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

12. Nikki

The fundraiser was heldat the New-York Historical Society, a gorgeous building made of white stone with a dramatic colonnade at the front. As I stepped out of the car, my gaze was drawn up the wide steps, past the dramatic entrance, and up to the row of windows on the second floor. It was a gorgeous building, and I was in a gorgeous dress, and I couldn’t quite believe this was my life.

Rome’s hand brushed my lower back, and we walked up the steps together. There was something thrilling about being at a beautiful venue, dressed to the nines, with an attractive man as my date. Logically, I knew it was simply my job. I was able to take his arm around my back and explain it away as Rome simply acting the part.

But there was another part of me that took the warmth of his hand on my back and made it mean something more. My cheeks flushed and my heart thumped a little bit harder. I found myself leaning into his touch the slightest bit, my shoulder brushing his, catching a hint of his warm scent whenever he moved.

His face was granite-hard, as if he dreaded walking into the event but knew he had to. It was the same hardness that had sat across from me at the negotiation table earlier in the week. It would be easy to think of him as a heartless, hard man who would do anything to close a deal. But then I thought of that little boy whose parents shipped him off to boarding school, and I wondered…

What if he pursued his business goals so ruthlessly because it was the only thing he had? He’d needed to hire me to be his date to this event, and all the others on the calendar. So he had no significant other, few friends, and a fraught relationship with his family. He was all alone.

I knew how hard that was. I had friends, but even so, I never quite felt like I was understood. Like I belonged.

We were greeted by an usher in a crisp white shirt and black vest who directed us to the event space. Soft music filtered through between the noise of many conversations.

We were accosted within moments of entering. An older woman kissed Rome on both cheeks, then turned to me with a smile.

“And who do we have here? It’s not every day Rome Blakely brings a plus-one.”

“I’m only here for the canapés,” I quipped.

The woman laughed, the jewels dangling from her ears glittering in the warm light of the room. She wore a dark-purple dress that fit her like a glove.

“This is Nikita Jordan,” Rome said. “Nikita, meet Gloria Beck. We worked together on a successful campaign a couple of years ago for her company’s fantastic athleisure division. Gloria is also one of the best poker players you’ll ever meet.”

“Oh, stop it,” the older woman said, swatting at Rome. “Is he always this charming?”

“No,” I replied. “Mostly he scowls.”

She laughed again, shaking her head, then excused herself and floated to another acquaintance. Feeling Rome’s gaze on the side of my face, I turned to meet his gaze.

“Mostly I scowl?”

“You’re doing it right now.”

“No, I’m not.”

I popped open my bow-shaped clutch and pulled out my mirror, flicked it open, and held it up in front of him. Rome didn’t even blink. He didn’t look at the mirror. He just held my gaze for a long moment, until I had to bite my lips to hide my smile.

“I’m regretting this arrangement,” he told me, fingers curling around my elbow.

“You love this arrangement.”

“You’re a pest,” he said softly, but his hand tightened on my elbow, and he pulled me ever so slightly closer.

“I handled that exactly right. She was eating it up.”

“I should never have brought you here.”

I was hard up against him then, my chest brushing his, chin tilted up. Breathless, I said, “I don’t know why you insist on lying to yourself, Blakely.”

He opened his mouth to answer, but another voice interrupted us. Another former client stopped by, watching me curiously, and Rome shifted his hand from my elbow to my lower back. I felt unsteady on my heels during that interaction, all my attention focused on the fingers that traced the embroidery on my dress just above the curve of my ass.

I wasn’t sure this was exactly outlined in the company’s code of conduct, and I found that I didn’t care.

A waiter stopped by with a tray full of champagne, and I was glad to have something to do with my hands. I met lots of people that had been in Clara’s briefing document, and many more that weren’t.

Most of them oozed wealth. I felt like I wore a big neon sign proclaiming me an outsider, but all I could do was pretend it didn’t exist and fake it until they thought I belonged. I watched Rome navigate conversations like a shark slicing through water. He closed two business deals almost casually, and I wasn’t sure the other person even realized what had happened.

Then I felt pressure on my back a mere moment before he straightened beside me. “Wilbur,” he intoned, reaching out to shake the older man’s hand.

Wilbur Monk was a tall, broad man who clearly enjoyed the finer things in life, as evidenced by the large paunch hanging over his belt buckle and the wide, genial grin. In one hand, he expertly carried a glass of champagne and a little plate laden with canapés, leaving his other hand free to shake Rome’s. His skin was tan and slightly leathery, as if he enjoyed the sun and didn’t believe in sunblock. He had a wide smile and shrewd eyes that slid over to me the moment he dropped Rome’s hand.

“This is a surprise,” he said. “I’ve never seen Rome with such a beauty on his arm.”

“Or one so fabulously dressed,” his wife added. She walked up to our group, smiling, then put her hand around Monk’s elbow. She wore a simple black sequined dress, cut close to her body, that I suspected was custom. Her neck was adorned with a gigantic diamond pendant, her matching earrings completing the set. Not a hair was out of place, and her makeup was expertly applied. She would have been a beauty in her youth because she was still looking fantastic.

“You must be Roseanne,” I said, smiling. “I’m under strict instructions to make a good impression.”

Beside me, Rome stiffened, but Wilbur and his wife both threw their heads back and laughed.

“Sounds like Rome knows who’s really in charge here,” Wilbur said, winking at me.

“How did you two meet? I can’t believe Rome convinced someone to put up with him.” Roseanne’s lips stretched into a wide smile.

“I’m still on the fence about it, to be honest,” I said, grinning.

More laughter, and Rome relaxed next to me.

“Nikki was a contractor for the company,” Rome explained. “We met just before her contract finished up.”

“Rome is being modest,” I said, patting him on the chest with my free hand. His arm slipped around my back to tug me closer. “What really happened was that I got myself locked in a supply closet, and he pried the door open with brute force. The rest, as they say, is history.” And a very specific contract including an NDA. I wiggled my finger splint. “I’ve got the scars to prove it.”

The older couple laughed, delighted. Rome’s fingers tightened on my waist.

“I’m glad to see it. I’ve always said you needed someone to stand beside you, Blakely.”

“I think he needed someone to keep him from fumbling his way through these things,” I said, waving a hand at the event at large.

“Fumbling,” Rome repeated, glancing at me with arched brows. “How would you know I’ve fumbled?”

“Please,” I said. “It’s obvious.”

“I take offense to that.”

“But am I wrong?”

“That’s not the point.” Rome scowled at me, which made my smile widen. He caught himself and cleared his expression, then reflexively scowled again.

I laughed. He was cute when he wasn’t trying so hard to be an intimidating jerk.

Roseanne let out a chuckle and shook her head. “Well, seems like you’ve found the right woman for the job.” She turned to me. “I just adore your purse.”

“Thank you! It’s so silly. I love it.” I held up the bedazzled blue bow, stroking it softly with my fingers.

“I have a small collection of Judith Leiber bags myself,” Roseanne said. “Sometimes they’re just the right thing for a bit of fun.”

I smiled. I liked this woman. Too many people took themselves too seriously, but fashion and style was one area that was best when there was an element of fun, or campiness, or the unexpected. I’d bought this bag for this event because I thought it would be a good icebreaker, but I also bought it because I loved it, and it wasn’t something I’d be able to afford on a regular salary.

We fell into an easy conversation. I asked her about her gown, and she told me it was a custom design. When she found out I used to work in vintage fashion, her eyes lit up.

“You have to come see my personal collection. I’ve got so many wonderful vintage pieces. Mostly they’re stored away in a climate-controlled room, and to be honest with you, most of them don’t fit anymore. But I’d love to share that with you. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, honey?” she asked her husband.

Wilbur, who had been deep in conversation with Rome beside us, glanced over. His gaze softened as he met his wife’s, his hand curling around her lower back. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Nikki used to work as a buyer for a vintage fashion store. I said she should come see my collection sometime. I’d love to show it off to someone who gets it.”

“If I were a suspicious man, I’d think Blakely here planned this.”

Rome cleared his throat. “What if I did?”

Wilbur chortled and clapped Rome on the back so hard he rocked on his toes. The older man shook his head. “I guess that would mean you really want our business. When are you free to come down? We’ll be there for the holidays.”

Where was “there?” He was asking me, so I shrugged. “Whenever suits you,” I said. I glanced at Rome questioningly. This seemed a bit extracurricular. Would he be mad if I went over to Roseanne’s place to look at clothes?

“It would give us time to iron out the last details to finally put some ink to this deal, hey, Blakely?” Wilbur’s eyes glimmered as he glanced at my boss.

Rome nodded. “I’ll have to check my schedule, but I should be able to clear a few days to take the jet down before the end of the year.”

“Great!” Wilbur exclaimed, and Roseanne beamed.

I, on the other hand, frowned. “A few days? The jet?”

“My clothing archive is at our primary residence in Grenada,” Roseanne explained. “We’ve got a gorgeous little island there. You’ll love it.”

“Oh,” I said, nodding. “Of course.”

Had I just agreed to go see this woman’s vintage designer clothes on her private island in Grenada? It sounded like it! I hoped Rome wasn’t mad about an impromptu trip to the Caribbean.

But it also sounded like it had helped my boss take one step nearer to closing the deal with Wilbur Monk. So that had to be a win-win.

We chatted with the older couple for a few more minutes before an announcement informed us it was almost time for dinner to start.

We all shook hands. When Wilbur grasped mine, he held my palm with one hand and patted it with the other. Glancing at Rome, Wilbur said, “I’m glad to see you embracing the influence of others, Blakely. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to. But Nikki here is proof you’ve got hidden depth.”

Rome inclined his head, then put his hand on my lower back and guided me into the dining room. We found our table and settled into our seats, and then Rome leaned toward me. His breath warmed my ear as he said, “Good work, Jordan.”

I gave him a little grin as I turned to look at him, not realizing just how close his face had been to mine. Our lips nearly brushed, and neither of us moved back.

For one long, breathless moment, I could feel the heat of his skin so close to mine. He’d leaned one hand against my chair and his other elbow on the table, so I was surrounded by him. I met his gaze, heart thundering, wondering if I was imagining things.

Like the heat sparking deep in my core, and its twin burning in his gaze. Or the way his eyes dropped to my lips and darkened. Or the electricity crackling in the scant space between us.

Then, as quickly as it happened, the moment was over. He pulled away and I, flustered, reached for my glass of champagne with a trembling hand. The bubbles danced on my tongue, but the drink tasted more bitter than it had before.

I took a shaky breath, then focused on buttering the piece of bread that a waiter dropped on my side plate with gold-plated tongs. When I glanced over at him, Rome looked entirely unaffected. He’d already turned to talk to someone who stopped at our table, deep in conversation about an upcoming campaign.

And dread crept through my guts—because he wasn’t just my infuriating, arrogant boss anymore. Now he was the man who had made my thighs clench with nothing more than a look. The man who made me want to throw out the rule book, burn my contract, and destroy this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity just for the chance to taste him.

Which made me a grade-A idiot in a beautiful dress.

I was in so much trouble.