Page 96 of Manhattan Bossholes

“Fine.” I crossed my arms, trying to squeeze any hope from my body. “I’m listening.”

“That night…” he trailed off, and I could tell he was trying to put his racing thoughts in order. “That night was a mess. The party was the culmination of years’ worth of work, and I was overwhelmed. And I’ve never been one for parties.”

“You don’t say,” I snorted. “You seem to be forgetting I witnessed your performance at Paul and Chloe’s engagement party.”

He flinched at the mention of it. “Exactly. I don’t enjoy all of that fake smiling and small talk.”

I didn’t respond. I wasn’t about to placate him and make excuses for his terrible behavior.

“Add the pressure of being the center of attention, Maya chasing the spotlight with me in the crosshairs, and it was a recipe for combustion.”

I stared at him silently, which made him fidget. I’d never seen him nervous. Ever. But he was clearly going all out, between the flower display and actually talking about his feelings for a change. The display was gorgeous, and obviously very expensive, but I didn’t need grand gestures.

I needed him to be real. To be accountable for what he did. But I still wasn’t sure he could manage that.

Vincent kept talking. “And then there was the stuff with you and Rodrigo. That certainly didn’t help my state of mind.”

I froze. Huh?

“You mean me congratulating him about his baby news?”

“Yeah. Who knew?” he chuckled. “I’m sorry, but the guy is a total flirt. He was hanging all over you. It’s no wonder I was suspicious.”

“Right,” I said slowly as I weighed this new information. “Of course you’d assume the worst of me as well.”

“Can you blame me?” he argued. “I mean, look at the guy! It’s literally his job to be every woman’s fantasy.”

The aroma of the flowers all around us was making my head swim. Normally, I loved the scent, but the concentration of it all around me had my sinuses constricting painfully.

Or maybe it was something else?

“You have to understand my frame of mind that night,” Vincent continued. “The pressure was intense. Of course there was going to be some friendly fire, and you took the worst of it.”

“Friendly fire?” I asked as a pit opened up in my stomach. “That’s what you think it was?”

“Well, yeah. I reached a breaking point, I flared up, you got burned—and now I’m making up for it.” He gestured to the display on the street around us, as if I needed a reminder of his fat wallet.

I glanced around at the opulence again. There was no denying it was a beautiful gesture, but it wasn’t even close to what I needed.

“You don’t get it, do you?” I asked him slowly. “You didn’t even say it,” I murmured, even more lightheaded.

“C’mon, you’re talking in riddles. Say what?” Vincent asked, sounding a little agitated.

I stared at him, shocked that those two little words weren’t on the tip of his tongue.

“You never said you’re sorry.”

He frowned as he jerked his head back in shock. “That’s what all of this is for.”

I coughed out a shocked laugh. How was he still not getting this?

“The flowers are a gesture,” I said slowly. “A beautiful one, yes, but without the feelings to back them up, they’re just you showing off. Your money doesn’t fix everything, Vincent.”

He looked genuinely shocked by that idea.

We stood in the alcove staring at each other as everyone on the sidewalk marveled at what Vincent’s money could do.

Funny how it was the part of him that mattered the least to me.