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

29. Nikki

The days meltedinto each other, and I drifted along as if on a cloud. I moved into a new apartment in Manhattan. It was part of a block of apartments owned by Blakely’s corporation, and it was huge. My teal velvet couch looked a bit tired against all the gleaming new fixtures, but it was all I had.

It had a huge closet, which was a luxury I hadn’t anticipated. I signed a year lease and let out a long breath. At least I had somewhere to live, and I could afford it.

Even if most of the time I spent my nights at Rome’s place.

Two weeks after the thigh-riding incident—which Rome and I might or might not have repeated a time or two—I found myself in a cafe with my hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. Eleanor sat across from me, regaling me with the gossip from the lower floors. We were finally getting around to meeting up for that drink she’d suggested over a month ago.

“Ophelia has been on a tear for weeks,” she said, clicking her tongue. “She’s insufferable. She made two interns cry yesterday.”

I grimaced. “Is it bad to say I never liked her?”

“She thinks very highly of herself,” Eleanor agreed with a nod. But her eyes took on an interested gleam as she set her mug down on the table between us. “I overheard her on the phone saying that you and Rome had something going on.”

I hid my reaction to the words with a sip of scalding coffee, taking my time to set my mug down before answering. There was an official line, of course. For all intents and purposes, Rome and I were an item. Before we started sleeping together, I’d had no problem saying so.

But now that we kind of were an item, it felt strange to have to lie about it. Except the lie was the truth. But the truth was a lie.

I shook my head. Whatever it was, it was confusing. Rome and I were…together. But there was a contract between us, complete with benefits and perks and a fat paycheck, and that made things murky.

Would he still want to be with me if the contract didn’t exist? Did he actually want me for me, or was I just a convenient lay?

“We’re seeing each other,” I confirmed.

Eleanor’s eyes went wide. She leaned back in her chair, staring at me. “What? Since when?”

“Well…you know he picked me up from the hospital when I hurt myself.”

“I was sure he was just covering himself,” Eleanor said, amazed. “Especially with them offering everyone a permanent contract right after that happened.”

My lips twisted with a tinge of bitterness. “Maybe he was, and I won him over with my charm.”

She laughed and shook her head. “Unbelievable. You know he hasn’t dated anyone in years? People were saying he was some sort of sexual deviant and that’s why he could never maintain a relationship.”

I huffed. Rome Blakely absolutely was a sexual deviant. An insatiable, unbelievable, beautiful one.

“Does Ophelia have a crush on him, or something?”

Eleanor shrugged. “I think she’s just angling for a promotion. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

I hummed, nodding. I hoped it was professional interest. Not because I was threatened by her, but because I didn’t want anyone asking any uncomfortable questions. Only a handful of people knew about the companion contract, but if word got out…

“We’re going to Thanksgiving dinner at his parents’ place,” I told Eleanor to fill the silence.

She blew a raspberry and picked up her mug. “Good luck.”

“Hopefully Joanne takes it easier on me than she did the first time.”

Eleanor gave me a flat look and repeated, “Good luck.”

I laughed and turned the conversation to Eleanor’s beloved cat. She brightened and showed me a few pictures, and the subject of me and Rome was set aside.

As I left the coffee shop, though, I turned it over in my mind. I didn’t like deceiving my friend, and Eleanor was a friend. We’d already made plans to meet again later in the week. She loved her job running around the studio, and she was happy to be scratching a life out for herself just like the rest of us.

She had a bubbly kind of energy, but it was underlaid with total calm. She talked about her retirement investments and her financial goals, about her plans for her life. She’d be the perfect person to talk to about my situation—if I were able to break the NDA and actually tell her the truth.

I left our coffee date feeling a little empty for not being able to share the truth with her. A little…alone.

Because no matter how crazy Rome made me in bed, and no matter how much he made my heart rattle when he gave me one of his rare, brilliant smiles, there was still a gulf between us. That contract bridged it, but it was just a stack of papers.

At the end of the day, he was a wealthy, well-connected man who could have his pick of women. And I was just me. I was the broke chick who spent way too much money on clothes. The girl who was stupid enough to get herself into a financial mess because she was too naive to know different. The girl who was always dropped when something better came along.

How long would it take for Rome to realize that he could do better? That he should do better?

Why in the world would he ever choose me, other than the convenience of the fact that I’d literally signed up for the job?

I was halfway to the subway station when my phone rang. As soon as I swiped to answer and heard Rome’s deep rumble on the other side of the line, my thoughts quieted.

And that was the issue. When we were apart, I told myself it was a bad idea to fall for him. Then he crooked his finger at me, and I was all too eager to crawl to him.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he said in my ear. “How do you feel about dinner out tonight?”

I shuffled off to the side to let people walk past, frowning at the overcast sky. “I thought tonight was free. Has something come up with one of your clients?”

He huffed. “I’m trying to ask you out on a date, Nikki.”

My heart tumbled, and the jumble of thoughts that had been clouding my mind a minute ago cleared. I bit back my smile and said, “I’d like that. What should I wear?”

“My preference would be nothing,” he said, which made a familiar heat twist through my abdomen, “but I guess, something nice. A dress.”

“Done,” I said.

“Pick you up at seven.”

“See you then.”

My smile lingered for a long time, and that evening, we had a candlelit meal in a restaurant that was too fancy for me to ever get a table without the Blakely name on the reservation. We went back to his place and made love, and I didn’t think about my worries for the future once.

This pattern replicated itself the next day, and the next, and the next. We attended luncheons and dinners and galas and balls. Rome took me out, just the two of us, and made me feel like this romance between us was real. He took me to the ballet and fingered me to orgasm in a private box, whispering praise in my ear while I worked to stifle my gasps. He spread me out on his dining room table and ate me like I was his favorite dessert. He smiled every time I entered his office and curled his arms around me every morning we woke up in the same bed.

I was living a fantasy. A dream. There was no way this was real, with the fancy events and the fabulous clothes and the decadent food, but it was. And the way his eyes darkened was real. The way his hands clasped and claimed me—that was real. The way he nuzzled me and touched me at every opportunity. All of it made me forget about that flimsy paper bridge over the gulf of our differing circumstances.