“You got one of those right. Now, if you’re done trying to provoke me, we need to be at NexiHub shortly.”
I snap open my folder briskly and hand him the outline.
He gives it a cursory glance, grunting noncommittally as he drapes his muscular arm along the sofa back. Clearly this is the absolute highlight of his day.
How the man is fine winging a speech to hundreds of college kids is beyond me. I’d need a month at a silent meditation retreat to even think about it without hyperventilating.
“It’s a Q&A and meet-and-greet,” I explain. “You’ll get to check out their projects. I’ll have press there, get it trending on social.”
He grunts again, not giving a single shit about my digital domination plans. “This fluff makes news now?”
“The influence of the younger demographic can’t be underestimated.” Then because my filter’s gone MIA, I add, “Plus the hot older man angle doesn’t hurt.”
His gaze snaps to me, brow cocked. “Less of the older. I’m thirty-five, just nine years your senior.”
I shift uncomfortably as heat flushes my neck, forcing myself back on track. It’s unsettling he knows my age off the top of his head. “Right, well . . . I switched venues to the campus in Queens—that okay with you?”
A shadow of something unreadable passes over his face. “That’s where your sister goes to school.”
How the hell does he know that? I edge closer to the armrest, putting precious inches between us as unease swirls within me.
“Yes, that’s her campus,” I reply evenly. “I figured it’s a good look for you, speaking at your hometown. Adds a nice touch to the narrative.”
“Of course,” he replies, his voice dripping with disdain. “It’s all about the optics.”
“In PR strategy, yes. How did you know about my sister’s campus?”
“I took the liberty of running a background check on you.”
My stomach lurches. “You run checks on all your PR people?”
“No, angel. Just you.” He leans closer, eyes spearing mine. “You’re special.”
My pulse kicks as I shrink against the armrest. Being “special” sounds a lot like a threat. The predatory gleam in his eyes confirms it.
Everything about Connor seems heightened today—his imposing frame dominating the space, his burning stare, the rigid set of his jaw. He’s radiating barely leashed aggression that warns me to tread carefully.
What happened to set him off?
Did he roll out of his Egyptian cotton sheets on the wrong side of his California King this morning? Trip over his Gucci slippers and faceplant his marble floors? Or is he just extra irritated with me today? I didn’t think it was possible for me to annoy him more than I already do.
His hand grazes my shoulders and I stiffen, skin prickling. He’s throwing me off-balance on purpose.
The last thing I need is him digging into my personal life. Thank Christ there shouldn’t be anything linking me back to Deano.
I think.
I pray.
I clear my throat, aiming for casual and missing spectacularly based on his smirk. “What exactly did you find in this investigation?”
He holds my gaze for a long moment. “How does a girl like you get into so much debt, I wonder? I’m trying to figure out your vice, Lexi.” His eyes travel over me deliberately. “Clearly it’s not designer clothes.”
I bristle, defensive anger churning. “Myvice?” I spit. Trust a guy like Connor to assume I’m in debt from some crazy shopping spree. “You think I’m in debt because of a rampant shopping addiction? That I’ve got a secret Jimmy Choo stash? This may come as a shock, but us normal people have real problems.”
His eyes narrow. “Enlighten me.”
“Yeah, no. My finances aren’t your business,” I say sharply. “Now can we redirect this back to the matter at hand?”
