Page 251 of Manhattan Bossholes

“No, I’m actually on my way to marketing,” she said. “Last-minute meeting.”

Well, that made sense if the meeting was about the new line. Of course they’d want Natasha there. “That’s where I’m heading too.”

“Oh, right,” Natasha said, startled for a second before nodding. “I’m happy to keep you and marketing looped in on our progress.”

“Great. How’s the design team?” I asked. “Other than making plans to get dumplings?”

“Good.”

“Care to expand on that?” I pressed.

“Which part?” She sounded cagey, which sent up warning flares for me.

The CAD designers were warming up to her, but what I really wanted to know was how the rest of the team was treating her. That first day, I’d felt the tension in the room. I could partially understand the reluctance from some of our long-term staff, but Saunders Furniture didn’t hire just anybody. They should have known better to question a decision that not only came from me but was fully endorsed by Dee. “The part where you let me know what it’s like working with the team. Is everyone being respectful?”

The corner of Natasha’s mouth quirked. “Everyone’s been great. You heard. We’re getting dumplings.”

The elevator door opened, and we stepped out onto the marketing floor. I held my hand out for Natasha, directing her down the hall. I pulled the door to the conference room open, admitting Natasha and myself.

The entire marketing team was assembled at the table around a plate of banana bread, with Sheila at the helm. She beamed at us, eyeballing Natasha and me in a way that was unnerving.

“Thanks for coming,” she said. “I realize everyone is very busy.”

“Pam didn’t leave me much choice,” I said, only half joking. I took the seat next to Sheila, and Natasha sat next to me. “I presume you want an update on the new line?”

“Yes,” she said. “That would be great. We can do that after.”

“After?” Natasha said, frowning as she glanced around the table. “Is that not what this meeting is about? Was I supposed to meet someone else?” She half rose out of her seat. Sheila waved off her concern.

“Not at all. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. Next to Trent.” She held her hands up, squaring the two of us off like we were a portrait. “Looking picture perfect.”

“What’s going on?” I asked her, a spark of irritation flaring to life. I didn’t like the way her smile broadened a little too much like a Bond villain. Sheila waved her hand, and one of her interns started up a PowerPoint presentation. An image of my grandparents appeared on the screen—Nana Dee and Papa Davis. They were so young. Probably in their early thirties, back when they’d just started the business. It was a lovely photo and stirred up all kinds of memories for me, but I didn’t have time for a walk down memory lane.

“Sheila, I’m in the middle of dealing with our international markets. Is there a reason I’m here?” I asked pointedly.

“Yes,” she said. “We have an idea to float by you. So, the team and I have been talking…”

“Yes,” I muttered, suspecting I wasn’t going to like whatever came next.

“And we want to run a promotion announcing your relationship with Natasha to the public.”

Natasha stomped on my foot under the table. I could practically hear what she was silently screaming from her seat. Fake relationship! This is one thousand percent not real.

I glanced at her, silently commanding her not to out me in front of the entire marketing team. It would spread through the building like wildfire and get back to Dee in no time. Dee would be so disappointed, and I couldn’t bear the thought of that look on her face. She’d had such a pep in her step since Natasha had become my “girlfriend.”

“I’m not sure I’m following,” Natasha said. “Why would the public care about our relationship?”

“It’s a huge part of the history of Saunders Furniture to have a strong couple at the helm,” Sheila explained. “It’s all about the way the company is perceived. We want to instill a sense of confidence in our buyers ahead of the introduction of the sustainability line. We want them to think, ‘Yes, I trust those guys. I believe those guys know what they’re doing. And I will buy their products because of that, even if it’s a new line that’s going in a different direction.’ These people aren’t just buying furniture, Trent. They’re buying you.”

I rubbed the space between my eyebrows. What in the ever-loving fuck…I swear to God, if I found out Pam had any idea what this meeting was about and still put it in my schedule, she was never going to hear the end of it.

“What do you think?” Sheila asked.

I climbed to my feet. This was absolutely not happening, and I was going to make that abundantly clear so we never needed to have this conversation again. “This isn’t going to be a PR campaign,” I announced, making eye contact with every member of the marketing team so they could get the full impact of my glare. “Get back to what matters: the furniture.”

Most of the marketing team looked appropriately cowed, but Sheila—damn her—was made of sterner stuff. “Trent, it’s not all about the furniture.”

“It should be!” I growled.