Page 512 of Manhattan Bossholes

MG still looked dazed. I got a little worried about just how hard I’d hit him.

“My word against hers,” he finally managed, and my hands curled into fists again. I needed to walk away before I hit him again. I’d gotten away with it once, but I might not be so lucky a second time.

I glared at MG for a few seconds longer, making him shrink back from me, then I turned and exited and kitchen. Natalie followed behind me. When we cleared the door, I turned back to face her.

“Do you think anyone from the party saw that?” I asked.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Um, I’m fine—thanks for asking,” she said, a bit of an edge in her voice. And beneath that edge, I could hear vulnerability. She rubbed her hands over her arms like she was cold—or like she felt the need to protect herself. Shit. Of course she’d been shaken by that. What MG said was disgusting. No wonder she looked rattled.

“I’m sorry, are you all right?” I asked.

She softened, giving me a half-smile that looked tired but real. “Yeah,” she assured me. “I’m okay. Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

I grimaced at the reminder of the punch. “Let’s just hope he has the sense to keep quiet about what I did,” I said. “That’s the last story we need getting out about tonight.”

“Well, yeah,” she said slowly. “Of course, I don’t want bad publicity either. But⁠—”

“If you’re really okay,” I said, cutting her off, “I should probably go talk to that Times reporter he mentioned. If I can plant the idea that he’s drunk and acting out, then maybe we can keep control of the narrative.”

“Sure,” she said after a pause. “I’m fine. Do what you need to do. Think about the show, not him.”

I took a second just to admire how beautiful she looked. Natalie was a vision in a black dress covered in slashes, safety pins, and visible white stitching. The theme of the show was “Deconstruction,” and she was wearing a dress that looked like the seamstress wasn’t quite finished with it. The effect was dazzling, a display of creativity and daring. The retail-ready version of her dress would be a part of our ready-to-wear line.

In a flash it felt like the energy in the space shifted simultaneously, as everyone peered behind us. A few shouts erupted.

“Heidi!” someone yelled. “Heidi’s here!”

My blood turned to ice. I knew for a fact that my ex hadn’t been invited, but she was the only “Heidi” that could evoke such a dramatic reaction. I turned around slowly.

And there she was, the Queen of the Catwalk, wearing our top-secret fucking finale gown. Like all fashion shows, we’d planned to end with a show-stopping bridal gown, deconstructed to look like the wedding night had already been consummated, with the bodice half missing to expose a bustier beneath it and the back of the gown raised all the way up to show off a white mesh-clad ass.

Angular and beautifully androgenous Skyler Honeywell’s ass, not the ass of Barbie-perfect Heidi Jones.

Heidi looked incredible in the gown, but that was what she did best. Looking good was her occupation and preoccupation. The woman never did anything without considering how it would impact her body. During our year together I’d only seen her finish an entire meal once, and that was after fashion week ended in September and she didn’t have to worry about fitting in clothing and being photographed from every angle each day.

“No, no, no, no,” Natalie moaned. “This can’t be happening!”

The press swarmed around Heidi while she preened and posed, giving me a few seconds to try to collect myself. We’d never had this type of security breach before. I was going to murder the culprit.

“I don’t know how this could have happened!” Natalie said, her voice shaking. “Maybe she tricked one of the other models? She’d know all of them professionally, right?”

Heidi peered around the room and lit up when she spotted me. “There he is! James, get over here.”

Every camera swung in my direction. I could only be grateful that they were focused on me now and not five minutes earlier, when I’d been having it out with MG. I didn’t want a media spotlight on me and Heidi, but at least it would look good to the cameras. She’d chosen her venue well. I couldn’t exactly ignore her here. Calling her out would just turn this into a scandal that would detract from the launch of the line. I had to play along to keep the focus where it belonged: on the clothes. So I had no choice but to cross the room to Heidi. Thankfully, she was standing in front of the step-and-repeat banner covered with the Branson logo, which meant that every photo of us would result in good press.

The woman knew how to market; I had to hand it to her despite my fury.

“The man of the hour, looking gorgeous, as usual.” Heidi giggled when I reached her. She slid her arm through mine and dropped her head to my shoulder. “Okay, people, do we love my dress or what?”

The dress someone had stolen from us. I punched down the rage bubbling up inside of me. Keep calm, smile, and pretend that this was all part of the plan. Don’t make a scene. Or more of a scene.

A cheer went up around us to answer her dumb question. Of course they loved it; Natalie had designed it. The gown was perfect.

“That’s a wedding gown, right?” a voice called out from the crowd of photographers trained on us.

Heidi giggled and nodded, glancing at me with the faux coquettish expression I was way too familiar with. She used to try it on me whenever she wanted something.

“Hey, James, you got something to tell us?” another reporter called out, and everyone laughed. “Big time reconciliation, or what?”