X
Hell no. I text back a firm no and chuck my phone back in my bag. All I’m craving is to collapse under my duvet.
Naturally, my phone rings straight after.
I cut Kayla off before she gets rolling. “Not happening, Kayla. I need a quiet, drama-free night.”
She powers through. “But you’re gonna love it! It’s one of those immersive movie experiences.”
I raise an eyebrow, though she can’t see it. “Immersive, as in, we’re part of the movie?”
“Exactly! I’ve been dying to try one. It’s supposed to be so cool.” I can practically hear the grin in her voice. “It might just distract you from a certain tycoon we’re not naming.”
I exhale, long and hard. Maybe getting lost in some fantasy world isn’t the worst idea. “Okay, what’s the movie?”
“I dunno yet,” she says down the line.
“If it’s some gruesome shit, I swear to God, Kayla . . .”
Her giggle trickles through the phone, yet she offers no reassurance. Hmmm. Maybe I’ll get lucky and score the part of the chick who dies in scene one.
My skin prickles as the energy subtly shifts in the room. I don’t even need to turn around to know the cause, to feel his presence.
In walks Connor, flanked by some blond assistant toting a clipboard. Just the sight of him is enough to reignite my inner volcano of rage.So much for being upbeat.
My heart trips over itself seeing him decked out in that exquisitely tailored suit.
The dark scruff peppering his hard jaw probably means he spent the entire weekend lost in some hedonistic binge, drowning himself in booze and women, not giving a damn about anything. Or anyone.
“I have to go,” I say quickly, hanging up.
His gaze sweeps the room, landing on me with a nod so brief it’s almost dismissive. Really? Now I don’t even warrant basic professional courtesy? He’s probably fuming I didn’t answer his calls on Friday.
I bite back a curse, irritation flaring. This guy has some nerve.
He heads straight for Mason, surrounded by a fan club of women. But I’m set on showing him I’m oh-so-unaffected, even if it’s the last thing I do.
I march up to them, clearing my throat loudly. “Hey there.”
“Lexi, great to see you,” Mason says, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and I can almost bet it’s because of Connor bad-mouthing me. He’s likely already checking his pockets to make sure I haven’t swiped his wallet.
“Lexi,” Connor grumbles, giving me the briefest look before dismissing me again.
“We’re on in fifteen,” I remind him, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “You’re late.”
Assistants bustle around us, the air charged with pre-interview tension.
Connor finally looks at me, annoyance clear in his tone. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”
No shit, Sherlock. What do you want, a gold star?
Mason chuckles. “Rough weekend, Connor?”
“Something like that.”
Ugh, what an ass.
Then his cologne hits me, throwing me straight back to Friday night, the scratch of stubble against my skin . . .
