Page 529 of Manhattan Bossholes

Brayleigh jumped up on the banquette next to Heidi and started dancing with her, and I saw the flash of anger in Heidi’s eyes despite her wide smile. Brayleigh was everything Heidi wanted to be: young, adored by Gen Z, and an incredible dancer.

Heidi tried to shimmy away, but Brayleigh didn’t seem to get the hint. She shook her shoulders and flirted with the crowd, then pretended to grind up against Heidi. I could see Heidi getting more and more frustrated, because the younger woman didn’t understand that she was stealing Heidi’s moment in the spotlight—and worse, making her look like a trying-too-hard older sister.

Every eye in the club was on the pair, and I knew Heidi was struggling to keep it cute despite her rage at Brayleigh. The song seemed to be an extended cut, so the dance drama kept cranking up like something out of a teen movie.

Heidi raised her arms over her head and closed her eyes, which Brayleigh seemed to take as an invitation to get even closer. She stepped in front of Heidi and started twerking, and the crowd went wild. Heidi opened her eyes, and her expression went hard when she realized what was happening.

At first, her reaction seemed like a joke. She pushed Brayleigh, causing her to stumble a half step. Brayleigh laughed and bent over again, this time pushing up against Heidi.

“I said knock it off!” Heidi screamed, her face twisted with rage. She pushed Brayleigh again, harder—and this time the girl tumbled to her knees.

The young woman tried to play if off, still smiling as she stood up. I had to commend her savvy, since she knew that the interaction was being broadcast live to her millions of followers. This wasn’t the moment to lose her temper, not with everyone watching. If only Heidi had gotten that memo…

“Get the fuck away from me!” Heidi screamed. “You stupid little cunt, you’re nothing! Do you know that? I’m the star here! No one will remember you next year, but I’ll be on the cover of Vogue for my fifth time!”

Oh fuck.

This was bad. Very bad. Suddenly, my connection to Heidi felt like a disaster. She was lining herself up for an extended, humiliating apology tour, and I didn’t want a whiff of that anywhere near Branson Designs.

The cameras around us seemed to multiply, and the crowd let out a collective “oooooh” as the standoff continued.

Brayleigh walked over to Heidi wearing a giant smile, placed her hand up to Heidi’s face, then drew it away quickly, like she was a witch pulling Heidi’s soul from her mouth. The crowd erupted into cheers and laughter as she walked away.

Heidi finally collapsed next to me, still fuming. She didn’t seem to realize just how badly she’d come off in the brief interaction.

“Who the fuck does she think she is?” she asked as she reached for the prosecco bottle and took a swig from it. “She needs me. I’m the name, not her.”

People were still watching, and worse, recording us. My reaction in this moment mattered. I only had seconds to control how I’d be viewed from now on.

I stood up. “It’s time to go.”

Heidi ignored me, so I leaned over and plucked the bottle from her hand.

“It’s late,” I said, hoping my tone would convey how absolutely urgent it was for us to leave.

She gave me the finger.

How could a woman, who’d been in the public eye for over ten years, be so absolutely idiotic? Did she not realize that she was incinerating her reputation, and probably mine too?

Then it hit me. This was my out. My exit from a fake relationship that would be believable and wouldn’t make me look like an asshole this time around.

An “anonymous source” could put out a statement that Heidi Jones (the last name she refused to use because it made her sound common) had an alcohol problem, and she needed time to heal without the distraction of a relationship. Of course, I wouldn’t come out and say anything on the record, but there were ways of getting my point across. The public would learn that I was concerned for her health, and that I’d pledged to always be there for her.

As a friend.

I leaned close to her and whispered in her ear. “I’m leaving, and I suggest you do, too.”

Heidi placed her hands around her mouth. “Fuck off, James Branson.”

She screamed it loudly enough to be heard over the music.

And that was that; she’d just given me the perfect exit line. I kept my expression neutral as I stalked out of the club, fully aware of the people capturing my every move.

As I walked out to the street, I felt relieved that it was over, but also pissed as hell that I’d needed an excuse to end it. Every second with Heidi had been torture, and in the end, I didn’t care what it did for Branson.

All I could think about every time we were photographed together was how badly it was probably hurting Natalie.

NATALIE