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

10. Nikki

My body went still,all the way down to my little toes. I stood in front of the most gigantic house I’d ever seen, surrounded by beautiful, manicured gardens, and all the color leached out of the world before my eyes.

The woman at the top of the steps looked down at us, haughty and unimpressed.

Beside me, Rome shifted, putting his hand on my lower back. “Mother, this is Nikita Jordan. Ms. Jordan, my mother, Joanne Blakely.”

I realized the smile plastered to my face had slipped, so I did my best to stretch it a little wider. “The famous Joanne!” I said, and immediately realized that was the wrong thing to say when her cold gaze narrowed on me. And I remembered—I was a courtroom extra. Bland and beige, with no speaking lines.

And I’d already put my foot in it.

Clearing my throat, I used every bit of willpower to keep that stupid smile in place as I changed tack, trying to appear demure and uninteresting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Blakely.”

The woman just blinked and slid her gaze to my boss. No words were spoken, but they seemed to communicate just fine. The woman whirled and strode toward the open French doors.

And by “the woman,” of course, I meant Rome Blakely’s mother. Which meant this was his home. And he’d brought me here with zero warning or preparation.

Suddenly, the horror faded, and I was angry. He’d done this on purpose! This whole thing—the outfit change, the helicopter, the introduction—was just a way to get me off-balance.

It was his way of saying, You thought you had the upper hand? Think again, Jordan.

And that pissed me right off.

Rome tipped his head to indicate that we should follow. I walked beside him and hissed, “You don’t think you could have warned me?”

“About what?”

About what? About what? Apparently, billionaires could suffer from extreme obtuseness.

Glaring, I spoke through clenched teeth. “About the fact that tonight’s engagement was a dinner with your mother, you dimwit.”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.” He seemed unruffled, cold, even. When I paused, he stopped and gestured impatiently toward the doors. “Please.”

“Not until you tell me exactly what’s going on.”

“We’re having dinner with my family. It’s a monthly affair. My mother insists.”

“Right. And you didn’t think it would be a good idea to mention that to me at any point during the past hour or so?”

“Again, Ms. Jordan, I don’t see how that would change anything.”

“I could mentally prepare myself! I could google her and see if I could find at least one safe topic of conversation. I could google you so I can pretend like we actually know something about each other. Other than the obvious.”

His brow twitched. “Which is?”

“That you’re a colossal jerk, Blakely.”

His jaw clenched, and his gaze bore into mine. “There’s nothing to prepare. Your job is to accompany me to social functions. This is a social function. You’re here in a professional capacity. Now please, let’s go inside and get this over with.”

Without waiting for an answer, Blakely turned and stalked toward the open doors. The set of his shoulders was rigid, and there had been a hardness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

Even when he’d been furious with me, when he thought I was litigious and vindictive against his precious company, he hadn’t looked like that.

It only took me a second to take stock of the situation and decide to trot after him and make the most of it, but in that second, I realized a few things.

First, Rome Blakely didn’t have a good relationship with his parents. He hated this monthly engagement, and he was doing his best not to show it. Second, him not telling me about it might not have been a way to get back at me for anything. It was possible, I realized, that Rome hadn’t mentioned it because he hadn’t wanted to talk about it at all. Maybe what he needed was support. He’d dragged me along here because, on some level, whether he knew it or not, he wanted someone in his corner.

And, hell, the man was giving me twenty-five grand a month to spend on clothing and beauty. The least I could do was make pleasant conversation with his uptight family, right?

That’s how I justified it to myself as I followed, noticing his mother beyond him speaking to an employee in an all-black uniform. The employee nodded, glanced at me, then ducked into a room. Through the crack he left open in the door, I saw him hastily set another place at the dining table.

Mrs. Blakely turned toward us, her gaze flicking to my suit, down to my shoes, to my purse, and finally up to my lips. There was a minute tightening of her features, and I understood why the lipstick had been discouraged. This was one hell of a judgmental woman, and apparently, she liked dinner guests to display precisely zero personality.

This would be fun.

But I wasn’t part of this world, and thus, couldn’t be judged by its standards. I wasn’t going to make myself a bland, blank canvas just because some rude woman didn’t like the look of a bit of lipstick.

It’s not like I was marrying her son; I was working for him. And when I’d read the contract earlier, it hadn’t mentioned anything about lip color.

“Your brother got here earlier. He and Natasha wanted to go over a few details for their wedding.”

“I was working, Mother,” Rome replied. “I came as soon as I could.”

It struck me that he was answering a comment she hadn’t voiced out loud. I could sense the strain in his voice, and I noticed the way he tapped his index finger against his thumb in a rhythmic, unconscious motion.

Despite myself, a bit more sympathy was wrung out of the dry husk of my heart for him. He was an ass, but maybe in this particular situation, I could be sympathetic. I knew what it was like to ride the undercurrents of parental relationships.

“The hotel at Lake Como has confirmed they can accommodate three hundred and fifty guests,” his mother continued, not acknowledging what her son had said. “Your father is pleased.”

I arched a brow. I wondered if Rome’s father cared at all, or if it was Joanne herself who was satisfied by the venue choice. I had the distinct sense I was walking into a booby-trapped room. Words had no meaning and conversations happened on multiple levels simultaneously. I had to tread carefully.

Rome’s fingers kept tapping against each other as his mother led us deeper into the home. The ceilings were high, with gorgeous chandeliers throwing glittering light over every surface. The rugs under our feet were thick and richly patterned. Artwork hung in nooks that we passed at regular intervals.

We came to a stop outside a door, and another black-clad staff member nodded to Mrs. Blakely before opening the door.

I stole a glance at my boss. His fingers had stilled, but his breathing was heavy and his frown deep. I touched his elbow and arched my brows. Are you okay? my look asked.

His shoulders eased and he dipped his chin.

Then we walked into a sumptuously decorated sitting room.

“Rome brought a friend. Nicola, was it?” Mrs. Blakely asked, her piercing gaze coming to rest on me.

“Nikita, but you can call me Nikki,” I said, nodding to the people in the room. There were three staff members trying to be inconspicuous at the edges of the room, along with an older man, a younger man, and a young woman. I used my vast powers of deduction to figure out that they were Rome’s father, brother, and soon-to-be sister-in-law. Rome grunted out a greeting and dropped into a sofa to our left. I perched on the edge of the cushion next to him.

Mrs. Blakely waved a hand at staff members, who jumped to offer us a drink. Rome asked for wine, and I decided I wanted my wits about me, so I asked for sparkling water.

“Have you knocked her up already?” the young man called out, chortling, from the sofa across from ours. He had his arm around a gorgeous blonde dressed almost identically to me, except her pantsuit was a deep navy blue, and she’d skipped the lipstick.

“Fuck off, Will.”

“Don’t speak to your brother that way.”

The sharp rebuke from his mother made Rome’s arm stiffen next to me. I cleared my throat and gave the other man my best smile. “Congratulations on the wedding,” I interjected.

The woman—Natasha, Mrs. Blakely had named her—smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We’re thrilled,” she said, sounding anything but.

“It sounds lovely. Have you been to Lake Como before?”

The blonde laughed. “Of course. I summer there every year. My uncle helped us secure the venue. He knows the owners of the hotel. Haven’t you been?”

My smile felt a little forced, but I gave it my best. My cheeks would be sore by the end of the night. I shook my head. “Not yet. It’s on my list.”

“On your list,” Natasha replied, baring her teeth at me. “That’s cute.”

“Natasha, be nice,” Will said, glancing at his wife-to-be with a look that wasn’t exactly loving.

“Your uncle is a gem,” Mrs. Blakely interjected, giving her son a quick, significant look.

Undercurrents abounded. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat; my pants were itchy. I cleared my throat and smiled at the waiter who presented me with a glass of cut crystal full of delicately bubbling water. A perfect, juicy crescent of lemon perched on the impossibly thin edge of the glass. “Thank you,” I said as he placed a coaster and a little cocktail napkin down on the side table.

The man nodded and drifted away.

“So how did you two meet?” This came from Will, who flicked his fingers at one of the staff and pointed to his near-empty glass. The waitress jumped to obey him, and Will’s eyes came back to rest on me.

“Well, funny story,” I started, thinking just the thing this party needed was a story about a giant perfume-filled penis and a trip to the emergency room, but Rome just said, “We met through colleagues.”

“Colleagues!” Will repeated, delighted. “Dipping your pen into company ink.” He gave me a lascivious grin before leering at Rome again. “Naughty boy.”

“I am not,” Rome replied tersely. He cleared his throat, then awkwardly shifted so his arm rested on the sofa behind me. “Nikki and I are together. She will be accompanying me to events for the foreseeable future. I thought this would be a good start.”

“Really, Rome,” his mother chided, “do you think that’s appropriate?”

“Which part?” Will cut in with a laugh. “And what, exactly, did you mean when you met through colleagues? Yours, or hers?”

“It all makes sense now,” Natasha said, her lips smiling but her eyes telling a different story as she looked me up and down.

I sat there stiffly, knowing they were insinuating exactly what I had when I first saw the contract, and visualized the beautiful quilted black Chanel flap bag I’d buy myself as a reward after this ordeal.

These people couldn’t hurt me. They looked down on me, but they didn’t realize they were the ones who had nothing. No compassion, no grace, no love.

Throughout it all, the father remained silent. He stared at his phone, seeming completely checked out. A deep sense of sadness filled me. I should have been feeling discomfort, or embarrassment, or something that made sense. But all I could see were people who threw barbs at each other and lacked the ability to connect.

Maybe Rome’s father had the right idea. It was easier to disengage completely.

My gaze drifted around the room. There was a family portrait above the fireplace, but it only had the two parents and Will, looking like a young teenager. On the opposite wall, I saw another photo of Will in a cap and gown, holding a diploma.

This must have been an intimate room because the rest of the spaces we’d walked through had very few personal touches.

But—

“Where are the pictures of you?” I asked, glancing at my boss.

A heavy silence met my words. Rome, holding the stem of his wine glass in his left hand, cleared his throat. “There aren’t many of them,” he replied. “I spent most of my youth away at boarding school before I left for college.”

“Rome was so bright,” his mother explained, and it was the first nice thing I’d heard her say about him. “We knew it would be best for him to get an education at a good school.”

I nodded. “But wouldn’t there have been summers…holidays…vacations?” I pointed to a photo of young Will on a sailboat, laughing at the camera.

“He was a very studious boy.” This gruff rebuke came from Rome’s father, who watched me through deep-set eyes from across the room. The first thing he’d said since I walked in.

“My parents were in the midst of a big business transition when I was small,” Rome explained, turning his head toward me but not meeting my eye. His face was oddly blank, his eyes flat as they stared at nothing. “Massachusetts was a good place to grow up. I made lots of friends.”

“Well that’s the most surprising thing of all,” I said, because apparently when faced with uncomfortable situations, my internal filter malfunctioned.

I clamped my lips shut.

Finally, Rome lifted his gaze to meet mine, disbelief written in his eyes and the line of his mouth. “Excuse me?”

It was funny—there was one part of my brain screaming at me to pipe down and back off. But there was another part that had hated seeing him shut down the way he had before, and I loved the fact that I’d brought that spark back to his eyes.

Sure, the spark was fury, and it was aimed at me. But I liked it better than blankness.

I had to spend time with the guy, after all. If I was going to milk this opportunity for all it was worth—and get the fabulous wardrobe to match—it was better to be myself the whole while. That’s what I told myself, anyway. I ignored the part of me that wanted to make Rome feel better.

He scowled at me. “I have friends.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“I do.”

“I believe you.”

“Jordan,” he snarled. “I have friends.”

A wicked smile curled my lips. “Name one.”

“Cole.”

“Doesn’t count. He’s your employee.”

“Arlo Noble.”

I blinked. That was Bonnie’s new boss. Not wanting to go down that route, I blew a raspberry and said, “You think billionaire buddies impress me? My best friend is married to Marcus Walsh.”

He stared into my eyes, and I felt a bit dizzy at the intensity of it. “Bullshit.”

My grin couldn’t be stopped. “How else do you think I got Phil Phillips to come negotiate for me this morning?”

His mouth dropped, then pursed. Victorious, I leaned back and reached for my sparkling water.

That’s when I noticed the curious gazes from the rest of our audience. Mr. and Mrs. Blakely were watching us, looking faintly horrified. Natasha was confused. Will, for some reason, was glaring at me.

I sipped my water and set it back down on its coaster and looked at Will. “You didn’t go to boarding school?”

The other man was still frowning at me, but he nodded. “By the time they had me, Mom and Dad had more time. I wanted to stay at home.”

As any child would,I thought to myself. I wondered if being shipped off to another state was the reason Rome seemed to hold himself apart from everyone. I hadn’t seen him interact with his so-called friends, but every interaction I’d seen people have with him—or the way people had talked about him when I was working in the studio—was vague fear and awe.

“Will got the fun childhood, but at least I got a good education,” Rome said, drawing my gaze.

I nodded, somber. “Don’t forget all the friends you made along the way.”

Rome shot me a glare, to which I replied with an angelic smile.

“I think it’s time for dinner,” Joanne announced loudly, then stood. Her arms were stiff at her sides as she marched across the room to the door. The rest of us followed her lead and headed into the dining room. Rome pulled my chair out to help me sit, then took the spot next to mine.

While the others took their seats, Rome leaned toward me. “Thank you,” he said, so quietly I nearly missed it.

I nudged him with my shoulder, and he nudged me back.

Deep in my heart, a shard of ice melted. Maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad.

Not wanting to dwell on that thought, I turned to Natasha and asked her a thousand questions about her wedding plans, which she was more than happy to discuss. Dinner was three courses of delicious food, including a melt-in-your-mouth-tender steak and the creamiest mashed potatoes I’d ever tasted. I caved and had a glass of red with dinner, which was divine.

The wine, plus the food, plus the forced company meant that by the time we headed out the back door and rounded the corner that would lead us to the helicopter, I let out a long breath.

“Was it that bad?” Rome asked as the helicopter blades began to whir. He met my gaze and I saw none of the anger and none of the arrogance that had been there before. He looked tired.

“Now the fat paycheck makes sense,” I answered, and he gave me a ghost of a glare. Better than nothing. We took our seats in the helicopter, and I spent the ride looking out the window at the glittering lights spread out like a carpet below us.