Page 268 of Manhattan Bossholes

“Stuff.”

“Stuff with who?” he growled.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” His expression shifted from curious to annoyed. Did the thought of me doing things with other people bother him? I sort of wanted to ask. But I also couldn’t help wondering what spending deliberate one-on-one time with Trent would mean. What had that kiss meant? Did he have the same heart-pounding rush of adrenaline I did every time he thought about it?

“I think you should check your calendar again,” he said, his dark eyes twinkling as they narrowed in my direction. “I insist.”

“You insist?”

“If dinner doesn’t work, fine. I’m sure you can make time for a drink.”

“Can I?”

“Check. Your calendar. Again,” he said in a tone that made me shiver.

Okay, I’d played enough hard to get. Besides, what was the harm in having a drink with him? I hummed, my resolve softening. Trent must have sensed it too, because a smirk tugged at his lips.

“I suppose I can be available Friday night.”

“Perfect. I’ll take you somewhere nice.”

“It doesn’t have to be anything fancy,” I said. God, where did a billionaire even go for drinks?

“Aiden and Cora will have some recommendations,” Trent said. “I’ll text you about a time.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay. Good.”

“Great.”

He backed away from my door. “I’ll pick you up.”

“As long as it’s not in a U-Haul.”

“Well now you’ve ruined the surprise,” he teased as he turned and walked away.

The nerves fluttering in my gut exploded into a million little butterflies. Trent Saunders, Mr. Coffeezilla and the best dang kiss I’d had in ages, just asked me out. And I’d said yes. A hot flush crept across both my cheeks. What the hell was I doing?

“Hey, boss!” Bonnie said, appearing in my doorway a moment later. She was huffing, her bicycle helmet, adorned with vinyl stickers of indie bands, wedged under her arm. I knew she often biked to work, but she usually beat me here. “Sorry I’m late. Didn’t mean to hold up the meeting.”

I hadn’t even thought about the meeting. I’d been too distracted by Trent’s early morning visit. “All good?”

She rubbed her eyes. “Alarm didn’t go off this morning. And some bird with a death-wish started dive-bombing me on the way here.”

I started laughing.

“It was not funny! I was fighting for my life.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, clapping my hand over my mouth. “I’m just trying to shake the image of you speeding down the road while some crow pecked at your helmet.”

“It wasn’t some little crow!” Bonnie insisted as I climbed to my feet, grabbing my USB stick and following her out to the conference room table. The CAD designers and I had a meeting every Monday to outline our goals for the week and review the design progress on the approved pieces. “It was one of those Canadian geese. I swear they’re territorial little shits.”

“What’s up?” Erik asked as Bonnie plopped down in the chair beside him.

“Bonnie was attacked by a goose,” I said, queuing up my PowerPoint presentation.

Erik sipped his coffee. “Again?”