Page 474 of Manhattan Bossholes

“I wish.” Her face screwed up like she wasn’t comfortable talking about it. “He’s more literally hands on. He finds excuses to touch me, and I hate it. When he looks at my book, he gets way too close, and he always tries to massage my shoulders.” She shuddered as if she could still feel his hands on her.

I felt an inexplicable protectiveness swell inside of me. “Do you need someone to⁠—”

“I’m fine.” She cut me off a little too quickly. “I can take care of myself.”

I realized that I’d overstepped and shifted my focus back to her sketchbook. I turned past some rough concepts that were undoubtedly for the couture project and ended up on a doodle page.

“You’ve got a solid grasp on fine art figure drawing as well,” I said, noting the various people she’d sketched.

I looked closer at the drawing of a shirtless man on the top corner of the page. Unlike the other people she’d drawn, Natalie had spent time on the details, adding shadows and depth to it. The more I studied it, the more familiar the person seemed, until I figured out that the man in the sketch looked a lot like me. I debated calling her on it.

“Have you ever heard of automatic writing?” she asked, seemingly oblivious to what she’d just shown me.

I shook my head.

“It’s writing without conscious intention. You put your pen down and let instinct take over. I do that sometimes when I’m sketching. I don’t focus on anything, I just let my hand guide the drawing instead of my brain. It helps me if I’m stuck. That’s what I did on this page.”

I nodded slowly and glanced back at the book. So, Natalie’s subconscious was filled with thoughts of me…shirtless? I guess we were even, since her topless doppelganger kept invading my dreams.

I cleared my throat and tried to remember what our Q4 numbers were looking like. Anything to keep from dwelling on the fact that Natalie and I were nearly shoulder to shoulder, and I kept catching hints of her gardenia perfume whenever she moved.

I needed to shift our focus back to business. There was no way either one of us could afford to get tangled up in something sticky, despite how much I wanted her.

“How’s the couture project coming along?” I asked, taking a half-step away.

“Phenomenal, actually,” she said, beaming at me. “I’m having so much fun with it. I can’t wait to present it.” She paused. “By the way, you need to know that everyone is really happy now that Clint’s gone. Thank you for…well, for listening to me. I’m not used to that.”

My heart cracked open at the softness in her voice. I got the feeling that Natalie didn’t let people in easily, and I was honored that she felt like she could be real with me.

“I hope you feel you can come to me any time,” I said.

She giggled. “Honestly? I wasn’t sure about it at first. The ‘hysterical’ comment hit a nerve. I almost walked out.”

I closed my eyes and winced. “Yeah, that was a mistake. I blame Bernie—my grandmother. She used the word a ton before we understood how un-PC it is. It’s still trapped in my lexicon, but I’m trying to stop saying it.”

“The women of Branson appreciate it.” She laughed. “Hey, speaking of the old guard, Rhea and I got to talking about the way things used to be, pre-Clint.”

I felt my back teeth start to clench. I thought the world of Rhea, but she was an unrepentant gossip. “Oh?”

Natalie nodded. “She talked about how wonderful your brother was, and how much the creative team loved him. Chris?”

“Christopher,” I corrected quickly with a nod. “Yeah, he was quite a visionary. Is a visionary,” I corrected myself.

“Right, which is why I was thinking that he might be a great resource for the Pantone project,” she said in an excited rush. “Would he be open to chatting about which designs he thinks would be best for it? A quick conference call with the team? Or even just me. Whatever works for him.”

Natalie was circling close to a part of my life that I kept walled off. She didn’t belong there.

Suddenly, the spell between us was broken. The overhead lights felt too bright, and I swore I could hear them buzzing, which aggravated the headache I only then realized I had.

“That’s not an option,” I said smoothly, taking a few steps backwards towards the door.

She furrowed at me. “But he’d be such a big help. We could keep the call super short, like ten minutes⁠—”

“I said no.”

It came out sharp, and Natalie’s eyes went wide at my tone. I felt a twinge of remorse, but I soon stifled it. She needed to know that getting Christopher mixed up in Branson business wasn’t an option. My brother was still recovering; he didn’t need the daily drama of the company’s battle to gain back its relevance in the fashion world.

“Fine,” she said, her face crumpling. “Sorry I asked.”