“Don’t you dare mess with my sister’s future,” Lexi fires at me once Grace is out of earshot. She stands there glaring at me, arms crossed like an angry mama bear protecting her cub.
My spine stiffens, caught off guard by this unexpected verbal attack.
“I was just being nice to the girl,” I snap, glaring back. “How’s that make me the bad guy?”
Lexi narrows her eyes, looking ready to breathe fire back. “That stuff about her résumé—did you mean it or were you just jerking us around?”
My jaw clenches in frustration at her insolence. Does she want me to rescind the offer? “I don’t say things I don’t mean. Send me the damn thing.”
She studies me, finally seeming to buy my integrity. “Okay.”
I keep my glare locked on her. I’m itching to put this infuriating woman in her place. Teach her some manners. Maybe hate-fuck the hell out of her right now for sassing me like that.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I overreacted.”
I give a curt nod, reining in my temper. Her protectiveness, however misguided, comes from a good place.
“Your sister’s spot is secure, I give you my word,” I assure her, tearing my gaze away before it pulls me in again. “No need to stress over that.”
“Okay.” She offers a small, appreciative smile. “Grace means the world to me, so I genuinely appreciate it. Thank you.”
There’s an unexpected vulnerability in her voice now that’s disturbingly disarming.
I clear my throat brusquely. “Come on, let me take you to lunch. A temporary cease-fire,” I hear myself say. “Before your stomach starts snarling again.”
But she’s biting that lip, hesitating. “Thanks, though I better not. I’ll find my own way, but I’ll see you tomorrow for the couple’s photoshoot with Willow. Don’t forget it.”
Her refusal hits an indignant note somewhere, plucking a nerve. An uncomfortable blend bubbles up inside me. Annoyance. Wounded ego? Affronted pride?
Rejection isn’t something I’m used to dealing with. Lexi Sullivan turning me down twice? That doesn’t sit right with me, not one bit.
EIGHTEEN
Lexi
“She’s late,” Connor snaps, eyes narrowing as his jaw clenches. “You think I have nothing better to do?”
I plaster on a strained smile as he resumes his aggravated pacing, finding it a bit rich considering he’s perpetually late himself—at least for me. But pointing that out now would be like tossing gasoline on a bonfire.
“I’m sure Willow’s just caught up. She’ll be here.” I hit redial on Willow’s number for what feels like the hundredth time. No answer.
Willow and Connor’s romantic photo shoot was supposed to kick off thirty minutes ago. We’re all set up in a picturesque, secluded—well, as secluded as you can get in New York—spot by the Hudson River, ready to capture their “epic love.” To immortalize their undying passion for the glossy magazine pages.
Yet, the star of the show is MIA, and Connor, usually the king of lateness, is uncharacteristically on time and not handling the role reversal well. I suspect that when other people are counting on him, he’s punctual.
Jacob, our photographer, throws me looks that screamDo somethingas Connor’s irritation fills the air, his glare practically burning holes in the both of us.
“If she’s not here in sixty seconds, I’m out. This charade can go on without me.” He exhales forcefully, checking his ostentatious watch in a deliberate gesture before stalking several feet away.
I wonder who pissed in his protein shake today.
I’m not thrilled about this situation either. I rushed all the way here from visiting Mom at Sunnyhell just to make sure everything was perfect. Now I’m wondering if it would’ve been better to bring a cardboard cutout of Willow instead of relying on the unpredictable real thing.
Finally, a sleek black SUV with ominously tinted windows pulls up. The driver hops out and hurries around to open the rear passenger door.
Cue the grand entrance.
First a spindly heel pokes out of the SUV. It’s attached to a leg that seems to have borrowed extra length from a baby giraffe.
