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

19. Nikki

Twenty-five grand went quickwhen you bought a designer dress and purse for your first event in the calendar. I’d rented the gowns for future events, but the money had still disappeared in a flash, which was as ridiculous as it was true.

As I packed for a weekend in the Hamptons, I found myself grimacing at my first few purchases. I had to look the part for an entire weekend, and garbing myself in head-to-toe designer gear would cost several months of my clothing and beauty budget.

But I was resourceful. I scoured consignment stores and chose a few key pieces. I raided my own closet and decided that style mattered just as much as labels. We’d be rubbing elbows with people in the fashion world, so leaving a good impression mattered.

My apartment was mostly packed up. When we got back from the weekend, I’d be moving into a place that Clara had found for me on the Lower East Side. It wasn’t company-owned, and when I expressed that I wasn’t entirely comfortable tying my living situation to my work, she assured me all she’d done was get my rental application in front of the right people. It was a hell of a lot better than homelessness.

Zipping my suitcase, I smoothed my hand down the blue tweed of a vintage Balmain suit dress I’d bought years ago when I sourced clothing for my old store. It had two rows of buttons down the front with a subtle peplum effect at the hips. The dress went all the way down to mid-shin, and it made me look like I had curves for days. I’d had it tailored to fit me, and it made me feel powerful and put-together.

To me, clothing was more than just fabric that covered my nakedness. It was a way of expressing myself. Sometimes I was able to lift my mood simply by putting a favorite outfit on. Combined with makeup and hair, I’d used clothing and beauty as a way to lift myself out of funks since I’d been a teenager.

Today, my clothing was meant to say, I belong here.

The company car picked me up, and I was carted across the bridge and to the Blakely offices. We drove straight to the underground garage, where I bundled myself and my suitcase into a private elevator and shot up to the top floor.

My heart rattled. As I rose through the building, I tried to stay composed. I was calm. I was professional. I was here to do my job.

But it was also the first time I’d see Rome since the gout fundraiser the night before. Since the kiss.

The elevator slowed to a stop. The doors opened. I took a deep breath and stepped out.

I wore patent leather black pumps that clacked on the hard flooring, the wheels of my little suitcase clattering behind me. Clara looked up as I rounded the corner, then gestured to the frosted glass door separating us from Rome’s office.

“He’s waiting for you,” she said, then got up to help me with my suitcase. “I’ll get this loaded up.”

“Thank you.”

Not a woman to waste any time, Clara was on the phone and dealing with my suitcase within seconds. I, on the other hand, wanted to waste all the time I could scrounge instead of facing the man who had kissed me like it meant something to him before telling me it could never happen again.

With a deep breath, I lifted my fist and rapped my knuckles on the glass.

“Come in,” Rome’s deep voice said from the other side.

I inhaled. Straightened my shoulders. Exhaled.

And entered.

He stood with his back to me, his gaze on the skyline spread out beyond his floor-to-ceiling windows. The cut of his navy suit perfectly highlighted the breadth of his shoulders and the taper of his waist. He turned, and his gaze drilled into me.

I said the first thing that came to mind, running my hands over the lapels of my suit dress. “We match.”

His gaze traveled down the length of my body and back up again. It felt like a physical touch. When he swept his gaze over the curve of my hips, I remembered what it felt like to have his hands grab me there and pin me to the wall. When his eyes lingered on my chest, I thought about the feel of his fingers sinking into my flesh. He made me feel naked and exposed, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

“You wear clothing like it’s a weapon,” he finally said, and I blinked. His steps closed the distance between us until I had to crane my head up to keep meeting his gaze. “I find myself wondering if you’re planning on using it against me.”

I arched a brow. “That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think? Maybe I dress for myself.”

Rome’s finger traced the white piping on my lapel, across my chest, and down. I felt the barest brush of his touch against my breast and fought to keep my breathing steady.

Something had changed between us, and the ground was unsteady beneath my feet. We’d flown apart after the kiss and decided it was a mistake, but now…

“Do you?”

I blinked. “Do I what?”

“Do you dress for yourself?”

I took a small step back. Anything to put a bit more space between us. “Of course.”

He hummed. “I think there’s more to it than that. You always seem to know exactly the right balance to strike no matter where we go.”

It surprised me that he could read me so easily. Most people—men especially—thought my interest in fashion and beauty to be frivolous. It was girly. It was silly. But of all people, Rome saw what was beneath the surface. I liked that about him. I liked that he didn’t dismiss me just because I liked to wear vampy lipstick.

But liking him and kissing him again were two different issues entirely. I had to work for the man for the foreseeable future. I didn’t want to get involved with him.

I clasped my hands in front of me, arching a brow. “I’m guessing this outfit is a winner?”

He grinned. “You think it isn’t? Garcia’s going to take one look at you and call you his new muse.”

I flushed, unable to keep the smile from my face. “We’ll see.”

Rome’s hand slipped down my arm to my elbow, the touch sending heat skittering through my veins. He guided me out the door, nodding to Clara before heading for the elevators. Once inside, he let go of my arm, and I could breathe.

“Have you always liked clothing?” He watched me from where he leaned against the wall of the elevator. We traveled up toward the roof, a short ride up to the very top of the building.

The doors opened as I nodded. “Mostly, yes, but my interest really started in my late teens.” I paused, my throat suddenly tight.

Rome stopped at the exterior door leading to the roof. “What is it?”

I looked up to see his brows drawn, his gaze intent. There he went again, seeing me. The real me. I shook my head. “We’re going to be late.”

He leaned against the metal door and crossed his arms. “Something’s on your mind. Tell me.”

“Ordering me around isn’t going to work, Rome.”

He grinned at me. “But you used my first name, so you must be warming up to me.”

“Marginally.”

He laughed, and the sound made my own lips twitch. When he quieted down, his gaze was warm. “Tell me what you were thinking about.”

“It’s nothing, really.” I shook my head. “It’s just old memories. They’re hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

“Why do you care?”

“We need to pretend to be a real couple for the entire weekend. Maybe I think knowing a bit about the real you will help.”

My heart wilted the tiniest bit. He didn’t actually want to know about me; he was just doing this because he thought it would help his cause. But I could tell by the set of his shoulders that he wouldn’t open the door at his back until I spoke.

“My mom grieved my dad’s death for a long time. She’s still in the thick of it, and it’s been two decades. The way she grieved was by letting everything around her collapse. Our house was a mess unless I cleaned it up. She lost her job. She did the bare minimum to feed and wash herself.” I stared at Rome’s tie, not wanting to see his face. “So when I started putting more effort into my appearance, she took it as a personal insult. She thought it meant I didn’t care about my dad.”

“Because you wore nice clothes?”

I lifted my gaze to his, smiling sadly. “My dad’s passing really messed her up. Messed both of us up. I think she became incapable of seeing me as my own person. Everything I did was interpreted through the lens of her experience and her opinion. My clothing choices had nothing to do with her, but she still had something to say. That made me rebel. Our relationship deteriorated from there.”

Rome held my gaze for a long moment, then dipped his chin. “I’m sorry.”

I shrugged. “It is what it is.”

He huffed, and for a few moments, I felt a connection with him that I hadn’t felt with anyone else. He also knew what it meant to be alone in his family. He had fraught relationships with parents who were supposed to take care of him but hadn’t.

My dad’s death broke my mother. I no longer blamed her, but the truth was that she had failed me. I’d been alone from the moment he passed until now.

Rome knew how that felt. I believed that to my core.

He pushed the door open to reveal the helipad and helicopter beyond. “Ready?” he asked.

I took a deep breath and straightened. “Let’s do this.”