Page 25 of Manhattan Bossholes

“He’s a total workaholic,” I sighed. “But he’s actually asking if I have any dietary restrictions for the upcoming dinner with his dad. Huh. That’s surprisingly considerate.”

“Tell him how much you love sausage, and that you can handle a full eight-inch link.”

I cracked up and kicked her again. “No, I’ve got one better,” I typed quickly, before I could overthink my response. “I’m saying, ‘I eat everything but souls, so I guess I won’t be joining you for your next human sacrifice.’”

“You talk like that to your boss?” Darcy shrieked, reading over my shoulder.

“Hey, if we take a step back and look at the big picture, I’m technically his boss. He needs me to take everything to the next level in a big way.”

I refocused on the bubbles on my screen as Vincent typed his response.

“What did he say?” Darcy asked, leaning closer to try to read the screen.

I bit back a laugh. “He said, ‘The council of evil is off for the summer, so there won’t be any additional soul consumption till fall.’”

“Oh, he’s a sassy one. I like it,” Darcy grinned at me.

It was a lighthearted side of Vincent I hadn’t expected. How far could I push him?

I typed my response quickly to keep up with the jabs and parries. “FYI, I also prefer to skip any meals that contain human babies, bats, blood, or dragon scales, which means we probably can’t eat at any of your favorite restaurants. Sorry.”

“Damn,” he texted back quickly. “I was hoping to take my dad to that trendy new organic baby restaurant. Back to the drawing board I guess.”

I grinned at my phone, trying to come up with a way to top him. Who knew Vincent could be silly?

“You totally dig him,” Darcy teased. “It doesn’t matter what you say, I can tell. You’re grinning like a schoolgirl.”

“Not at all,” I insisted. “I’m trying to make sure he doesn’t get the last word. It’s a competition for texting dominance.”

“Texting dominance, or S&M dominance? Because I guarantee this little ‘competition’ is going to end up in the sheets. Fight me all you want, but I know what I’m seeing,” Darcy said.

“Knock it off.” I finally put my phone in my lap to glare at her fully. “I’m lightheaded from hunger and exhaustion, so let’s stop talking about my bosshole and worry about where that damn pizza is.”

And then, like a choir of angels, our door buzzer sounded off and relief came in the form of an extra-large pie with twice the cheese.

8

PIPER

If I was going to pretend to be a billionaire’s girlfriend, I needed to get comfortable with fine dining.

Prentiss used to drag us to whatever new and trendy restaurants opened up, but those meals were always miserable—mostly because of the company but also because Prentiss had no actual understanding of what made a place classy instead of just pricey. The meal I was enjoying at Aquavit with Vincent and his father, Richard, was on a completely different level. The room was stunning, filled with bright teal banquettes and fancy folks. And I could see right into the pristine kitchen, so if I ever got bored looking around at all the beautiful people in the room, I could watch the chefs in black striped aprons prepping the food. Richard had made sure I was positioned so I could see all the action.

Unlike his son, Richard cared about my happiness and comfort.

I was surprised to discover the elder Forde was nothing like what I’d expected. I’d assumed he was going to be an older version of Vincent, every bit as cold and dangerous, but to my surprise, he was a cheerful teddy bear of a man who pulled me into a hug right off the bat. He was over sixty and still very handsome with white hair, Vincent’s cheekbones, and a close-cropped white beard, but so much more approachable than his son. I liked him immediately, and thankfully, the feeling seemed mutual.

We toasted one another with a bottle of wine that was so expensive the price wasn’t even listed on the menu, and then Richard began his friendly inquisition of us.

“It’s rare that my son introduces me to his friends, so you must be special,” Richard said to me. “I need to learn all about the mystery that is Piper Doyle! Why don’t you start with how the two of you met.”

We’d made a rookie mistake: we never came up with an origin story. Vincent and I exchanged a nervous look, and I jumped on the chance to craft the narrative.

“Believe it or not, it was during a hot yoga class,” I said, opting for the most improbable meet-cute for a man who looked like he wouldn’t be caught dead doing a sun salutation.

Richard turned to Vincent and raised an eyebrow. “You? In yoga?”

Vincent gave him a tight smile. “Uh, yeah. I’m trying to branch out from just lifting.”