Page 70 of Manhattan Bossholes

I nodded to the trio walking toward us who I recognized as major Summit shareholders. I’d done tons of prep work prior to the party since I knew everyone who mattered would show up. I wanted to be the perfect employee.

Vincent snapped to attention. “Grace, Robert, Clive, wonderful to see you.” He stepped to the side. “I’d like you to meet our creative director, Piper Doyle. She’s been invaluable in launching Evermore.”

I shook each of their hands, trying to ignore the prickly sensation in my stomach.

Creative director. Yes, it was technically true, but there was more to me, to us. And we were at a party—why wouldn’t Vincent mention that we were also a couple?

I plastered on a smile. “Isn’t this a wonderful night?”

We made pleasant small talk while I tried not to spin out about what was actually going on with Vincent. I silently watched him talk shop with the VIPs and tried not to feel out of place. I kept turning his introduction over and over in my head. Maybe he was trying to make these people respect me—show that I was an important part of the team and not just his arm candy. But in spite of myself, I couldn’t help thinking back to all the times with Matthew when he’d avoided situations where anyone might think I was his girlfriend.

The way he always wanted to hang out at home instead of going out. The way he’d make excuses not to invite me along whenever he’d made plans with his friends or his family.

Vincent wasn’t like that. Vincent was, in fact, the opposite of that, since he told his dad and his friends that we were a couple all the way back before it was even true. But remembering that didn’t make me feel better. It just drove home that our relationship had started with a bargain—one that had already been fulfilled. So for Vincent, who thought most relationships were doomed to fail, where did that leave us? Now that we’d both gotten what we’d asked for, what was left to tie us together other than us wanting to?

And how sure was I that was still what he wanted?

“Piper?”

I snapped back to attention. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Vincent was studying me with his brows drawn. “Grace just asked if you and Maya plan to work together again, since the campaign turned out so great.”

I swallowed a sickly feeling. “Thank you for the compliment. Maya was such an asset on this campaign, and Summit truly appreciates what she brought to the launch.”

I’d seen her floating around the party and so far had managed to avoid coming face-to-face with her.

We continued chatting while I subtly scanned the crowd. Vincent had mentioned that Mercedes was coming, and I wanted to score some time with her and Darcy. She’d been communicating with Darcy about numbers, but we hadn’t had a chance for the three of us to get together. The party was the perfect low-pressure scenario to take things to the next level.

The power players finally drifted away, leaving us alone again.

“Are you okay tonight?” Vincent asked. “You seem quiet.”

“I’m great!” I replied quickly. “Just a little overwhelmed, you know? I never thought this day would come.”

Vincent started to say something but stopped to clock another guest coming toward us. “That’s Carrie Rutherford from the Times,” he said in a low voice. “She did my profile.”

The attractive woman in black-rimmed glasses swooped closer. “Vincent, you did it! You made good on that promise to distill heliotrope. Not that I ever doubted you.”

He chuckled good naturedly. “Oh, I can’t take all the credit. My R&D team did the hands-on work. And my creative director Piper Doyle was also instrumental in so many ways.”

And there it was again. My official title and nothing more.

“I’d love to get a photo of you for our social media accounts, then we can link back to my story for even more views,” Carrie said. “Can I get you in front of the flower wall?”

“Sure, happy to,” Vincent said.

He walked away without saying a word to me.

I told myself that it was fine as I watched his retreating form. Totally normal that Vincent was focused on the media angle and not thinking about how we as a couple fit into the narrative. That could come later. But still, the clawing, nagging feeling in my gut was hard to ignore.

I started for the bar to stress-drink but was intercepted by Darcy, who looked radiant in a striped maxi dress.

She grabbed my arm. “Mercedes wants to chat.”

My already-tangled stomach bottomed out. “Why do you look so nervous?”

She leaned closer to me. “Because this could be it! We’ve crunched the numbers, talked about our projections, her team has researched the leatherworkers…all that’s left is to make it official. I think this is our final test.”