Guess what, we lost the Quinn & Wolfe account!!!!
No shocker there based on Vicky’s recent groveling.
And then, the plot thickens:
And the new company that snagged it? Get this, the owner is Vicky’s Ex! She is LIVID.
She drops a link to the company’s site, and curiosity gets the better of me. I click to see who would have the guts or insanity to have a relationship with Vicky—perhaps the lovechild of Hannibal Lecter and Satan.
Instead I’m greeted by a guy who looks too meek to say “boo” to a goose. Shy and nerdy, and not what I was expecting for Vicky at all.
As I scroll through their site, I stiffen like I’ve just been tasered.
There, in full defiance of my attempts to forget, is the face that keeps clawing its way back into my thoughts, dreams, and nightmares.
Their latest golden boy client, the one and only Connor Quinn.
My heart races, betraying the cool indifference I’ve worked hard on for months. I grip the laptop tighter, body instinctively leaning in like a moth drawn to a very dangerous flame.
“After all this time, you still affect me,” I whisper sadly to my empty lounge. Talking to myself has become the norm.
When will looking at his picture stop hurting? Yeah, the pain’s dulled—it’s not the sharp stabbing sting it used to be. But god, I wish I could feel nothing at all.
Breathing deep, I click further, like I’m asking for heartache.
Instant regret, served up raw.
There they are—Connor and the professor, looking like they’ve stepped out of a magazine, all poised and perfect in theHello, New Yorkstudio. Another couple’s interview, but it’s clear as day there’s nothing staged about this. This is exactly where Connor wants to be.
This is the real deal, folks. Their genuine connection is on display for all to see.
My throat tightens, and the sensible part of me screams to just shut it down, close the tab and walk away. Watch that new true crime show on Netflix instead. At least the murderers on there can’t break your heart.
But somehow I can’t make my stubborn fingers obey.
He looks happy and relaxed, flashing an easy grin I haven’t seen since Ireland. The familiar tension still lingers in his jaw if you know what to look for. But otherwise, he resembles his cool and confident public persona.
“Let’s all remember not to take things at face value,” Lucia says to the camera. “We’re so quick to judge without really understanding what someone is going through.” Her smile seems a bit too breezy for the heavy stuff she’s saying.
I squint at the screen, totally lost. What the hell is she talking about?
Connor’s grin spreads effortlessly across his face. “Not offering an explanation probably wasn’t my best move, letting everyone jump to their own conclusions. The paparazzi love to think the worst of me, and let’s be honest, I’ve given them plenty of material over the years.”
He chuckles, almost self-deprecatingly, drawing amused smiles from both women.
“And instead, you were silently struggling with a new hearing condition,” Lucia coos, reaching to put a well-manicured hand over Connor’s. “Do you want to talk about it, Connor?”
I suck in a breath. Connor’s talking about his condition on national television? In front of the whole country?
“Not particularly,” he says, chuckling it off, but there’s a tightness around his eyes. “I’m not the kind of guy to air things like this. But when you’re in my position, you have a responsibility to raise awareness about these kinds of things. There are a lot of people out there without the resources and support I have. An issue like this can be pretty isolating without the right help.”
Lucia looks like she might swoon, eyes glimmering. “You’re so brave to share this to us,” she gushes.
Connor’s jaw clenches for just a moment, revealing the sheer determination it takes for him to open up like that.
I’m frozen, my eyes glued to the screen without blinking.
“Now, what’s this revolutionary project you two are leading?” Lucia asks.
