Page 503 of Manhattan Bossholes

“There she is,” Christopher said, raising his glass to me and giving me a genuine smile. “We were just talking about you.”

A woman who looked suspiciously like Anna Wintour snuck over to our group and pulled Bernie away. I quickly scanned the people circled around us and saw the head of marketing, the social media director, the supply chain VP, and a few other faces I recognized from around the office but didn’t know by name.

“Hi, everyone.” I gave a quick wave. “I hope it was all good things.”

Calliope, our social media guru, jumped in. “One hundred percent! We were just saying how incredible your couture stuff is looking. I can’t wait to get approval to start posting; people are going to go insane.”

“And we can’t forget that Nat is doing double duty right now,” James added. “Not only is she kicking ass in creative, she’s also filling in as my assistant.” He slid his arm around me and squeezed my shoulder. “This woman can do anything.”

“I’ll second that,” Christopher said. “She’s been my partner in crime getting our vintage sketches digitized. Without her they’d still be sitting in my closet. To Natalie.”

He raised a glass that looked like it was filled with ice water, and the rest of the group joined, clinking in a toast to me.

My face was on fire with pride and embarrassment. I wasn’t used to this kind of attention, but I sort of loved it. These important people clustered around were celebrating my accomplishments like I was one of their own. It was a foreign sensation after being on my own for so long. I’d never expected to feel like I was truly a part of the Branson family.

Or at least the Branson work family.

“We’d join the toast but we didn’t even have a chance to grab drinks.” James laughed, miming holding a glass out to the group. “Bernie accosted us the second we got here. Please excuse us.”

James took my hand and led me to the bar, and I tried to keep my cool as we passed famous face after famous face. I noticed more than a few models shooting daggers in my direction.

I leaned in to whisper in his ear as we waited for the bartender. “This is a lot. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the night. I’m feeling very… I don’t know, very scrutinized. Like people know I don’t belong here.”

He caressed my cheek and held my gaze, then leaned down to whisper back to me. “You’re doing great, and you absolutely belong here.” He gave me a quick kiss on the lips. “And I’m sorry to tell you that you’re not imagining it. Everyone is staring at you.”

My mouth dropped open. “I thought I was being paranoid!” I hissed back at him in shock, glancing over my shoulder to see if he was right.

“The women are jealous, and the men are horny.”

I punched his arm. “Stop it.”

He laughed. “I’m serious. You in this dress? Criminal. Although you in anything gets attention.”

I clutched his arm a little tighter and leaned against him. James kissed the top of my head. His kisses were frequent and comforting and exactly what I needed. Each one was a little boost of confidence, like he was trying to show the world that I was here for a reason.

That we belonged together.

The night passed in a blur of champagne, phenomenal food, and laughter. Little by little I managed to let go and enjoy myself, to the point where I was actually cracking jokes with editorial director at Vogue. I even met the founder of Snug—Declan Byrne—and his wife, Olivia. The Irish billionaire was surprisingly down to earth, despite creating the biggest social media platform in the world. Apparently, he was a friend of James’s and since he and his wife happened to be in town, they’d been invited to the party.

“If this one doesn’t treat you right, you let me know,” he said to me with a teasing grin. “I’ll set him straight.”

“Hey now, I thought we were friends!” James pretended to complain.

“We are—which is why I wouldn’t let you muck this up,” Declan shot back. “You gave me the advice I needed to hear when I was about to let someone amazing walk out of my life,” he added, pressing a kiss to his wife’s temple. “The least I can do is return the favor.”

I couldn’t believe how warm and accepting everyone was being, as if I really belonged here. Despite the divide between my basic little life and the important people around me, I felt welcomed. Like I was one of them.

It was the last thing I’d expected.

Of course, being on James Branson’s arm probably helped. Bernie was fashion royalty and James was the heir apparent.

Things got wilder as the sun went down, especially when Bernie and Kathleen joined the younger models for a bunch of line dances, to the delight of everyone. The DJ finally slowed the music down, hoping to get couples on the floor. Beyonce’s XO came on, and I shot James a look.

“Do you dance?”

He cocked his head to listen to the song for a few seconds. “Wait, is this…”

I nodded. “Yup, our favorite artist.”