond his floor-to-ceiling windows. The cut of his navy suit perfectly highlighted the breadth of his shoulders and the taper of his waist. He turned, and his gaze drilled into me.

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