Page 72 of Forbidden Boss (Manhattan Billionaires)

I frowned, glancing at the page. “Coming where? I thought today was clear.”

“Down to thank the people who are going to make your idea for Garcia’s commercial a reality.”

“Oh,” I said softly, straightening. “Really?”

“You should see what they came up with,” he said. “You’re the one who understands what Garcia really wants.”

I couldn’t help the smile that spread over my mouth. I slammed my notebook shut and tucked it into my purse. My heart thumped as Rome came closer, opening the conference room door for me. I followed in his wake as we cut to the elevators, my gaze tracing the broad line of his shoulders, his trim waist, his long legs.

It felt like I was floating. I couldn’t believe that one of my ideas would actually be useful, that I could be part of something bigger than myself. And when the elevator doors closed on the two of us, I knew there was something else that gave me that floaty, delicious feeling.

Rome watched me from the other side of the space, his gaze dark. One look was enough for lust to spark in my veins. I was desperate for him to touch me, to make good on his promises. But he just let one side of his lips kick up, then glanced at the changing numbers above the door. When the elevator slowed, he moved closer, his hand sliding across my lower back.

I shivered, tendrils of heat wrapping through my abdomen.

We stepped out of the elevator, and I wondered if my face was very red. It certainly felt flushed. But no one gave me any weird looks until we entered a section of the office that held a few cubicles and group-working desks. A few heads popped up above the cubicles to stare like meerkats looking out for danger.

On the other side of the room, a few people clustered around a white table. I recognized Ophelia when she glanced up from the papers they were poring over. She straightened at the sight of Rome, her wide-eyed expression turning slightly confused when it landed on me.

Rome’s shoulder brushed mine. He greeted most of the people around the table with a nod, then said, “Ophelia.”

She blinked away from me and beamed at him. “Hi, Mr. Blakely.”

“The client is pleased with the work you’ve done so far. Thank you for turning it around so quickly.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all,” she said, then turned to me, frowning slightly. “I thought you were fired.”

Now, one thing about me is that I’m a staunch member of the Women Supporting Women club. But the way her eyes sharpened on me made my hackles rise. I gave her a toothy smile. “I was,” I said.

Her brow wrinkled.

Rome’s hand slipped down the back of my arm to my elbow, and I resisted the urge to shiver. “Nikki’s the one who came up with the idea for the revised commercial,” Rome explained. “She’s the one who pitched it to Garcia.”

“Was she,” Ophelia said, and it sounded more like a statement than a question. “How wonderful.”

“Show us what you’ve got so far,” Rome said, and we were herded through to a conference room. Rome pulled out a chair for me, which Ophelia noted with a glance in our direction.

I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, but she was making it pretty hard. Maybe she had a crush on Rome, or she didn’t like the fact that I’d popped up somewhere she hadn’t expected. Either way, it seemed I didn’t have a friend in her. It probably didn’t help that neither Rome nor I had really explained the nature of our relationship. How could we, when we didn’t know ourselves?

I sat down on the creaky, faux leather chair, and Rome took a seat kitty-corner from me, rolling the chair back slightly so he could rest his elbows on his thighs. The lights were dimmed as Ophelia fired up the projector to take us through the work they’d done so far.

She was halfway through the storyboard when the touch of Rome’s bare hand on my knee nearly made me jump out of my chair. He squeezed, and I forced myself to relax.

I glared at him, and he didn’t even meet my gaze—but the edge of his lip twitched.

His fingers made tiny circles on the inside of my knee, and I forced myself to keep my breathing steady. On the other side of the table from me, Ophelia clicked through the slides to show what models they’d already booked for the shoot.

“Two of the models we used for the original shoot aren’t available, but we should still be able to use some of the footage we got with them if we need it,” she said.

Rome’s finger moved up an inch, drawing a complicated pattern on the inside of my thigh. He was barely above my knee, and my pulse pounded between my legs. This was torture and so, so inappropriate.

And for some insane reason, I loved it. I spread my legs the slightest bit, and Rome’s hand slid up another inch. As he stroked my skin, my chair creaked, making me jump.

“The only other thing is that the studio is booked out for the next month,” Ophelia said, glancing up.

Rome didn’t remove his hand from my leg as he studied the screen and said, “Delay the East Coast Candles shoot and slot this in at the end of the week. We want to get it over the line as soon as possible.” His voice was businesslike as his fingers were gentle, teasing the tender flesh miles away from where I wanted them.

Ophelia dropped her gaze to the screen with a nod. “Got it.”

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