Page 291 of Manhattan Bossholes

“I swear the play is actually, legitimately good,” Stacy said, twisting around on the sidewalk in front of us. She clutched Dominic’s hand like she was worried he’d run away the first chance he got. But despite Trent’s reservations and my general lack of enthusiasm, Dominic seemed perfectly content. The way he was staring at her, Stacy could have been dragging him to the longest, most boring play in the history of plays, and he wouldn’t have uttered a word against it.

Dominic really had it bad for her.

I couldn’t help but smile. Stacy deserved a good one after all the crap she’d had to put up with. There might have been plenty of fish in the sea, but prior to Dominic, Stacy only knew how to reel in the slimy ones with spikes.

Dominic was like the prize catch, all big and shiny, and I really hoped this worked out for them.

“At least the costumes will be good if nothing else,” I said to Stacy. She grinned, twisting back around as Dominic said something.

“The things we do for our friends,” Trent muttered, leaning close enough that I could feel his warm breath ghost across my cheek.

I grinned and tightened my jacket against the sharp October wind as we approached the theater, grateful when the gathered crowd moved inside. The little theater was packed—and so freaking warm!—and it was clear the show had gotten some positive buzz. Reviews were posted to the walls on giant signs, but I didn’t put much stake in reviews. I liked to form my own opinions.

“Oh, thank God!” Trent said, yanking me across the lobby. I looked over to see where he was heading. “They have a bar!”

I chuckled as we joined the line.

“I’m not sure alcohol is going to save this,” I said under my breath.

“Well, it can’t possibly make it worse. You think this is one of those shows where they try to engage the audience?”

My eyes widened. I hated shows that broke the fourth wall. The last thing I wanted to do was engage with the actors when I was watching something like this. “God, no. You think?”

Trent grimaced, looking at the bartender. “Better make it a double.”

“To Stacy Rosen,” I announced. “And the best damn futuristic-tech-meets-steampunk costumes the world has ever seen.” I held out my drink glass, making the toast in the middle of the little café we’d darted into after the show for dessert.

“Thank you, thank you,” Stacy said, standing from her chair and taking a small bow as Trent and Dominic clapped. “I’d like to thank my adoring fans. And Natasha for being my sounding board for design ideas even when she had no idea what I was talking about.”

“I now know far more about sequins than any person who doesn’t work in fashion should,” I said.

Stacy plopped back down in her seat, grinning as Dominic planted a kiss on her cheek. “It was pretty good, right?”

“For an original play,” Trent said, eating the rest of his carrot cake. “I was surprisingly entertained.”

“The humor was great,” Dominic said. “Strong performances. Solid direction. But everything paled in comparison to the costumes.”

Stacy rolled her eyes, her cheeks flushing as Dominic tugged her chair closer, his lips caressing her neck. They were going to need to get themselves a room if this carried on. I glanced at Trent, and he smirked, probably getting some ideas of his own.

“Behave,” I mouthed under my breath. He licked the icing from his fork deliberately slowly.

“The more positive buzz the show gets, the more attention my costumes will get,” Stacy said, practically vibrating with excitement. “I really think this could be the catalyst that gets me bigger gigs with better companies.”

I reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’m really proud of you, Stace.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m really proud of you too,” Dominic said, lowering his voice as he added, “I’ll show you how much later.”

Stacy flushed an even darker shade of red, but she leaned in closer to him. I got the sense that they were both very ready to be alone together.

“I’ve got this,” Trent said, motioning to the bill, “if you two have to head off.” He caught Dominic’s eye. They had a silent conversation involving arched eyebrows and smirks. When it was done, Dominic announced that they were leaving. Stacy thanked us for coming, promised to message me when she was home, and the two of them headed off.

Once Trent had taken care of the bill, he tucked his arm through mine, the two of us wandering back toward his place in Greenwich Village. The show had been an off off-Broadway production, so we were only about a twenty-minute walk from his place, and despite the chill, I enjoyed tucking into his side.

“Did you really like it?” I asked now that we were alone.

“Let’s put it this way. I didn’t hate it. I mostly just enjoyed spending the evening with you.”