I try to keep the bitterness from seeping into that last part.
He leans in, voice pitched low. “Oh, I’m enjoying myself thoroughly. All this gazing and hand-feeding for the cameras before I have my way with Miss USA in the coat check later . . .”
My eyes blow wide in shock.
Connor chuckles.
“Just messing with you, Lexi.” He winks and saunters off, leaving me standing there, my face burning. The nerve of him.
I let out a long breath, watching him return to Willow. Screw professionalism, I can’t cope with much more of these verbal spars without losing my head completely.
I lean against the bar, needing support. “Hit me with another one,” I tell the bartender.
“Damn,” Kayla says, exhaling. “That dress with the zipper definitely did the trick. He looked like he wanted to rip it right off your body with his teeth.”
???
Connor and Willow’s choreographed date from hell drags on for hours. I’ve done my part, but it seems like Captain Ego’s enjoying keeping me here as his own personal entertainment.
Enough’s enough. I stand to go to the restrooms, then decide to hell with it—I’m bailing.
I spot Willow sans her obnoxious other half and stride over. “Heya, do you know where Connor is?”
Willow smiles thinly at me, obviously still salty about the whole wardrobe malfunction. “He went to take a call that way.” She fidgets with her diamond bracelet. “And did you manage to snap some pics of me hand-feeding Connor earlier?” she asks excitedly. “It was such a cute moment between us.”
I’m doing my best not to let my eyes roll out of my head. “Yep, we caught that adorable moment,” I say, trying not to choke on my words.
Willow peers at me, slight panic in her eyes. “You didn’t actually catch me eating in any of those shots, did you?”
Oh, for god’s sake.
“You looked amazing, as always. Now, excuse me, I need to have a quick word with Connor.”
As I head toward the restrooms, I overhear Connor’s unmistakable velvety voice just around the corner, freezing me in my tracks. “Lexi’s team is handling this PR shitstorm, yeah.”
My ears instantly perk up, pulse fluttering nervously.
“Vallure PR is a joke company.” His voice drips with so much contempt I actually flinch. “They’re like the dollar store of PR firms. Perfect for those ‘It girls’ slinging fake designer gear who need someone to clean up their mess.”
I bristle instinctively, stung. Sure, Vallure isn’t the top PR firm in town, but hearing it said so brutally is a gut punch. Just once, I’d like to be part of a firm that gets real respect, not just sneers. I’m sick of feeling that sting of embarrassment every time I hand out my business card.
“I know them. Vicky and I run in the same circles.” Mason’s casual tone holds a hint of amusement from around the corner. “She’s a handful. Your PR girl tonight, Lexi, she seems all right.”
A knot of unease twists in my belly. Please don’t say anything demeaning, Connor.
“Her? Wouldn’t waste your time, man. She’s probably already eyeing your black AmEx and loosening that dress zipper on cue.”
His ugly words land like an open-palmed slap. So, after everything, Connor still sees me as nothing more than a gold-digger? That’s his takeaway from our interactions?
Pain and outrage flood me. I pivot back toward the bar, blinking furious tears, refusing to shed them over this jerk. For a second, I want to go full-onBraveheartand let out a primal scream of rage.
So I’m just a walking punchline to him.Ajoke PR girl, from a joke firm, who jokes her way into men’s wallets.
I glance down at my cheap pleather dress and even cheaper shoes and fly past Willow who looks like Blake freaking Lively, except with bigger boobs. Blond, beautiful, sophisticated Willow who seems to embody everything I lack.
Fine, I’ll give Connor his glossy, airbrushed photos of him and Willow, looking like Ken and Barbie if they were less plastic and more cunning—it’s my job after all. But after tonight? He can take his millions and his smug grins and cruel assumptions and shove them right up his—
“Kayla, get your coat,” I say, charging toward her as fast as the zipper dress will let me.
