Brooke glares daggers, her go-to look for me these days. “He must realllly like your cousin.”
I plaster on a pained smile, wondering if I can sneak off and drown myself in the toilet to avoid this meeting.
Connor Quinn isn’t done with me, not by a long shot. And that chilling realization makes my knees quake.
FOURTEEN
Lexi
The elevator doors slide open to the penthouse floor of the imposing Quinn & Wolfe HQ and my dread deepens exponentially.
I can’t stop a whispered “Oh damn” from slipping out. The Empire State Building looms right there through the floor-to-ceiling windows, its spire piercing the clouds. I half expect King Kong to come swinging by. This place screams money and power—and I’ve screwed over the guy at the top.
I feel sick to my stomach. I had not a single hour of sleep last night, all thanks to worrying about this showdown. I’m here to work, but also to gauge his next move. Now being surrounded by Connor’s empire reminds me even more of the formidable enemy I’ve made.
He’s on to me because of a gut feeling, surely. There’s no way he has CCTV footage of the bathroom.
The big question now is, how far is he willing to push his hunch?
In all my (albeit) few years in PR, I’ve never played at stakes as high as this.
The receptionist throws me a look that’s equal parts bored and judgmental as I stand there taking it all in. Her gaze basically says “Yeah, it’s impressive, get over it.”
“Can I help you?” she asks, in a tone that suggests she’s hoping she can’t.
I muster the most composed smile I can. “Lexi Sullivan. I’m here for a seven a.m. with Connor Quinn.”
She glances at her computer and gives a nod. “Mr. Quinn’s not in yet. Feel free to take a seat.” She flicks her eyes at the leather chairs dismissively.
“Great, thanks.” I drop myself into one of the chairs, picking one that gives me a clear line of sight to the elevators, and try to look relaxed. The executive floor is pretty quiet, only a few folks around.
I’ve spent all night trying to work out what his game plan is. The uncertainty is killing me. Maybe he plans to “accidentally” push me out a window.
Each ding of the elevator sends my heart into a leap, only for it to plummet when he’s nowhere to be seen.
The time creeps by. Seven . . . seven thirty . . . eight o’clock.
Where the hell is he? Connor demanded we meet on his terms, citing his “packed schedule.”
By eight fifteen, I’ve chewed my nails to bits. Every little noise has me jumping. Even the receptionist shoots me pitying glances. At this rate, I’ll be starting on my toenails next.
At long last, the elevator doors slide open and out strides Connor. My stomach swoops violently with nerves. I think the bastard got better looking overnight just to torment me.
He looks fresh from the shower, hair still damp and tousled. His top buttons are undone, just enough to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of chest hair. Not an Austin Powers rug situation, but enough dark fuzz to spark the imagination about what else is hiding under that perfectly tailored shirt.
He flings a tie around his neck but leaves it hanging. He looks like he just sauntered off aGQcover, and I hate that I’m not immune.
“Morning, Mary,” he purrs at the receptionist, who instantly melts. Seems he reserves that charm for everyone but me.
I stand up, all stiff and awkward. Just when I think he’ll breeze past, he stops dead. Those piercing eyes rake over every inch of me in a slow, invasive appraisal.
My stomach doesn’t just swoop—it plummets eighty floors and is sprinting for the lobby exit.
“I couldn’t decide which Lexi I’d get today,” he muses, full lips curving patronizingly. “The sex kitten hustler in fuck-me heels and a dress barely fit for the public, or the prim librarian in her granny glasses and orthopedic shoes.”
Granny glasses?
Jerk.
