Page 44 of Manhattan Bossholes

I couldn’t stop myself from snorting at the thought of it, and Piper’s shocked expression made me understand that I’d gone and ruined the tender moment unfolding between us.

“Sorry, I’m not laughing at you, it’s just that in my experience, it’s the rare person who gets to enjoy those feelings. Take my father. Devoted and faithful?” I shook my head. “Four wives later, and I find it hard to believe it’s even a consideration for him.”

“Okay, but what about the Sullivans?” Piper argued, pointing over her shoulder toward the main house. “They’ve been together for forty years. Three kids, five grandchildren. There’s your devotion and faithfulness.”

I considered it. “I’m not denying that happens, I’m just being a realist about how rare real and lasting love really is. I have a family history that proves the Sullivans are the exception and not the rule.”

“So why does the heliotrope even matter then?” Piper huffed at me. “Why are you trying to capture the idea of faithfulness if you take such a negative view of love?”

I froze. I’d never stopped to think about the real reason behind my quest to capture and distill heliotrope. Sure, it was partly because I liked a challenge. I needed a challenge. But it was also because there was something about the warm scent that made me feel…I couldn’t put it into words other than to say that the aroma made me feel embraced. Celine had suggested substitutions to the fragrance profile as we’d worked on the scent together, but nothing else resonated with me quite the way the heliotrope did.

No matter how many roadblocks came my way, it was heliotrope or nothing at all.

Piper plucked a stem and moved closer to me. “Is it because deep down, you do believe in love?” She inhaled the flowers and blinked up at me. “And you hope maybe someday, it’ll happen for you?” Her voice faded to a whisper.

My heart thundered in my chest as I took a step closer to her.

“Trust me, it won’t,” I said softly, staring into her eyes. “I’m far too cynical.”

“But it could,” she replied as the corner of her mouth turned up. “If the right woman came along.”

Oh, that mouth. What it could do to me.

I’d feared the kiss on the plane was a fluke, a one-time event that would never happen again. But now, the way Piper was watching me, with her lips parted ever so slightly, I could tell she wanted it as badly as I did.

I reached out and ran my hand down her back, drawing her closer to me. Piper’s breathing went shallow, like she was nervous, eager, ready. Her eyes tracked across my face. I could only stare at her perfect, waiting mouth.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a breathy whisper.

She didn’t sound accusatory. If anything, it sounded to me like Piper was downright hopeful.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

I leaned even closer to her, relishing the sweet tension in the air the moment before our lips connected.

We were just centimeters apart when Piper’s phone rang, so piercing she jumped away from me in shock.

“Oh my god,” she exhaled, clutching her heart. She staggered a few steps and answered the call. “Hello, this is Piper.”

My heart was about to leap out of my chest, and I silently cursed whoever had interrupted our moment.

“Oh, hi, Jean. I didn’t recognize the number. House phone, okay, that’s why. What’s going on?”

I watched her nodding as Jean spoke.

“Okay, that makes sense.” She paused. “No, no it’s a perfect idea. Uh-huh, we can definitely make that happen. Yup. See you then!”

She hung up and turned back to me.

“Jean wants to do a formal dinner, since it’s a ‘momentous occasion.’” Piper made air quotes with her fingers. “I think it’s safe to say this is a done deal.”

I was obviously thrilled about signing the contract with the Sullivans—but in this moment, I was way more interested in the other deal I wanted to close.

“I brought two dresses with me.” Piper stared off into space. “One is a glorified sundress and the other is more cocktail, which is probably more appropriate, right? What do you think?”

I hid my frustration about our lost moment. Honestly, I didn’t care which dress she wore—sundress, cocktail, it didn’t matter. The thought that kept nagging at me was that I’d prefer her out of a dress altogether. The image flickered through my mind before I could stop it: her standing in front of me, all soft skin and curves, no layers between us. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my expression neutral.

“Why don’t we go take a look?” I suggested. “You can do a fashion show for me.”