Page 95 of Manhattan State of Mind

My jaw sets, muscles straining. “I’m giving you a reprieve. The team won’t work tonight. Plus, Andy thinks you need to work on networking. Here’s your chance.”

Her eyes flash. “I wasn’t aware the partners got a say in our personal evaluations.”

What’s she playing at?

“In my company, everything falls under my purview,” I reply sharply.

A tense silence descends over the room. No one dares speak or even glance our way.

Lucy’s throat bobs as she swallows hard.

“Lucy,” Taylor murmurs. “If JP needs you, you should go.”

Lucy’s jaw juts out. “I don’t have anything appropriate to wear.”

“That’ll be taken care of,” I assure her, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’ll have a dress sent over.”

“I really don’t think I’m the right choice. Taylor should go.”

“This isn’t a negotiation, Lucy. Be ready by six thirty.” The words snap from my mouth, sharper than I intended, but my patience is fraying at the edges.

Without another word, I stride off, leaving them in stunned silence. Somehow, I’ve made things worse. Now, that’s a skill.

TWENTY-FIVE

Lucy

The rest of the day is swallowed by an excited flurry of activity, as Matty and I hone the edges of our designs. But looming over it all is Wolfe’s infuriating demand for my company at his grand soiree tonight.

The idea of spending the entire night with that insufferable, arrogant guy? My heart’s pounding like I’ve hoovered up a kilo of cocaine.

Taylor finally calls it quits, and the room bursts into cheers. It’s five thirty. The clock’s ticking, and I have a measly few hours to transform from hackathon-frump to charity-ball-babe.

We stand, our hands weighed down with Post-its and papers scribbled with our game plan for tomorrow.

The team’s heading out for drinks on the lawn—that sounds far less anxiety-inducing than playing arm candy for Wolfe.

Why on earth does he want me there tonight? He could have any type of professional model he wanted. Leggy, skinny, curvy, blonde, brown, redhead…

Am I meant to be his assistant? Or maybe he just needs a cocktail caddy? I still don’t have a clue what he expects of me tonight.

I can’t see how I’m going to make scintillating talk with big shots. If conversation’s what he’s looking for, I can’t relate to billionaire woes like which race car to buy next or the tribulations of being a CEO. Poor lambs.

This already has “monumentally bad fucking idea” written all over it in pulsing neon lights.

“I’ll keep my distance from the bedroom.” Matty flashes me a cheeky grin. “You must have critical feminine rituals to attend to, like shaving your legs.”

“Hilarious,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes as we head inside. But honestly, he’s not wrong. I’ve got a mountain of primping to do.

“And try not to provoke the beast tonight, Luce. You should’ve just wagged your tail and said, ‘Yes, sir, three bags full, sir.’”

“He just wants to show us who’s in control,” I snap, neatly piling the papers. I brush a strand of hair from my eyes. “The guy’s a jerk. Taylor is the one who wants to go, not me.”

His smirk widens. “Oh, don’t you?”

I press my lips together, refusing to rise to his innuendos, but I can feel myself blushing. I should have kept my mouth shut about the kiss.

“I hate going to company events.”