“You didn’t answer my calls. I tried to apologize.”
I narrow my eyes, temper rising. “Yeah, well, sorry doesn’t magically fix everything. Sort your issues out before using me as an emotional punching bag.”
His eyes narrow. “Give me a break. You’re the one who hauled me into this closet. I’m not in the mood for this drama. Whatever happened between us was obviously a mistake.”
“Believe me, I regret it even more,” I fire back. “Let’s just get through this campaign, make Willow happy, and then never see each other again. Deal?”
Connor’s face hardens. “Works for me.”
I shake my head. “I really hope you find what you’re looking for so you can drop the whole angry, bitter act. Because this charade of playing charming prince while nursing a heart full of nails must be exhausting.”
I give myself a mental high-five for not face-planting into a mop bucket on my way out. That would ruin my dramatic exit.
As I storm off, leaving him in the closet, I pray my eyes only show anger. Not the hurt I’m too stubborn to admit, even to myself.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Connor
I stride into my office and dry swallow another useless painkiller.
I try Lexi’s cell. Voicemail. I tap out an inadequateI’m sorrytext instead, well aware she deserves far more after my behavior.
She pushed my buttons at the worst possible time, coming after me. She should have just left me the hell alone, not kept prodding the raging bull.
Her reply comes quick:Thanks. Vicky’s blaming me.
Hell. None of this falls on her. She’s not my goddamn handler. Vicky has even less sense than I credited if she expects Lexi to somehow control my actions.
And now thanks to my fuckup, Lexi is unfairly catching heat.
I can fix the Vicky situation easily enough, at least smooth that over.
I slump into my desk chair and press my palms into my eyes until I see stars. I’ve never felt as out of control as I did in that interview. Completely fucking powerless.
Lucia was sitting on my bad side, and my left ear might as well have been dead to the world. It was like I was dipping in and out of water. Her words just swirled around me, distortedand muffled. “Soulmate” turned into “date.” “Date” turned into “hate.”
By the time my brain caught up, the interview was already a smoldering wreck.
And it was just some dumb gossip interview. I should be able to shake that off. But what if this happens at the World Economic Forum in Davos? Or at the Fortune Brainstorm Tech conference? Or even at the Quinn & Wolfe annual all-staff meeting? Hard to say which would be worse.
This hearing issue is stripping away everything that defines me. Now, I can’t even get through a simple interview without making a fool of myself. I make a mental note to move up the appointment with the new specialist—I delayed it, thinking the issue would resolve on its own, and besides, the company’s swamped right now. All my hopes are riding on this new specialist—he’s not just the best in the industry; he’s the best in the world.
There’s a sharp rap at the door before Killian barges in, looking revved up to tear me a new one.
“Jesus Christ, were you hammered during that absolute shitshow?” he demands.
“No, I damn well wasn’t,” I fire back.
Killian shakes his head. “This is getting out of hand, Connor. Getting drunk in your own bar—we agreed not to do that. We keep our personal lives away from the staff. And now, you’re mixed with this woman with a shady past, making a mess of media appearances, stirring up scandal again. We’ve been down this road before, and I don’t want to revisit it.”
“Jesus, Killian, lay off. So I screwed up a few times. It’s not like you’re a saint just because you’ve settled down.”
“Fine, but can you at least tell me why you stormed off set? Did someone insult you?”
I grit my teeth and offer a half truth. “I couldn’t hear her questions clearly. Had a killer headache.”
He pauses, concern softening his hard gaze as he takes a good look at me.
