Page 39 of Dirty Boss

I painted a bright smile on my face—one of the ones I’d used at the restaurant to put walls up between me and too-forward customers that wouldn’t lead to me losing out on much-needed tips. Vaughn saw it, and frowned.

He cleared his throat and leaned over to pick up his jacket. “I’ve got my daughter for the next two weeks, so I won’t be able to do evenings. I’ll have Hillary send through my availability during the day.”

Just like that, the teasing and camaraderie was gone. It felt like a slap, but I was the one who’d put my walls up first.

I nodded as I gathered my own things. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll be in touch.”

FOURTEEN

VAUGHN

We metat Koval’s the following Monday. Alba wore wide-leg pants and a crisp blouse tucked into them, the collar open to reveal that gold jewelry. Her hair was wrapped in a knot at the base of her neck, and I found myself staring at the line of her jaw, the hint of clavicle.

She and Koval spoke in another language, one with hems and seams and knits, waistcoats and lapels. I stood there, pretending to listen but mostly looking at the way the light caught Alba’s hair, the way her hands smoothed over the fabric Koval presented her, delicate and sure, the purse of her lips when she mulled over the older man’s options.

“I can rent a tux,” I said, when they were arguing over evening jackets.

Two heads whipped toward me. Koval looked ready to throw me out of his shop. Alba looked exasperated.

“Quiet, you,” she snapped.

“Listen to your woman,” Koval suggested.

“I am nothis woman,” Alba said, rounding on him.

The older man shrugged. “Then let him rent a tuxedo from a mass-market shop,” he said mildly. “Makes no difference to an old man who knows nothing about anything.”

“You are impossible, Mr. Koval,” Alba said, releasing a sigh. “We’ll go with the peaked lapel.”

“You’ll see,” Koval replied, satisfied that she’d gone with his suggestion. “Big man. Big lapel.”

“Or he’ll look like he’s playing dress-up,” she muttered.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I couldn’t resist saying. The venomous look she threw me was worth it, and I flashed her a smile.

From Koval’s, we went to lunch at a French restaurant called Rebellieux. Alba glanced around the dining room, eyes scanning furtively, and I wondered if she was looking for someone, or simply embarrassed to be seen with me.

This time, I ordered the wine, and the rigamarole with the pouring and the tasting fell to me. Alba watched me, then nodded when the waiter left, both our glasses filled. “Good,” she said.

“I still feel like I’m playing pretend.”

She shrugged, unsympathetic. “Don’t we all?”

“It never bothered you? Feeling like you weren’t being yourself?”

She fingered the stem of her wine glass, her nails painted a soft shade of pink. “I’m not sure I even knew what being myself really meant,” she admitted.

“You seem to know yourself now.”

“A year of suffering will do that to a person.” Her smile was a bitter twist.

Another crumb of information, rare as a precious jewel. I stared at the red wine in my glass, tilting it the way I’d seen her do, and asked, “Has it been that bad?”

“What exactly did you read, when you were doing your creepy little internet stalking session about me?” Her eyes were narrowed when I met them.

I huffed. Shrugged. “Not much. Your engagement ended. Your parents are wealthy. I still wonder how you ended up at Carmine’s and cleaning an office building.”

She stared at me for a moment, and I stared back. I wasn’t sure why she decided to tell me anything, but she did. “Cole, my ex-fiancé, worked for one of my father’s companies. We were supposed to be a power couple, bringing together our families. I…didn’t go along with the plan.”