“Did he say why he wants me specifically?” I ask carefully.
“No.”
I shrug, playing it cool. “Well, then it’s anybody’s guess.”
“You have to do the school shoot with him. Get your little butt over to his office.” Vicky jabs her half-mangled carrot at me. “And make sure he’s photographed with some really pitiful, broke-looking college kids. The kind that look like they’ve been living off cheap noodles for a year.”
I wonder, not for the first time, whether there’s a special place reserved in hell for this woman.
She fixes me with an icy glare when I don’t immediately move. “Well? Make it snappy.”
And just like that, she’s clicking away, with Brooke shooting me one last suspicious look before following.
Kayla leans across her desk, lowering her voice. “Maybe you should just tell them the truth?” She frowns. “Although it doesn’t really add up. He’s pissed at you but still wants you close?”
“Beats me,” I say honestly, feeling ill.
I don’t have a clue what Connor’s playing at. But my stomach’s currently hosting a butterfly rave, and all I know is—this can’t end well for me.
She gives me a sympathetic look. “On a more fun note, send me dates you can make for the double date.”
Ah shit, I’d forgotten about that.
“Fine. Just don’t make it somewhere too expensive. I’m broker than broke right now.”
“Great.” She beams.
???
I should’ve known Connor making me wait an hour would become standard operating procedure. The receptionist looks almost sympathetic as I shift in the sleek leather chair, thumbingthrough back issues ofGrand Hotels, now an expert on their spa reviews.
Executive types in fancy suits strut past, off to important meetings. And here I sit, still cooling my heels.
It’s not like I don’t have a heaving pile of work waiting back at my desk, what with all those D-listers out there in dire need of PR help. Brooke is busy coordinating Willow’s re-rise to grace with a million photoshoots and interviews; meanwhile I get to babysit the billionaire.
When the elevator doors open, for a second I think it’s the Prodigal Timekeeper himself. Similar mesmerizing eyes, but slightly older and just as striking—his brother Killian. Behind him is their business partner JP Wolfe who I recognize from news articles. Killian’s got a fine ass, clearly runs in the family.
I immediately sit up straighter, a new spark of nerves hitting me as Killian turns like he just realized something. Oh shit. JP walks off.
“You must be Lexi,” he says, voice frosty.
“Guilty as charged,” I reply, my attempt at casual landing closer to strangled. “Lovely to meet you, Mr. Quinn. Did Connor mention me or . . . ?”
“In passing.”
Oh god. I force out an awkward laugh despite my knees literally knocking together now.
“I’m sure it was all terrible,” I joke weakly, freaking the fuck out inside. Maybe I’m the punchline at Quinn family dinners.
Killian just smiles slowly, more like a shark baring teeth. “What a coincidence, you and Connor meeting again. Small city, New York, isn’t it?”
“Very small.” I swallow hard under his penetrating gaze, feeling two inches tall. He looks almost intrigued now, and that terrifies me more.
“You’re not quite what I pictured,” he muses after an endless excruciating moment.
I chew my lip. “Oh? What were you expecting?”
A balaclava and a few jacks for stealing cars, no doubt. Or some trashy gold-digger.
