Page 511 of Manhattan Bossholes

But the reality was, if this particular show didn’t hit just right, we were fucked.

Not that I could let on to anyone that the situation was dire. Even Natalie didn’t have a clue. We’d spent the weeks leading up to the event practically living together, but she had no idea how concerned I was.

The Branson legacy was in my hands, which meant that it was mine to lose. Our family’s personal fortunes would barely wobble if the company folded, but the weight of destroying something that Bernie had built brick by brick was too depressing to consider. And then there was our incredible team. Dedicated, hardworking people who would lose their livelihoods if my leadership wasn’t good enough. The pressure of it all resulted in a tension headache that made navigating the chaos that much more difficult.

It was almost impossible to remain even-keeled, but somehow, I managed to fake it as I strode through the press pre-party. It wasn’t like I had a choice since it felt like cameras followed my every move. I plastered on an overwide smile and pretended that I was thrilled.

Calliope bounded over to me. “Hey, boss! I want to post a pic of you and Natalie together, and maybe a Reel too. You up for that?”

No, but I wasn’t about to deny her the social media attention we needed.

“I haven’t seen Natalie in a while.” I scanned the room. “Let me find her and we’ll come get you. In the meantime, can you make sure to get a photo of Bernie with Davina?”

The Branson founder and her first fit model were still tight friends, and the pair of senior citizen beauties were always good for an attention-grabbing photo.

I set out to track Natalie down with a pleasantly bland smile still cracking my face. Crowds parted as I walked through the room, and I could feel the cameras pointed at me. It was one of the many aspects I hated about the social media age: I was always being watched.

I waved off a few interviews with promises to chat later, feeling more worried as I realized that Natalie was nowhere to be found. She was the reason we were having a couture show, she needed to be present. Maybe she was nervous?

One of the waitstaff pushed through the swinging door that led to the kitchen, and I was shocked to see Natalie before it closed. What the hell was she doing hiding out? I stormed over, ready to give her a stern pep talk, and felt surprise give way to horror when I opened the door to find MG looming close to her. Natalie’s face flooded with relief when she spotted me heading towards them.

“James! Sweetheart!”

I could hear the tension in her voice.

“Well, hello there, BJ,” I said, deliberately mangling MG’s name. I smiled affably and reached out to shake his hand. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight. Did Natalie invite you?”

I knew that implying he couldn’t get an invitation on his own would rankle him.

“Oh, come on, James, stop pretending you don’t know me. And I’m here because your event planner invited me.” He bared his teeth at me in a smile. “She clearly knows who shmatters in this town.”

The man was slurring. He took a step, then tripped on his own feet, and his hand darted out to grab Natalie in an attempt to steady himself.

He wound up grazing her breast as he clung to her upper arm. Natalie looked at me with wide eyes, trapped like a rabbit in snare, and I felt my hands curl into fists.

“Okay, you need to step away from her,” I began, trying not to lose my cool. “Let her go.”

“Soft,” MG said, ignoring me as he ran his hand up and down her bicep. “Do you like that?”

Natalie tried to wrench her arm away, but he tightened his grip.

“We could share her, you know?” MG leered at me. “I think she wants me. I’ve seen the way she watches me in class, and it’s obvious that this girl likes to fuck. Am I right or what? I bet there’s enough of her to go around.”

My fist connected with his face before I could even process what was happening.

MG went down hard, his reflexes no doubt dulled by all of the alcohol. He stared up at me from the ground, one hand clutching his chin in shock. “You…”

For a moment, I was so shocked at myself that I just stood there, frozen. I had just lost control at the most important event of my life. Me, the guy who never lost control, had gone into a full-on rage at MG’s crude, insulting words. When the hell had I become this guy, the one who couldn’t keep a handle on himself?

And what the hell kind of damage would this cause if anyone saw the head of Branson Designs decking a fashion icon?

“Oh, buddy, you are fucked,” MG said from the ground as he manipulated his jaw. It felt like he was reading my mind. “Oh, you are so fucked. Wait till I…”

He listed to the side as he got up, and I wasn’t sure if it was due to the alcohol or aftershocks from my punch.

“Where’s Grace from The New York Times?” MG hollered, looking around. “Grace? Have I got a story for you.”

Damage control. This has to stay contained, no matter what. I could not allow this to be the big story of the night. I took a fast step closer to him to block him and jabbed my finger in his face. “Listen to me. The only story here is how you’ve been sexually harassing your student. Do you really want to have your own personal “Me Too” moment?”