Page 551 of Manhattan Bossholes

I stared at her and realized that something was up. She was keeping a secret. “Hold on… Please don’t tell me there’s karaoke coming up…”

“How did you know, Mr. Branson?” she asked in a breathless voice, holding her hands to her heart like a Disney princess. “You figured it out! I’m about to give you that serenade you never paid me not to do.”

I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead. “Can I do a bank transfer now to avoid it? Please? I’ll triple what I offered you.”

“Stop.” She swatted me lightly as she settled in against my side again. “It’s not karaoke. Although that was a good idea and I’m pissed I didn’t think of it.”

We watched the dancing in silence for a few minutes.

“Are you going to tell me what I missed or not?” I finally demanded.

I hated secrets.

“Okay,” she said, pulling away. “But I’m going to be breaking a rule, because it has to do with work.”

I frowned at her. “Are you serious? You want to talk business now?”

Natalie nodded. “It’s a new direction for the company. An untapped market.”

My mind started spinning, because even though I’d sworn not to discuss Branson Designs during our off hours, I still fucking loved everything that had to do with our company. And I was in awe of Natalie’s creative force.

“It’s obviously not bridal, because that’s well under way,” I began slowly. “And Rhea is heading up the new swim division…”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Is it accessories? Like, sunglasses and jewelry?”

Natalie shook her head. “Maybe someday, but I don’t think we have the staff for that yet.”

“Housewares?”

“Ooh, phenomenal idea,” she said. “But no. At least not in the near future.”

“What am I missing?” I muttered. “What else is there?”

“Think small.”

I stared out at the crowd and saw the pile of women’s heels lining the edge of the dance floor.

“Shoes!” I said triumphantly. “It’s shoes.”

“Another fabulous idea, but no.”

“It’s not accessories, housewares or shoes.” I ticked off the possibilities on my fingers. “What else is there? I’m stumped.”

The music downshifted from upbeat club hits to Frank Sinatra’s “It Had to be You.” The night was quickly coming to a close.

“Let’s dance,” Natalie said as she pulled me to my feet.

“I thought you said you were tired,” I groused, even though I loved dancing with her.

It was just one of the many changes she’d brought out in me.

“I am, but for Frank, I’ll make an exception,” she said as she walked into my open arms.

The crowd noticed that we were on the dance floor and gave us a round of applause. We settled into our familiar grip, one palm warm against Natalie’s lower back, the other clasping her hand in mine, and her head against my chest.

“This is nice,” she murmured.