Page 499 of Manhattan Bossholes

Natalie huffed at me, hiding a grin. “Never going to let me live that down, huh?”

“Nope! I love that you get your pornography from books.” I sat down on the leather chair as she disappeared back into the fitting room.

She peeked her head out. “It’s literature, not porn.”

I chuckled at her exasperation. “Let’s pick up the pace. I also want to hit Bergdorf’s to see what they have for the party on Saturday. I’m not loving the more formal stuff here.”

She popped her head out of the dressing room again, her face white. “Wait. It’s formal? Like, gowns?”

Damn it, the woman was adorable even when she was all stressed out. “No, no, don’t worry. It’s not black tie, it’s just dressier than cocktail. Let’s call it ‘creative formal.’”

She closed the door. “You’d think given my job I’d have a better grasp on what’s what when it comes to dress codes, but I still worry that I’ll make the wrong choice.”

“That’s why I’m here,” I reassured her. “I got you.”

A stunning sales associate with slicked black hair back glided into the dressing area. “How are we doing? What else can I bring for you to see, Mr. Branson?”

“I think we’re good. Hey, Nat, can you hand out that black dress, please?”

A hand holding the dress appeared over the top of the dressing room door and the associate took it from Natalie. “That’s all for today? Are you sure you don’t want to try some of our new suits?”

I shook my head. “Oh no, I’m not falling for that again. The last time I was here you conned me into half a dozen new ones. I’m good, thanks.”

She smiled at me and winked as she turned to leave.

Two hours later we were navigating the shoe section of Bergdorf Goodman after finding the perfect dress for Saturday night. Natalie’s face looked pinched, so I walked over to her and bumped her shoulder with mine. I had to wonder if she felt self-conscious because she was the only person in the store wearing cutoff jean shorts and Doc Martens. We were surrounded by ladies who lunch, who kept glancing over at her. But then again, it was also probably due to the fact that Natalie was a stunning natural beauty, and they were all the product of a surgeon’s hand—and still couldn’t hold a candle to her.

“Not finding anything?” I asked.

“No, I’m finding plenty,” she said with a frustrated sigh. “But…” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I haven’t had a pedicure in ages. My toes are a mess. I don’t want anyone to see when I try stuff on.”

“Ah, so we should add that to our list of things to do before we leave, then. Though I bet they’re perfectly fine.”

She grimaced. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Well, let’s get to picking quickly, since now you’re going to spending time at the nail salon too.”

“Okay.” She nodded, picking over various pumps and sandals. “I’m thinking I can get a little more creative with my shoes since the dresses are more conservative than I normally go for.”

“Conservative?” I chuckled. “Your party dress is fire engine red and totally backless!”

She grinned. “You’re right, but it’s longer than I normally wear. I feel like I need to find some unique shoes to go with it.” She picked up a display pair. “Like these.”

She held up an impossibly tall red stiletto that had a chiffon ribbon that tied around the ankle, ballerina style.

“Well, those are sexy as hell. Try them on.”

“I need something for the cocktail dress too,” she mused as she craned her neck to look at the overwhelming number of options.

“These,” I said triumphantly, holding up a black heel. “Gorgeous, and a little naughty, just like you.”

At first the pumps looked like a basic strappy sandal, but closer inspection revealed that the embellishments along the straps were little pointed studs, and there was a tiny black skull hidden in the heel just below the sole.

“James, these are so me! They’re perfect!”

A bearded salesclerk in a suit homed in on us. “Welcome back, Mr. Branson. Let me get those for you, miss. You look like a size…” He glanced at her boot-clad feet. “Six?”

She nodded, shocked. “Exactly.”