Romance: The Boss (11 page)

Chapter Ten

I’m staring at the girl in the mirror again.

The one in the glamorous Versace emerald gown with the embellished halter-neck, Grecian-inspired gold detailing, backless silhouette, and sultry leg slit.

Her hair is pulled up in a high bun with curls framing her faultless face.

I still can’t believe that Clint sent over this dress. If I thought I looked stunning the first time Brooke did me up then I don’t know how to describe this latest transformation.

I’d told Brooke that she was an absolute miracle worker and that I could hardly believe how she’d managed to make me look almost on par with all the hedge funder wives, girlfriends, and models that will be at the benefit tonight.

But in typical Brooke style, she’d told me that I was being ridiculous.

“The mark of true beauty is when you look stunning both with and without makeup. And you, honey, have always excelled in that area,” she’d hawked at me wittily. “I on the other hand am like the creature from the Black Lagoon when I first wake up in the morning. No wonder I can’t get a boyfriend!”

“What?” I’d slung back at her. “That is not true. Besides, since when have you wanted a boyfriend?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she’d sighed, fixing the hem on my dress. “It’s just been in my head lately. But it’s no biggie. It’s not like I’m depressed over it or anything. After all, this is me we’re talking about here.”

Well, that last bit is true.

I’ve never seen Brooke upset over a guy. She’s always been strong like that.

Unlike me.

I cry for days after I break up with someone, but Brooke has always been there to help me pick up the pieces, to tell me that I deserved better and that they all had small cocks anyway so really they were doing me a favor.

“So, are you ready to go kick some high-end socialite ass or what?” she suddenly announces, bouncing into my room.

“I think so,” I say securely, still looking at my reflection.

“Good, because your Hummer is here. Check it out!”

We both run out to the living room window and peer down at the huge, black pimped-up machine parked out front.

“Mr. Billionaire awaits,” Brooke giggles, poking out her tongue.

“That’s real mature,” I mock. “How old are you, ten?”

“Oh just shut up and get down there already. And I expect a full briefing and photos tomorrow morning. I want to see at least one of you and the oh-so-ravishing devil incarnate.”

“Oh, I should never have told you about that,” I sing out, grabbing my clutch from my bedroom before heading for the front door.

“And Lauren,” she timbres, when my hand is literally on the doorknob. “Don’t forget to have a good time.”

I salute her sarcastically and walk out, taking a few deep breaths on my way down to the Hummer. The usual butterflies I have in my stomach have evolved into wildly flapping eagles, spiraling through my body like some crazy drug.

“You look beautiful, you deserve to go to this benefit, and you can handle this,” I tell myself once I hit the New York air.

The driver beams at me from where he stands waiting on the sidewalk, opening the car door once I get closer, ready for me to step inside.

Chapter Eleven

When I step into the Hummer, I get quite a shock to find not Clint but Hannah sitting inside.

What the hell is she doing here?

The impression that I got from Clint was that he and I would be going together.

There go those swooping eagles in my belly.

“Hey, Lauren,” Hannah says vivaciously. “Wow. You look totally amazing. Who would’ve thought, huh?”

Well it’s nice to see she’s being delightful as ever.

“Same to you,” I say deftly, hopping up to sit opposite her. Hannah’s dressed in a long, pale-olive sweetheart-cut gown with a pearl-laced bodice. Her hair is swept to one side and curled, the flame red in it illuminating her pristine face.

She really does look fabulous.

“So, how did you land your invite to the benefit?” comes her next question. It’s standard nosey Hannah at her best. “I’m dying to know. Not even Penny got one.”

“Clint—I mean, Mr. Townsend asked me. He thinks it’s something I’d be interested in. You know, given my correspondence with various charities over the last few weeks.”

She gives me a queer look like she doesn’t believe what I’ve told her. “Seriously? He invited you because of your interest in charity work? Ha. That’s curious.”

“Why’s that curious?”

“Well, he’s not usually that…nice.”

“I think he just thought it’d be a good opportunity.”

“Oh well.” She then grunts indifferently, passing me a glass of champagne from the compartment beside her. “Here, you’ll need one of these…or twenty.” She laughs loudly, capping it off with a snort.

“Thanks.” I take a gulp and let myself relax, taking in the interior design of the Hummer.

It really is indulgent, with electric blue-and-purple neon stripes, tinted windows, a flat-screen HD plasma (just in case the view out the windows isn’t impressive enough), a full-length mirror on the roof, and the most comfy taupe leather seats I have ever had the privilege of sitting on.

“To be honest, I’m surprised I even got an invite too. When Bill called me into his office yesterday and said that you and I would be representing the ‘young women’ of Townsend Investments, I’d certainly been surprised. After all, we’re not exactly the number crunches, are we? Not even Robyn is going. It’s all very perplexing!” Hannah whirls, barely stopping to take a breath and already halfway through her glass of champagne. “Anyway, I take it this is your first-ever big social event?”

I wait a few seconds just to make sure she’s finished talking. It’s hard to tell with Hannah. “Kind of…well, as a guest anyway. I’ve waited at a lot of social events like this one.”

“Waited? Like in hospitality?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow! I’d die if I ever had to work in hospitality. No offense. I just wasn’t born for that kind of work.”

Neither was I, I want to scream at her.

Who does she think she is, the Queen?

She’s a secretary, which is not exactly the Rolls-Royce of careers. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a secretary. It’s just, the way Hannah said it, you’d think she was some high-profile attorney or brain surgeon or something.

“Anyway, if you’re impressed with this Hummer then you haven’t seen anything yet. Have you seen his apartment?”

His apartment? As in Clint’s apartment? What has that got to do with anything?

Honestly, she changes subjects so often I barely have time to process it all.

“No,” I lie, but I’m curious as to where she is going with this. “Have you?”

“No.”

Good. The thought of Hannah and Clint even standing together in that spectacular high-rise irks me. Although I have no doubt that she shamelessly flirts with him at the office.

“But I’ve seen the blueprints and photos, obviously,” she goes on. “It’s breathtaking. I guess the only woman who gets to see it would be Little Miss Germany.”

Elsa…I’d almost forgotten all about her. I wonder if she’ll be there tonight.

“She’ll be there tonight,” Hannah proclaims clamorously like she’s psychic. I feel my stomach knotting up all over again.

“Are her and Clint, ah, going together?” I falter, and drink the rest of my drink.

“No. I don’t think they’re exclusive like that. They’re more…bedroom associates, if you get my drift.”

I want to ask her straight out if she knows that for sure, but I don’t want her to see through my façade. I don’t want her to see that I have feelings for our boss. Our incredibly desirable, sophisticated, ripped billionaire boss.

“The tabloids seem to think Elsa and him are more than that,” I say instead, digging for more information.

“Well the tabloids don’t know jack,” she replies brusquely, her defensive tone catching me off guard. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she also has a thing for Clint. “The only information they get is what the company gives them.”

I nod, both fascinated and relieved, and decide to have another glass of wine. After all, it’s not every day I get driven around New York in a Hummer with free drinks.

I glance at Hannah, her face half lit in neon. “Is it okay if I have another?”

“Of course,” she hums. “A little liquid poison couldn’t hurt. Especially since this is your first ride on the road to perdition.”

I’m not quite sure what she means by perdition. I’ve been to events like this before—well worked at them, anyway. They seem more boring than otherworldly.

I smile at Hannah tentatively, feeling the bubbles going to my head already.

After another few minutes, I decide that she’s right: a couple of glasses of champagne to help me unwind before the benefit shouldn’t hurt.

If anything, it’ll help me get my game face on.

Chapter Twelve

The whole setup of the Javits Center looks amazing.

The Starling Bright Foundation’s benefit theme of “Shades of Green” has been fashioned for it perfectly, from replicas to real plants hanging from the ceilings, to jungle-painted backdrops, to ivy twisting around the walls, to small man-made lagoons in the foyer, which already have some ladies and gents dipping their toes in them.

It’s like an enchanted forest swimming with every hedge funder this side of the country. If you don’t have a checkbook or black Amex with you, then you’re certainly not going to fit in here.

Luckily for Hannah and me, Townsend Investments supplied us with a company black Amex card for our personal donations with a limit of $5,000 each. And considering what Clint will end up contributing on behalf of the board, that is more than generous.

It’s downright noble even, and makes me like him even more.

I’m still not sure what the deal is with him and Elsa, even though it’s completely none of my business.

But I can’t help but want to know—except I have no way of knowing.

Unless I get it from the horse’s mouth…and given the way I’m feeling right now, practically fluctuating in giddiness from the champagne, that doesn’t seem like the most depraved idea.

Or does it? I can’t decide. Not that the horse has shown himself yet tonight…

“You want to try the poison ivy mélange first?” Hannah asks keenly.

A lot of her mannerisms remind me of Brooke’s. I think that’s the only reason why I’ve come to tolerate her.

Oh, and the fact that there is literally no one else at this benefit to hang around with. I rest my forearms on the leaf-decorated bar and mull over the list of cocktails.

“Or the Amazon heartbeat, a secret combination of tantalizing components that will get your pulse racing and your feet dancing.”

“Ooh, on second thoughts let’s go for that,” Hannah winks. “It sounds illegal.”

“I guess I’m game if you are,” I chide, yet know in hindsight it may not be a good move.

Maybe I should volley some food down my throat first. The last thing I’d want to happen tonight is to fall over in front of all these people, seeing as I’ve been here for only ten minutes.

We take our cocktails and sit at our designated table, making small talk with the people on either side of us.

Above us hangs a huge sculpture of a starling, with a dark velvet cloak spread behind it to represent the night sky over Manhattan. I tell Hannah that I think the bird looks sad, that it has a look of wistful melancholia bleeding from its face, only to have her break out in stitches over it.

“What are you, a poet or something?”

We’ve both had way too much to drink.

I’m not even going to admit how many glasses of champagne we ended up having in the Hummer.

Thankfully the waiters have just brought out a selection of antipasto platters. I literally can’t stop eating the smoked salmon and Brie with the onion and sesame crackers.

Why does food always taste so good after you’ve had a few drinks?

“Kind of. I dabble a little bit,” I finally answer, thinking back to my conversation with Brooke at the Globe.

Hannah stops eating midway through the olive on the end of her toothpick. “Get out! Lauren Swift, the poet. Ha! It even has a nice ring to it!”

“What has a nice ring to it?”

I jump at his deep voice behind us, almost knocking my cocktail off the table.

“Oh,” Hannah cries, just as alarmed as I am. “You scared us, Mr. Townsend.”

“I apologize, ladies,” he says gravely. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay,” I peep, a little energetic from the cocktail.

“Yes, it’s okay,” Hannah echoes. “Lauren here was just confessing to being a poet.”

“A poet, really?” His eyes narrow on me like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever heard.

“Yes, and then I said Lauren Swift, the poet, had a nice ring to it. Don’t you agree, Mr. Townsend?”

“Indeed,” Clint says politely, but looking at Hannah like she’s on the verge of crossing the line. We really shouldn’t have overindulged on the liquor.

“Hannah, may I steal away our poet for a little while?” He stretches his hand toward me, gesturing for me to stand.

I look at Hannah to make sure she doesn’t mind, but she’s staring at Clint like she hasn’t heard him properly.

“Um… of course,” she stammers, but is clearly looking unimpressed.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“No, it’s okay. There are people here I’ve been meaning to chat to anyway. Go ahead,” Although she says the words, I can tell from her tone and expression that she’s still not being honest.

“I’ll come find you soon,” I add, flashing a quick smile.

I take Clint’s hand and shakily stand up, taking one last glance at Hannah before I follow him through the maze of tables.

“Not to sound rude, but where are we going?” I ask quietly, making a mental note to bring up Elsa too at some point.

“To dance, of course.”

He says it like it’s always been the plan. Like I should have figured that out already. Funny, I don’t remember being asked to dance.

“But you haven’t asked me yet,” I bray lightly, definitely with some encouragement from that last cocktail. I can’t remember ever feeling this confident. It must be the effects of the ‘tantalizing components’ it had promised.

Clint stops suddenly in the middle of a walkway, turning to look at me attentively. “Would you like to dance?” he asks robustly, on the brink of a grin.

“Sure,” I say, and then before I know it we are swiftly moving on again.

But the more we navigate through the center, the more Clint is greeted by socialites and other hedge funders eager to take up some of his time.

“Welcome to the money market,” he whispers in my ear, once we’ve managed to break free from the clutches of another suited vulture. “But you’ll get used to it. If you haven’t already, that is.”

I throw him a wide smile, feeling more and more at ease with his raillery. It really is one of his most endearing features.

I know we haven’t spent heaps of time together, only three months and mostly in the office, but during that time I’ve come to know him and respect him in all his different aspects.

When we finally get to Clint’s proposed destination—the designated ballroom that’s been decorated like a rainforest—he doesn’t hesitate any longer, pulling me directly out on the dance floor and into his arms.

I can already feel the eyes on us, the miens of scorn as a billionaire dances with his PA.

It is not exactly common protocol.

“Um, is this appropriate?” I ask, starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he answers enigmatically.

“I don’t know. Hierarchy and all that.”

“Hierarchy? I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“You know what I mean. All these people are staring at us,” I sigh.

But Clint seems unfazed, like he hasn’t even noticed. “Are you not having a good time?”

“No, it’s just—”

“Lauren, stop worrying. It’s a charity benefit, not a soiree at someone’s private house. Ignore them and just dance with me.”

I obey and gaze only at him, looking deeper and deeper into his eyes like I could fall through them and keep on falling, forever.

After a few more moments, it feels like everyone else has sunk away and all that’s left is us.

“You’re the most beautiful woman here tonight,” he says in that soft, cultured voice, and looking at me in a way that I haven’t seen before.

I turn away from him modestly. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

“Not sweet. Accurate.”

As his grip tightens on my waist I feel myself become moist instantly, the warmth of his touch vibrating through me like an electric current. In the next few seconds I don’t know how or why it happens, but Clint is leaning in closer, his eyes focusing on my lips.

Just in time, I manage to whip my head to the side and the overwhelming feeling passes over me like I’ve just stepped back from the edge of a precipice.

What am I doing? What is he doing? What did we both almost do?

He was about to kiss me.

My boss, one of the most famous and wealthiest billionaires in America, was going to kiss me in front of all these people.

And then I hear the click.

Both Clint and I turn our heads to see a paparazzo with a camera clutched in his eager hands.

Click. Click. Click.

“How about a smile from you and your girlfriend, Mr. Townsend? For the Wall Street Journal, of course,” the reporter asks.

To my astonishment, Clint unwraps one arm from around my waist and smiles curtly, ready to pose for the picture.

“Now just put your hand against his chest, Miss—?”

“Lauren Swift,” Clint answers for me. “My exquisite PA and date for this evening.”

His what? PA, I concede. But date?

“Lauren Swift,” the paparazzo repeats. “Can you step in a little closer please, Lauren?”

I do as he instructs and then notice the crowd gathered in front of us; apparently Clint getting his photo taken is a must-see affair. As I smile into the camera and move my head closer to Clint’s, I catch sight of Elsa at the front of the crowd, her stare as cold as ice.

Click.

“Eyes to the camera, Lauren.”

Click.

“That’s better. Beautiful.”

Click. Click.

“Great. Much obliged, Mr. Townsend,” the reporter says, bowing his head.

As I watch him skimp off into the mob, I decide that now is the perfect opportunity to excuse myself and avoid the lingering white elephant in the room.

“I think I should probably go and find Hannah,” I say timidly, stepping away from Clint.

“What was that?”

“I said I should—”

“No, back out on the dance floor…when I went to kiss you…you pulled away. Why?”

And there’s the white elephant, trumpeting in loud succession. Is he serious? He actually wants to address this here? With all these people still staring at us?

“Clint…I don’t think this is the right time to discuss it. Do you want a scandalous headline? There are about two hundred ears turned toward us right now.”

“Fine,” he replies sharply. “Thank you for the dance, Lauren. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He gaits away from me hurriedly, leaving me standing there alone.

What the hell?!

What is he so angry about?

I smile awkwardly at the few faces still targeted on me as I leave the ballroom, trying not to rush so they don’t suspect Clint and I had a disagreement—if that’s what you can even call it.

A weird miscommunication between species is perhaps a better way to describe it.

I make my way back towards the dining room.

I’ll just find Hannah, get another drink to steady my nerves, and then hightail it out of here.

But when I get to the table where we’d been sitting, there’s no trace of her.

Great.

This is perfect.

Now I really am a lamb amid the wolves.