“This isn’t the fucking same,” Connor snaps, his temper flaring. “This isn’t some voodoo witch doctor shit, Lexi. I have the best doctors money can buy working on this.”
“I know. I just mean facing your fears can help too.”
He exhales, irritated.
I press on anyway. “What about trying some counseling? It really helped me after Dad. Just having someone outside the situation, you know?”
“I’m not going to a fucking shrink. You can see the shit I’m dealing with now, with Killian and work. Look, can we just have a nice night without the therapy session? I’m all talked out.”
“Your way of handling this seems to be more about avoidance than acceptance. You can’t do that forever.”
His nostrils flare. “Lexi, once and for all, drop it. Don’t make me regret telling you. Respect my choice to handle my health condition the way I want to. Okay?”
He relents then and kisses my forehead, like he’s trying to smooth over the cracks in our conversation, or maybe shut me up.
I nod weakly, ignoring the warning bells chiming in my mind. He’s blocking me out at every turn. He needs to open up, not just to me, but to his family too. It’s like he’s his own worst enemy and doesn’t even see it.
If he can’t open up to me, where does that leave us?
FORTY-ONE
Lexi
Nothing puts me more on edge than an unannounced billionaire at my door. Even more so when it’s the wrong one, looking thoroughly displeased.
“Hi,” I say. What does he want?
“Who is it?” Grace yells from her room.
“Delivery for me,” I call back, sizing up Killian and his resting bitch face.
“Hi.” He tries for a smile, but it’s as warm as an iceberg.
My brain jumps to catastrophic conclusions. “Is Connor okay?” Connor’s been at mine three times in this last two weeks since we got back from Ireland, but I definitely wasn’t expecting his brother to grace me with his presence.
“He’s fine,” Killian dismisses. “But you and I need to talk.”
Looks like it’s a family trait. Demands first, pleasantries might follow, if you’re lucky.
“I’m sorry for not calling ahead.” He doesn’t look very apologetic.
“That’s okay. Come in. Umm, sorry it’s not the fanciest place in the world.” My apartment is barely fit for a rat, let alone another billionaire.
“The maid’s got the day off,” I joke as I lead him inside.
His reaction to my stab at humor is a whole lot of nada, not even a hint of a smile. Tough crowd. You’d think he’d at least pretend to find me funny, while standing inmyliving room.
Trying not to freak out, I rack my brain for why Killian could possibly be here. Something tells me it’s not to plan a surprise party for Connor.
I wonder how long I can stall before Grace comes out. She’s gaming though, so hopefully she’ll be lost in virtual reality for hours.
Killian takes in the shabby, mismatched furniture and Target decor. Connor mentioned Killian lives in a Fifth Avenue townhouse—his “main home,” he’d clarified casually. Of course the mega-rich have a roster of homes.
I scoop up the scattered underwear lying around the radiator before Killian catches a glimpse of my lacy intimates embarrassingly out in the open. Stuffing them into a storage bin in a rush, I flash him an awkward smile.
“Charming place,” he comments. Translation: this place is a dump.
I gesture to the couch. “Make yourself at home. Hmm, do you want a beer, wine or something?”
