Page 12 of Manhattan Bossholes

I ignored the insult. “But they love you!”

She shimmied her shoulders triumphantly. “Who doesn’t?”

Me, for one.

“Help me then,” I insisted. “Put in a good word, mention how lucrative this might be to them if⁠—”

“Were you even paying attention?” Piper sighed. “These two don’t need your money and, if I had to guess, the last thing they want is some profit-chasing jackass wreaking havoc all over their farm. And, again, they don’t like you.”

“Oh, come on.” I rolled my eyes. “I wouldn’t ruin their farm. We know what we’re doing at Summit.”

“I still don’t care.”

“Piper, you’re not getting it. I really want⁠—”

“We can’t always get what we want.” She smiled innocently. Damnit, was she having fun at my expense?

“Come work for me,” I blurted out. Maybe that was a desperate move, but these were desperate times. “If you were to reach out to the Sullivans as a valued member of the Summit team⁠—”

“Excuse me? You don’t even know what I do for a living.”

Her side-eye game was lethal.

“I know all about you,” I said quickly, realizing too late that I now sounded like a stalker. “That is to say, my security team did a quick background check on you. You’re a freelance photographer, and based on what I saw in your Antigua shots, a good one. Summit doesn’t have a staff photographer, so you could come on board in that capacity until you secure the Sullivans.”

Her mouth was hanging open at my info dump and offer.

“So how much would it take for you to come on board?” I asked her, trying to ignore the way her lips looked.

Damn, they were luscious.

“The number doesn’t exist.” She emptied her champagne glass and smiled sweetly at me.

“So you say, but what about this?” I pulled out my phone, typed a number, and held it out to her, waiting for her eyes to bug out of her head.

Piper shrugged. “That’s cute, but no thanks.”

The woman could play hardball, but so could I. I punched an even higher amount on my phone and held it out to her again.

“Thoughts?”

Piper leaned closer to scrutinize my phone. “Looks like you need to wipe your lens clean. It’s hazy, which means any selfies you take will come out blurry.”

“The number,” I said through gritted teeth. “What about the number?”

“Oh, that?” she said. “Interesting, but my answer is still no.”

“What is your problem?” I seethed. “I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime!”

“No, you’re offering me money to come do your dirty work!” she snapped back at me. “You’re a controlling egomaniac, and there’s no way I could ever work for you.”

At least I’d finally cracked through her facade and gotten a real reaction out of her. Now I could negotiate.

“I’ll guarantee you six months of salary no matter how long it takes to secure the Sullivans. And I’ll pay you a bonus on top of the salary once you make it happen. Then you can quit. As an extra bonus, I’ll set you up with all my contacts. The freelance roster of your dreams. Does that work?”

She crossed her arms and stared out at the dancefloor. “It’s a start.”

If I wasn’t so thoroughly frustrated, I’d have to laugh. Forget a photography gig—I should hire her to negotiate contracts for me.