Page 11 of Manhattan Bossholes

“Ah, ah,” she chastised, wagging her finger at me. “Tonight isn’t about you, remember? And you’ll never convince them to do anything for you if you keep acting like an entitled asshole.”

“Excuse me?”

She shrugged and scrunched up her nose, which I would’ve admitted was adorable if she wasn’t so exhausting.

“Just calling ’em like I see ’em,” Piper said.

I heard a commotion across the room along with a cringingly familiar laugh and realized Maya was on the move and headed our way. That was the last thing I needed right now. I slung my arm around Piper’s shoulder and started back toward the private room.

“Wha—?” she sputtered at my closeness. She pushed her elbow against my ribs in an attempt to create a buffer.

“Incoming,” I leaned down to whisper in her ear, then nodded toward Maya. I caught a hint of Piper’s perfume, which, based on the alcohol vapors, was a cheap vanilla-lemon scent. A woman like Piper deserved to be in a top-shelf fragrance, not some watered-down drug store scent. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was so much less than what she should have. I could already imagine how the top notes of Evermore would linger at the nape of her neck.

Dammit, I scolded myself, get it together, Vincent.

I timed our entrance back into the private room perfectly, right as Maya was close enough to spot us but not close enough that she could corner me. Thankfully, Piper relented, sheathed her pointy elbow and relaxed against me.

“Now be nice,” Piper whispered as we finally untangled.

I forced myself to smile as she took up right where we’d left off, asking the Broadway couple about their getaway location. Jean and Joe relaxed, probably because I nodded along agreeably as everyone chatted. Piper led the conversation like a conductor, and little by little, the tension evaporated. She even managed to get Jean and Joe laughing again.

The band kicked off the dancing portion of the night, and the couples from our table excused themselves to the dancefloor. Larry, the lone solo guest, headed for the bar, leaving me alone with Piper. It was the perfect opportunity for the big ask I’d just worked out.

There was no way she could refuse me—it was perfect.

I leaned over to begin my pitch, and she glared at me.

“Do not ask me to dance.”

I jerked away reflexively. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to. I don’t dance.”

She eyed me up and down, silently judging me. “I can tell.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, offended but not sure why.

“You’re too cautious. You’re a watcher, not a do-er.”

“You’re wrong about that. I’m both. And I’m about to do something that’s going to change your life.”

The corner of her mouth kicked up. “Cocky, aren’t you?”

“The word ‘cocky’ suggests arrogance. I’m confident. There’s a difference.”

Piper stared at me for a beat like she was weighing if I was correct. I liked the way she watched me, as if she was searching for weakness and coming up blank.

“I need them,” I said simply as I pointed to the elderly couple on the dancefloor.

“And why would I care?” She smiled sweetly at me.

“Those two hold the key⁠—”

“Jean and Joe Sullivan,” she interrupted. “Might be nice if you used their names instead of treating them like items on your to-do list.”

I sighed. The way she could knock me off course! I felt like I was debating her, not having a conversation.

“As I mentioned, I need to strike a deal with Jean and Joe to harvest their heliotrope for my new premier fragrance, Evermore, and that’s where you come in.”

She slow-blinked at me. “There is absolutely nothing you can say to me that will make me help you badger those lovely people. Face it, you already blew it by being aggressive. They don’t like you at all.”