Page 96 of Forbidden Boss (Manhattan Billionaires)

“No,” I answered, gruff, “I won’t be here long.”

Was that disappointment on her face? I couldn’t tell, and Nikki turned away from me slightly. She crossed the space and took a seat on her couch, tucking her feet under her as she lifted her chin to meet my gaze, waiting patiently for me to speak.

Not wanting to sit on the same piece of furniture as her—being that close would be dangerous—I pulled a rickety-looking dining chair and spun it around so I could sit and face her. All her things were just this side of shabby, but they went together in a way that gave her place an easy, homey feel. She’d made herself at home in her new apartment, and for some reason it made me feel sad. Maybe because there was no room here for me.

“You said Roseanne offered you a job,” I started, not wanting to waste time here. The place smelled like her. Her personality was baked into every inch of it. It drove me to the brink of insanity just to sit in her space and not be able to touch her.

Nikki blinked at me, tilting her head slightly. “Yes.”

“You understand that if you divulge the details of our”—I cleared my throat—“relationship, there could be issues for both of us.”

Nikki’s shoulders dropped, but the expression on her face didn’t change. “Did you come here to warn me about keeping my mouth shut, Rome?”

Her words were soft, but they hit me like blows. I could hardly get my response out through the gravel that had taken residence in my throat. “Yes.”

She dropped her bare feet back onto the floor, and I noticed her toenails were painted a soft shade of pink. “Understood,” she said, standing to cross the room to stand at the door. She opened it and glanced at me meaningfully. “In the future, a text or an email will suffice. There’s no need to bother yourself with a personal visit when you need to threaten me.”

“It’s not a threat,” I said, joining her at the door. “It’s the truth.”

As Nikki met my gaze, her back was straight and there was no moisture in her eyes. A door had been shut between us, and I had the awful, sinking realization that I was the one who’d done it. Maybe I hadn’t even done it when I’d kicked her out of my office. Maybe there’d been a sliver of light still coming through the opening, but I’d walked in here and slammed it shut.

“Goodbye, Rome,” she said, and there was steel in her voice.

I tore my gaze away from the line of her neck, the shape of her body in those loose, shapeless clothes. She was just a former employee. A former lover. She didn’t mean anything to me, and I meant nothing to her. Now we were on the same page, and we could both move on.

“Good luck with the new job,” I told her, then walked out of her apartment.

The worst part of the whole visit, I realized when I got back to the car downstairs, wasn’t the widening gulf between us. It wasn’t the stilted conversation. It wasn’t the dead look in her eyes when she said goodbye, or the scent of her all around.

No, the worst part was that despite how horrible the visit had been, it was better than not seeing her at all.

FORTY

NIKKI

Roseanne wasin Grenada until the beginning of March, so we set a meeting for the fourth of the month when she’d be in the city. I spent the first two months of the year getting my life in order. I had enough savings to pay off my debts, but I had to sell most of the designer clothes and accessories I’d acquired during my employment at Blakely in order to sustain me until I could get an income.

So for all the fun I’d had during those two months, I was left with none of the luxuries that had pushed me to sign the contract in the first place. It seemed fitting, but I did hate letting go of my Judith Leiber bow purse.

As the days turned to weeks, I found the courage to go to the doctor. I booked the scans and read the pamphlets. I lay in bed at night, overheated and unable to sleep, imagining a newborn baby at my breast, wondering how soft their skin would be, if they’d have any hair when they came out.

Rome’s visit had been awful, of course, but oddly, it had given me more strength. It was clear he wanted nothing to do with me, and all I could do in response was move on. I’d tell him about the baby eventually, I promised myself, but it was so early. No sense opening that can of worms until I knew for sure that everything would be okay.

It was a convenient excuse for my cowardice.

In the weeks leading up to my meeting with Roseanne, I kept busy, but I avoided my friends. My newfound strength was brittle, and I knew that one nail driven at just the right angle would shatter me. If I were to feel like a sad little wretch, watching them jet set off to Europe for shopping sprees without me, I’d lose my courage.

So I went through a couple months of self-imposed isolation. When I was feeling gracious toward myself, I called it nesting. My new apartment was my cocoon, and I the chrysalis undergoing a transformation.

But when the fourth of March came around, my transformation didn’t feel quite complete. I was just over twenty weeks into my pregnancy and my bump was beginning to show. I’d learned a few days ago that I was having a girl, and it was starting to feel real. I dressed in a tunic dress with comfortable shoes, taking extra time with my hair and makeup.

Roseanne met me at a cute café in Midtown. She sat in a tall, winged armchair like a queen, her loose pants draped artfully over her crossed legs, a mug steaming in her delicate grasp. When she looked up at me, the diamonds dangling from her ears twinkled in the coffee shop lights.

“Nikki!” she exclaimed, setting her cup down to stand. She hugged me tightly and planted a kiss on my cheek. “You look fabulous. I’ve paid for your drink already, so just dash up there and tell them what you want,” she said, nodding to the barista.

To her credit, though her gaze drifted down to my midsection, she didn’t ask any indelicate questions. I smiled at her and did as she said, ordering myself a peppermint tea before joining her at the table with my drink.

“How was your winter?” I asked, wrapping my hands around the hot mug.

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