Page 626 of Manhattan Bossholes

“But…how?” I asked.

“The beet dye I made,” she moaned. “I must not have scrubbed the pot as well as I thought? The white potatoes picked up the remaining color. Oh my god, I ruined it! All that work!”

“No, no, the rest of it looks fine,” I said. I grabbed a wooden spoon from the jar by the stove and spooned out a potato. “And it smells amazing.”

“Careful, it’s steaming,” Nina warned.

I blew on the light purple potato, then took a cautious bite. Nina watched me chew with a worried expression.

“And?”

I chewed. “And, it turns out leftover beet dye is more decorative than flavorful. It tastes great—no hint of beets at all!”

“Are you serious?”

She grabbed the spoon and dug a potato out of the mix, then blew on it.

“Oh my gosh I’m so relieved,” she said as she chewed with her mouth open, because she couldn’t wait until the potato had cooled off. “It’s yummy!”

“I guess life does imitate art,” I said, nodding toward the TV.

Nina frowned at me for a moment, then realization spread across her face. “Bridget’s blue soup!”

We laughed together even though I knew deep down that life didn’t imitate art in the important ways.

There was no cinematic happily ever after waiting for me.

23

CAMERON

The last place I wanted to be was at the Glenhaven Club NYC given my state of mind since the Central Park incident a few days prior, but I was at the club for a meeting I couldn’t refuse: Vincent Forde of Summit wanted to talk business.

Vincent and I had run in parallel circles for years but never actually met, despite the fact that we were both charter members at Glenhaven. We knew many of the same people who all swore that Vincent’s fragrance empire was the perfect fit for Veritique. Coordinating a time to meet was surprisingly difficult, considering we were both based out of New York, but we’d finally found a day that worked for both of us. Our schedules were each chaotic in their own ways, mine more so than ever, which meant I needed to work hard to drown out the ancillary stress in my life and focus on what he was presenting to me.

The hush of Glenhaven was a welcome respite after the nonstop drama of late. The Veritique office felt stilted. My penthouse felt empty. I was in no mood to connect with Tyler or Aiden, so losing myself in the quiet luxury around me to consider a new direction for Veritique seemed to be my only option.

The club was nondescript from the outside, like any other old brick building. The only sign was a discrete brass plaque near the door. Glenhaven outposts could be found in every major city around the world, and each one was unique to that location. Glenhaven London had a posh patina, Glenhaven Paris looked out on the Eiffel Tower, and Glenhaven New York could not be more sleek and sexy. The club had something for everyone, including a full gym complete with an Olympic pool in the basement, a library, soundproofed pods, and meeting rooms of various sizes on the first floor, a Michelin-starred restaurant on the second floor, hotel rooms on the third, and a roof terrace at the top. I was one of the few Glenhaven members to have visited every location, and Manhattan remained my favorite.

Vincent’s assistant had texted to say he was running late. I had a half hour, so I wandered up to have a drink while I waited.

“Mr. O’Connor,” the longtime maître d’ Wally said with a smile as I walked in. “We don’t have you on the books this afternoon, but we’re delighted you’re here! How many people will be joining you? We’ll get your favorite table ready.”

“Oh, no, I’m just here for a quick drink at the bar, Wally,” I said.

“Excellent. Your friend James will be delighted to see you, I’m sure. He’s right over there.”

I strained my eyes to see who he was pointing to and recognized the sandy-haired man sitting beside who I recognized as Trent Saunders immediately. I didn’t want to interrupt them, but…“I haven’t caught up with James in forever.”

I strode over and stood behind him. “Excuse me, sir, may I ask where you bought your suit?”

James laughed as he turned around. “Cameron O’Connor, it’s been too damn long! Good to see you! You know Trent, right?”

I nodded and shook Trent’s hand first, before turning back to Cameron. We shook hands and leaned in for a quick bro-hug.

James opened his blazer to show me the label. “And, I’ll have you know, this is a Branson original. If you like the look of it, I just might know someone who could hook you up.”

James Branson had taken over his family’s successful clothing design company and grown it into an absolute powerhouse, but he didn’t deserve all the credit for the exponential growth in the past few years. His wife, Natalie, had started their couture bridal division, and it now rivaled Vera Wang. Plus, after the birth of their beautiful daughter, Olivia, they’d added a groundbreaking children’s line to their portfolio. The Branson brand just couldn’t stop winning.