Page 607 of Manhattan Bossholes

“Well then, sit and I’ll cook for you this time.” She gestured to the stool at the bar. “Waffles, since our bread was moldy.”

I grimaced. “Sorry, I guess I fell behind on grocery shopping.”

“I get it,” she said as she found the waffle iron in the cabinet. “You’re doing double duty as social media badass and contract girlfriend.”

I frowned, uncertain about the “contract” part of the equation. When Cameron and I had mapped out the boundaries of our relationship, sex definitely wasn’t on the table. Not that I was complaining—I had consented to everything we had done together—but I wasn’t sure where that left us now. Was the contract still in effect, with some addenda? Or were we starting something new?

“What?” Nina asked as she opened the refrigerator door.

The line from the front desk rang, so I didn’t have to talk about my mixed-up feelings about Cameron. At least not at the moment, since she had a way of getting to the heart of things whether I wanted to discuss them or not.

“Are you expecting someone?” I asked as I walked to the intercom.

She shook her head and watched me answer it.

“Hey there,” Carl said. “A guy down here has a flower delivery for one of you.”

“Oh! Um…send them up, please.” My heartbeat sped up a little. Was Cameron actually wooing me after our amazing evening? I tried to envision what sort of bouquet a billionaire might send to thank someone for a night of great sex. Dozens of roses? Some sort of exotic jungle flower?

The bouquet that showed up was much more modest, just a simple cluster of pink and yellow blooms. And the card was made out to Nina.

“They’re for you,” I said, walking the arrangement over to her as I tried to figure out what she’d been hiding from me. Or more specifically whom.

I watched her blush as she read the card.

“Okay, spill it. Who are they from?” I asked.

She turned her back to me to search for a vase. “It’s nothing.”

“Neen,” I scolded. “Do you really think you’re going to get away with not answering?”

She huffed at me as she peeled the cellophane off the bouquet. “Fine, they’re from Tyler.”

“Hold on,” I frowned at her. “Are you guys hanging out? I thought the way he acted that night at Frankie’s Tavern scared you.”

“It did,” she agreed.

“…And?” I pressed when she didn’t say anything more.

“And I still think he’s a good guy, even if he screws up sometimes. We still text. I helped him with some lyrics the other night, and I guess these flowers are a thank-you.”

I cornered her in our small kitchen. “So, you’re talking to him on a regular basis?”

She shrugged.

“Why are you being so secretive? Just tell me already!”

Nina sputtered at me. “We’ve been video chatting, nearly every night, okay? It’s actually really fun. He’s tapping into my knowledge of classic lit, and we’re incorporating it into his lyrics. We’re uniting my love of books and music, and I’m having a blast with it. Me, being creative! Go figure.”

She looked a little embarrassed admitting it to me, especially because we’d had a long talk about the life of an addict after the night at the tavern. But maybe keeping in touch via the phone and nothing more was fine. A buffer would keep her from getting too invested.

“Well, that’s really cool,” I replied as I took a seat at the bar counter. “Maybe you’ll get a songwriter’s credit.”

She placed the flowers in the vase carefully. “Yeah, I’ll ask him about that…over dinner.”

“Excuse me, what?”

She held the card up with a sheepish look. “He asked me to dinner.”