It’s ironic. A few weeks ago, this was the ideal scenario—get her admission of theft, use her, then discard her.
But now, as I slump against my desk, I feel nothing but emptiness.
???
After what feels like an endless dizzy spell, I finally pull my shit together and go looking for Lexi. But turns out she already stormed off on me. Great.
I call her number. No answer. I try again. And again. And yet again.
By the eighth unanswered ring, the reality sinks in that she has zero intention of picking up.
I really crossed the line this time, pissed her off to a point that feels irreparable. I’m not sure if we can come back from the damage this time around.
TWENTY-SIX
Lexi
Enough. No more getting pushed around. I’m done being everyone’s punching bag. No more Miss Nice Girl.
Having sex with Connor was a special kind of mistake, a monumental screw-up in my otherwise bland existence of professionalism. Even though it was frustratingly incredible.
What was I thinking? Oh wait, I wasn’t. I was too busy letting my lust bulldoze over every rational thought. Willow, the campaign, my career . . . all casualties in the great hormone war.
I don’t know if I’m more disgusted with Connor or myself. Bravo, Connor, you really outdid yourself by showing me the door post-coitus. Chivalry’s not dead.
“Hey, slow down, sweetie!” Mom’s voice cuts through. “I haven’t gotten a chest upgrade since you last saw me.”
I whip around, realizing I’ve left Mom and Gracie in my dust. My bad. I usually dial it down to a snail’s pace to stick with Mom. But now I’m trying to speed walk my way to better life decisions, it seems.
We’re walking through Sunnyhell Gardens in the beautiful New York sunshine. Too bad I’m still too busy riding the fury from the showdown with Connor last night to smell the roses.
“Oops, sorry, Mom.”
“You’re looking kind of pale,” Mom observes, her brow creased with worry as she pushes her walker. “Are you working too hard?”
“Just a crappy night’s sleep,” I deflect with a shrug. Hope she lets it go.
“Looks more like a hangover to me!” Grace snorts. “She was out partying.”
“Just mingling with some clients,” I smooth over, picking the least scandalous part of the night.
No way I’m diving into what’s actually bringing me out in rage hives. After the disastrous romp with Connor, I had to follow through on my promise to Kayla for that dreaded double date. My date Brad was a smokeshow, sure, but my turbulent emotional state made it impossible to be present. We had drinks and I managed to smile through it, wondering if they could smell Connor on me.
“Well isn’t that lovely you’re getting out there and mingling,” Mom gushes, completely oblivious. “What did you get up to?”
“She was at Quinn and Wolfe,” Grace jumps in before I can sidestep the question. “You know, the one with those iconic spiky towers?”
Mom looks pleased. “Sounds swanky.”
“And guess who her client is? Connor Quinn—one of the actual brothers,” Grace blurts out, barely containing herself.
I just grunt, studying the pavement as if it holds the secret to life.
“And getthis! He passed my CV to his tech team,” she squeals. “I’m this close to snagging an internship there.”
“Grace, cool it. It’s a long shot,” I urge, trying to inject a dose of reality into her dream world. She’s been harping on this internship fantasy for days, and it’s got to stop, especially with the way things went down last night.
“Hey, I met the top dog himself. I think my chances are solid,” Grace counters, all sunshine and positivity.
