“Howyouended things, you mean? I was perfectly polite.”
“Yeah, how I ended things,” he grits out through clenched teeth, like the words physically pain him.
“That’s your idea of an apology?” I fire back.
He runs a hand through his hair. “I just . . . Let’s just talk, okay? Hear me out.”
Our eyes clash in a heated staring match. My heart is betraying me, beating faster at the sight of him. Damn him for still affecting me after everything.
I try to mask my feelings, but the pain leaks through. “You made your stance pretty clear.”
Poor Brad hovers awkwardly behind us. Probably rethinking his Dominatrix Barbie Dream House adventure thanks to Connor’s dramatic entrance.
Connor’s gaze flickers to Brad then back to me, disbelief in his eyes. “Really, Lexi?”
Rage spikes through me at his judgmental audacity. “You lost any say in what I do when you kicked me out of your office.” I jab at his infuriatingly hard chest for emphasis, ignoring how good touching him feels.
I grab the whip again, aiming it at him in a defiant gesture. I feel like a woman on the brink. “And now I’m imagining each scorching lash is across your ball bag or better yet—that massively inflated ego!”
To my surprise, Connor looks genuinely remorseful. “I didn’t mean to lash out at you like that. It was a shitty overreaction,” he says quietly.
I squint at him. “Then what’s your excuse?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight. What, is he here because I didn’t go chasing after him, begging for scraps of attention? Guys like Connor only want what they can’t have—which, with their mountains of cash, isn’t much.
The awkward silence stretches, and my impatience spikes. I tap my foot, waiting for him to justify himself. “Well? You’ve got nothing?”
“Let’s talk somewhere more private.”
“Hello?” Brad’s irritated voice slices through our standoff. I turn to find him now dressed, glaring daggers at Connor. “We’re kind of on a date here.”
Connor barely spares him a glance. “Not anymore, you’re not.”
I grimace apologetically at Brad “I’m really sorry. This thing with us . . . it’s done.” I exhale heavily. “At least it was memorable, right?”
He shakes his head and mutters, “Unbelievable,” as he shoves past us.
“I was playing daddy for him tonight.” I shrug at Connor, a hint of defiance in my tone.
Connor visibly flinches, raising a hand as if to block the mental image. “I don’t need the play-by-play,” he growls.
He lets out a deep sigh. “Look, I was out of line at the studio. Let’s talk this out back at my hotel suite.”
I narrow my eyes at him. He can’t seriously think I’ll sleep with him after everything. “You want me to come back to your hotel room to ‘talk’? Yeah right.” I scoff.
Annoyance mars his handsome features. “I mean a real conversation, nothing else.”
I’m skeptical, still gripping my whip. “So why a hotel and not your place?”
“My personal space is off-limits,” he states flatly. “I don’t bring anyone there.”
“Real charming,” I retort, laying the sarcasm on thick. “What, am I not classy enough to get past your upscale doorman?”
He breathes out hard, frustration evident. “It’s not about you. I just value my privacy, that’s all.”
His arrogance is off the charts. God forbid I contaminate his bachelor pad by setting foot inside.
I snatch up my bag with finality. “Thanks but no thanks on your ‘conversation.’”
