Page 461 of Manhattan Bossholes

My phone rang because she hated texting. “I do give you credit, just checking up on you, sweetie. You saw Christopher this morning, yes?”

I wasn’t surprised that she seemed to know my every move when it came to our family and our business.

“Yeah. He seemed good at first…but then Anderson called while I was there, and it sounded pretty bad. He’s gonna be a mess after that. I need to take him to dinner or something.”

“James,” she sighed. “Yes, you should be there for your brother, but don’t forget about taking care of yourself. You get too wrapped up in his problems.”

It was just like my grandmother to turn the conversation back onto me. I might not have had addiction and divorce in my past but I’d definitely been through my fair share of tough times.

Not that I wanted to think about them.

“Hey, Bern, I just pulled in and I need to get moving. Busy day on the books. We’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Of course, any time, my dear. Tell Lorraine I said happy birthday.”

The second I got to my floor I realized that I needed to drop the cake off in the kitchen refrigerator five floors up. This stupid tradition was making me later than I already was. Frustrated with myself for being so disorganized, I stormed back to the elevator and slapped the button, feeling like an absolute dork for being tasked with cake duty when it was something another assistant could’ve handled. But I wasn’t about to go head-to-head with Bernie on her silly traditions. There were bigger, more troubling issues we needed to address.

Where the fuck was the elevator? I pushed the button three more times. It finally hit my floor, and the doors opened so slowly that I wanted to reach in and pry them open. Was it something building management could fix? I was so frustrated that I didn’t even glance up until I was all the way in the elevator.

“Mr. Branson!”

The shriek made me jump, and it was then I realized that the door had slid shut behind me and I was now alone in the elevator with none other than Natalie Reynolds.

And she was topless.

NATALIE

“Don’t look at me!” I yelped. “My coffee—I mean my shirt, I tripped and⁠—”

The man kept his eyes downcast and held up a hand to silence me. “So, this is how you’re starting off your first day? Undressing in our elevator?”

I froze with my arms crossed over my chest. “I’m…I’m not undressing.”

“Littering, too,” he continued, pointing to the empty coffee cup rolling on the ground between us. “Maybe give this new position a little time before treating our office like your living room?”

He finally raised his eyes to mine, obviously expecting some sort of groveling out of me.

“I tripped and spilled my coffee on my blouse,” I said slowly, over-enunciating like he didn’t speak English. “My empty cup.” I pointed to it. “My soaking wet blouse.” I held up the ruined thing and accidentally exposed my bra-clad boob to him.

To his credit, he only let his eyes dip to my chest for a half-second. His scowl didn’t budge despite the fact that I was practically falling out of my bra. I glanced down and noticed the edge of my nipple peeking over the coffee-stained lace, so I recrossed my arms.

“And what was your plan after you removed your blouse?” he asked, staring at the floor. “Branson Designs welcomes individuality, but we do have a dress code, you know. I don’t think…” he craned his neck to briefly scan my chest, “…a demi-cup, vertical seam, embroidered mesh and lace bra makes the cut for appropriate attire. Especially with that coffee stain.”

I felt my cheeks go hot. It was easy to assume that James Branson was just a numbers guy, or a nepo-hire for the company, but his split-second assessment of my lingerie proved that he knew his shit.

“Yeah, I was going to parade around in my bra all day, you nailed it,” I said, sneering at him. “No, I happen to have a spare T-shirt in my bag. Don’t worry, I’ll still look presentable.”

“I never said you don’t look presentable,” he replied quickly, holding my gaze and sending a shiver up my spine.

I crossed my arms tighter, knowing full well that doing so pushed my breasts higher. The pressure in the elevator shifted, and it wasn’t just due to the rapid ascent.

“I said parading around half dressed is not appropriate,” he continued, still staring at me in that disconcerting way. “We have bathrooms, you know.”

He probably assumed that I’d fold, but I straightened my back and didn’t blink.

“Yeah, and exactly how am I supposed to find those?” I replied. “It’s not like there was anyone waiting to show me where to go. Real welcoming place you have here.”

He grimaced, finally looking a little apologetic. “We do have HR reps meet new hires—but you were already on record as an employee on the retail side, so that must have slipped through the cracks.”