Page 502 of Manhattan Bossholes

It was partly because of the three-thousand-dollar dress I had on, but mainly because James couldn’t stop staring at me. And kissing me. And whispering naughty things in my ear. We’d come close to ripping the dress off and going at it right after I’d finished getting ready for Bernie’s big night, but Christopher had texted James about needing him to come down and play host out front, and it was a request we couldn’t ignore.

I felt quivery and awkward as we made our way from our room to where the party was being held on the grounds. James had given me an overview of the guest list, and it was a who’s-who worthy of a Vogue spread, from designers to models to moguls, with a few actors thrown in for good measure. I was definitely going to be out of my league.

Thankfully, James’s mother, Kathleen, had been absolutely wonderful, and I knew she’d be another safe haven for me if I became too overwhelmed by the glitterati. She was a beautiful, cheerful woman in her early sixties, with swingy blonde hair and the same bright blue eyes as her sons. I’d half expected her to be snobby, but she’d welcomed me with a warm hug and introduced me to her partner, Teddy, who looked to be in his early thirties. On paper, they might seem like an odd match, but you only had to see them together to see how happy they made each other. Apparently, they’d met in a support group for families of addicts that Kathleen had joined after Christopher went to rehab.

The family cocktail party the night before had been wonderful, but that was a small group, and I already knew many of the cousins and nephews and nieces through work. Most of the Bransons had gone into the family business—though there were some outliers, like James’s cousin Kevin, who was a venture capitalist. But I’d spent much of the night chatting with Christopher, who seemed to be working hard to put on a happy face.

What we were walking into with this party was something else entirely.

James grasped my hand as we came to the French doors that opened up to the endlessly green lawn crowded with people. “You got this,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re the most beautiful woman here.”

My heart swelled at the sincerity in his voice. Our relationship felt so real that I had to keep reminding myself that I was playing a part for the weekend. I wasn’t his girlfriend, it was all an act, just like he’d done for me with MG—who, thankfully, wouldn’t be at the party tonight. I’d checked the guest list twice just to make sure. Whether or not everyone bought into the idea that James and I were a couple, at least I wouldn’t have to put up with his commentary on it.

“Ready?” James asked, planting a quick kiss on my bare shoulder.

“No, but I don’t have a choice.” I pointed. “Incoming.”

Bernie had spotted us and was gliding across the lawn wearing a giant smile, waving both hands.

“Let’s go,” James said gently, pulling me along.

I noticed heads swinging in our direction as we walked down the grand staircase to the lawn. Obviously, James commanded attention, but I knew that my red dress helped.

“Look at you,” Bernie cooed, clasping her hands beneath her chin. “The most gorgeous couple here! Natalie, your dress! Incredible. Twirl for me, darling.”

I glanced around and discovered that the lead character from a police procedural I watched and his model wife were staring at us, along with a crowd of other notable movers and shakers. I swallowed hard and did a quick spin while Bernie clapped for me.

“You are stunning in red! And those shoes. You need to wear color more often,” she said.

“I agree,” James said. “But my girl looks incredible in everything.”

I reflexively reached out to grab his arm, giving it a squeeze. “You don’t look so bad yourself. Don’t you agree, Bernie?”

James was wearing a fitted dark suit that looked black but was actually the deepest midnight blue. I’d wanted to peel it off him the second he’d put it on.

She leaned closer to us. “He looks better than Adam Reynolds.” Bernie pointed through the crowd, and I spotted the famous actor, aka People magazine’s current Sexiest Man Alive, downing a cocktail while a crowd of admirers pretended not to stare.

We were surrounded by so many famous people. Celebrities and business people that I had knew from the covers of magazines: Steph was going to die when I told her that I saw the CEO of Summit Fragrances toasting with a bunch of guys at the bar. I fought off a wave of stress and lifted my chin. If only the scared little girl clutching a garbage bag filled with clothes could see me now! I could do this for her.

I snapped back into reality. “Bernie, we didn’t wish you a happy birthday yet!” I exclaimed, happy to focus on one of the safest people at the event.

She swished her hand at us. “Please, everyone has been saying it since yesterday. I’m tired of being reminded I’m another year closer to the grave. I just wanted an excuse to have a party! And to get gifts, of course. Thank you again, darling,” she said to James, stroking her fingers over her stunning necklace.

“That was your birthday present to her?” I asked. “Wait a second, I recognize that necklace! Isn’t it the one from that movie about the heiress in World War II?”

James laughed. “Yes, it is. The movie studio commissioned it, but the jeweler—Veritique—only loaned it to them. They usually keep it in a fancy display case at Veritique’s headquarters, but their CEO is a friend, and he owed me a favor, so I got him to lend it out for tonight.”

“And I very much appreciate it, darling,” Bernie assured him. “Now come with me, both of you. I want to show you off to everyone.”

She beckoned us to follow her, and James grabbed my hand. “You okay?” He smiled down at me.

“Absolutely not,” I whispered out of the corner of my mouth. “But what choice do I have?”

I tripped along beside James, trying to walk with confidence even though my heels were sinking in the grass. We followed Bernie under the big white tent, and I breathed a sigh of relief when we hit the parquet floor.

“Come, come,” Bernie said, walking backwards gracefully like she was turning sixty and not eighty.

I wondered which luminaries she was going to push me in front of next when I spotted a crowd of Branson employees.