Forbidden Boss (Nikki and Rome's Story) (Manhattan Billionaires)

7. Rome

I pacedthe length of my office, my steps heavy on the carpeted floor. Blood rushed in my ears. My hands clenched and unclenched.

That little minx was squeezing me for all I was worth, and I did not appreciate it.

I gritted my teeth and turned, pacing in the opposite direction. Cole watched me from the corner of the room where he leaned on the wall, his arms crossed.

“You think she’ll go for it?” he finally asked.

“She will if she knows what’s good for her,” I fumed. The cheeky little thing. Painting her lips like she didn’t have a care in the world. Demanding more and more and more from me, even though we’d offered her a great deal to begin with. Munching on my truffles like they were her due.

Her dark-brown eyes had flashed across the table from me, that little black-and-white outfit taunting me with every movement of her body. She thought she could waltz in here and make a fool of me? She thought she could get one over on me?

Ha!

“To be fair,” Cole said, interrupting my inner rage, “if she’s attending a full schedule of events, a grand wouldn’t be enough to cover what she needs. Twenty-five k is generous, sure, but at least she’ll be able to dress the part.”

“That’s not the point,” I snapped.

Cole arched a brow. “Oh? What is, then?”

“The point is, she thinks she can tighten the screw on me. She thinks she can play a tune and my feet will start dancing. I don’t appreciate it, and I don’t appreciate her.”

“So pull the offer. Especially if you don’t think you can stand to have her on your arm four or five times a week. Maybe more with the holidays coming up. You need to at least pretend you get along, or else this whole thing falls apart.”

I bared my teeth at him, then whirled around and stalked to my bar. I poured myself a tall drink, letting the alcohol burn my throat.

“I can’t pull the offer,” I finally said when my glass was empty. “You were right about Monk. He won’t hire me unless he knows I can take criticism, and in his geriatric, wife-obsessed mind, the only way to show that is to have a softening influence in my life. I need a companion.”

“I wonder how he deals with same-sex couples.”

Setting my glass down, I shook my head. “He’s fine with it. It’s the partnership he wants. He thinks a committed relationship changes someone and makes them worthy of trust.”

“So you need her.”

“I don’t need her,” I shot back petulantly, glaring at him. “I need someone. She just happens to be the convenient option.”

Cole tilted his head, considering me. “I see,” he said, and it sounded like he saw a lot more than I wanted him to. Like he might be able to see just how easily Nikita Jordan had gotten under my skin. And how badly I wanted to march back in there and demand she stop playing around and sign the damned contract already.

“I can’t afford a lawsuit right now. Especially not a public one,” I told him, even though that wasn’t the only reason I wanted her to work for me.

It galled me that she was winning. It boiled my blood to know she’d gotten one over on me. It wasn’t right.

I wanted to teach her a lesson.

But most frustrating of all was that I couldn’t think of a single person I’d met who would be better suited for the job. She had personality, a vibrancy, that was rare. People warmed to her—I’d seen it in the way her coworkers had worried when she was injured. There had even been a few muffled protests when Ophelia announced she’d fire her for the perfume stunt.

The woman was likable, damn her. And I needed that more desperately than I was willing to admit.

Cole hummed, and we both turned when the door opened. Tabitha, the junior lawyer who’d amended the contract, poked her head in. “They’re ready for us,” she said, then held the door open for Cole, Arthur, and me to step through. The hallway leading to the conference room narrowed and stretched before me. Every step felt like it jarred my body, and it was all I could do to keep my breathing steady and my movements smooth.

She sat on the other side of the conference table like a queen. Back straight, chin lifted, eyes steady. Her lips drew my gaze, red and lush. I wondered what they’d look like mussed, with that red lipstick smeared by my thumb. Wrapped around my?—

Blinking, I sat in front of her and braided my fingers together. “Well?”

Phil Phillips cleared his throat. “We’ll need the rest of the week to review the contract,” he said.

“No chance.” I leaned back, holding Nikki’s gaze. “You walk out of here today without signing that contract, and your decision is made.”

Her eyes narrowed, and I could tell she was biting that sharp tongue of hers. I wanted to goad her into speaking.

Her lawyer inserted himself smoothly by saying, “This is highly unusual.”

I slid my gaze across to meet his. “I’ll give you as long as you’d like to review the contract in this room. Once you leave this floor, though, there won’t be going back. So decide now if you want to sign those pages or not, because I won’t be jerked around by you any longer.”

“I resent that,” Nikki said softly, her words laced with venom.

I smiled at her but felt no humor. “Good for you. We’ll give you the room, and Clara will organize whatever you need. You have until five o’clock this evening. Sign the contract and the NDA or don’t. But that’s all the time you’ll have.”

I pushed back and left the room, feeling her gaze on my back the whole way. I made a beeline for my office, locked the door, and ducked into my private bathroom. Splashing some water over my face, I leaned over the sink and gulped down ragged breaths.

As my temper cooled and water dripped from my nose and chin into the white porcelain sink, I realized I was making a mistake. She was infuriating. Spending more time with her could only bring disaster.

But the alternative was paying her off and letting her win. Never seeing her again. Knowing that she was out there, with her red lips and her flashing eyes, laughing at me.

And that was worse.

I knew one thing: If she signed that contract, I would make her life hell.

And sign it she did. Four hours later, with a few minor revisions to the verbiage, Nikita Jordan inked her name on the contract and officially became an employee of the Blakely Advertising Agency. Clara dropped the paperwork on my desk and met my gaze.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked quietly.

Clara was a genius executive assistant. She’d been with me for twelve years, and she, along with the half-dozen administrative staff she managed, was the one who made my life run as smoothly as she did. She had severe features framed with thick-rimmed glasses, but in moments like these, her eyes were softer. Concerned.

In a flash, I understood what Wilbur Monk meant. Clara’s approach was gentler, even though she was echoing what Cole had said earlier. But when she stood in front of my desk, I didn’t want to snap back in the face of her kindness. I wanted to be honest with her. I wanted to reassure her.

What would it be like to have someone in my life with whom I could have these kinds of conversations? Or deeper ones? My relationship with Clara was based on professional respect. She knew me, knew how I worked, so she knew when to be concerned and when to push.

But what if someone liked me just for me? What if they saw me, all the way down to my core? How would it feel to open up the part of me that had to stay locked in an iron box? Would I still be able to be the ruthless executive if I cared for someone else?

And, most importantly, what if I opened up, let them in, and then they tossed me aside when I needed them most?

The thought shut me down. Cold sluiced through my veins as I leaned back in my chair. I met my assistant’s gaze and dipped my chin. “She’ll toe the company line, or she’ll lose the cushy job she just earned herself and will have no recourse to sue. This is the best possible outcome.”

Clara didn’t seem convinced, but she nodded. “When would you like her to start?”

A sense of calm settled over me. I pushed back from my desk and stood, smiling. “Immediately.”