Page 273 of Manhattan Bossholes

“Hi,” I said as I reached the sidewalk.

“Hi,” he said, his eyes raking over me. “You look…” A smile curled his lips. “Amazing, Natasha. You look amazing.”

“You look pretty amazing yourself,” I said.

He caught my hand, bringing it to his lips, kissing my knuckles. Butterflies exploded in my gut. No one had ever done that before. “I mean it, Natasha. That dress is⁠—”

I smirked. “You can thank Stacy for the dress.”

“Oh, I will,” he growled, tugging me close enough that the words tickled my ear. He pulled the door of his chauffeured car open for me, reaching out to give me a hand. I stepped into the vehicle, sliding across the leather seats. A dark glass divider was rolled up between us and the driver. Trent slid in next to me, leaning forward to knock on the window.

The driver set off.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?” I asked, arranging myself to give Trent a great view of my cleavage. He touched his finger to my cheek, sliding it along my jaw and down my neck, pausing to tap at the hollow at the base of my throat. My pulse raced.

“Just a little place I like,” he said.

“That’s all I’m getting?”

He chuckled, the sound dark and velvety. “That’s all you’re getting.”

“At least give me a clue.”

“It’s in Manhattan.”

“Oh, gee, thanks. That’s a big help.”

He laughed, leaning close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. It made me shiver. “I am very helpful.”

My pulse galloped as his lips hovered just short of mine. I wanted to close the distance, to press myself against him, but if I did that, I had a feeling things would quickly get out of hand. I sat back in my seat, determined to behave myself. Before I knew it, we were pulling up in front of a massive high-rise on a busy street.

Trent shoved the door open, climbed out, and offered me a hand. I glanced up as I stepped out, my brow arching. “La Fleur?” I said, recognizing the midtown hotel famed for its gorgeous rooftop club. I’d walked past it often but never imagined going inside. “This place is impossible to get into.”

“For some,” Trent said, fixing the button on his suit jacket. “Luckily, Aiden knows the owner.” He took my hand, threading our fingers together as he led me up to the entrance for the club, and I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest.

He nodded to the massive security guard. The man stepped aside, waving Trent past a long, winding line of people outside the building. We rode a private elevator up to the rooftop. It was a luxurious space, bathed in greenery and fresh flowers, with plush seating and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the city, including the Empire State Building. The roof looked to be retractable, but seeing as it was getting colder in the evenings, it had been left closed.

“They’ve got a great cocktail menu,” Trent said. “It’s been vetted by Cora.”

Ah, yes, Aiden’s fiancée.

“Can I get you a drink?” Trent asked.

I tugged him toward the bar. “How about I get you a drink?”

Trent raised an eyebrow, his stare dark and teasing. “Okay then.”

“Are you going to tell me what you like or are you going to let me pick your poison?” I asked, walking up to the bartender.

He smirked, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Why don’t you tell me what kind of drink you think I like?”

“Is there one on the menu that strikes your fancy?”

His eyes traveled to the board and back. “There is.”

“Sex on the beach?” I asked.

He chuckled, low and throaty, reaching out to tuck one of my curls away from my face. That touch sent an electric thrill right from the top of my head down to my toes. “Do I really strike you as a sex on the beach guy?”