“He’s not kidding,” I say, finally interjecting because watching Conner play with his food has always made me a little uncomfortable. “I don’t know what he’s doing here or how he’s involved in all this. All I know is that heis—and that means life as you know it is over. All you can do is exactly what he’s telling you.”
“You gotta crush on me, Mercer?” Conner gives me a wink before moving out of the doorway with a sigh. “Run along now,Alan. The grown-ups need to talk.”
Dividing another look between us, Allister looks like he wants to argue some more but common sense prevails. Muttering to himself, he pushes his way past Conner and out the door.
“You’ve got 72-hours, kitten,” Conner calls after him. “If you’re not in Reno by Monday, I’m comin’ for you.”
The only answer Allister gives him is the slam of my outer office door. Looking at me, Conner drops his arms away from his chest. “He’s gonna make me mad, isn’t he?”
“Probably,” I laugh, shaking my head. “A blow-up doll?”
“Yeah…” He winces. “It’s pretty gross. And sad. Don’t ask how I got it.”
“Wasn’t planning on it—I know better,” I assure him before letting my gaze wander across his shirt again. “Nice shirt, by the way.”
Looking down at it on his way across my office, Conner lifts his head to flash me his dimples. “Thanks.” Sitting in one of the vacant office chairs, he kicks his legs out in front of him. “Dec gave it to me for my birthday.”
Decis Declan Gilroy, Conner’s older brother. We used to run together when we were kids but that was before he got tangled up in the Irish mob. These days, the Gilroys are on the straight and narrow—for the most part. “Is he why you’re here?” Even as I ask it, I know that can’t be it. Declan and I were friends growing up—as much as someone can be friends with someone like him—but we haven’t talked in years. Not since Conner and Henley’s wedding nearly three years ago. “Did he ask you to get involved in this mess?”
Con gives me another grin. “Nope.”
Knowing better than to think I’m going to get anywhere with him head-on, I sit back in my seat and reroute my attack. “Okay…” Crossing my arms over my chest, I give him a resigned nod. “Preston Blackwell told me that he had the son-in-law of one of his good friends looking into who was behind sending those texts to his daughter,” I tell him. “A computer savvy young manwho was going to get to the bottom of this and expose me for the lying, manipulative gold-digger I am.”
Amused, Conner makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Is there a question in there somewhere?”
“Yeah.” Suddenly frustrated, I drop my arms and sit up. “What are you waiting for? It’s beenmonths, Con.”
“So?”
“So, I’d bet my left nut you had this little mystery sorted before I even made it back to New York.”
“Sweetheart…” Con says with a bland smile. “I had it sorted before the two of you evenleft.”
“Then why haven’t you told him?” I bark at him. “What are you waiting for? Just put me out of my fucking misery already.”
“I’m waiting for you, fuckface,” Conner barks back. “I’m waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and fix this thing with Millie.”
When Conner says her name, I jerk back like he took a swing at me. “I don’t understand.” Feeling like Allister, I shake my head because I’m suddenly confused. “How do you know Millie?”
“I don’t.” Conner gives me a blasé shrug before he stands. “And honestly I don’t give a shit about either one of you.” Leveling a finger at the slogan on his shirt, he gives me a shrug. “I’m just doing what I’m told—so if you want me to tell Preston Blackwell the truth, you’re going to have to at leasttryto make things right with his daughter.”
Just doing what he’s toldhas never been a Gilroy’s strong suit—least of all Conner’s. That means, whoever’s pulling his strings is important to him. Family—because family is the only thing Gilroys care about.
“There’s no making it right.” I look up at him. “I fucked it up. Millie is never going to listen to me. She’s never going to trust me. I’m always going to bethat guybecause she’s never going to let me be more than that.”
Something that looks very much like commiseration settles over Conner’s face. “Do you love her?”
“My feelings for Millie are irrelevant,” I tell him while fighting off the surge of resentment swelling in my gut.
“I assure you—” The serious expression holds. “they arevery muchrelevant. Do you love her?”
“Yes.” Even though I had no intention of answering him, I give him a nod. “I love her. I’ve loved her since the night I met her.”
In a flash, his grave expression disappears behind another one of his cheeky grins. “Patrick and Cari are throwing their fancy art party tonight, back home. You should come—I am fuckin’stunningin a tux. You don’t want to miss it.”
Reading the front of his shirt again I lift my gaze to meet his. “Is that an invitation or a directive?”
“You’re on the guest list,” he tells me, turning away from my desk without answering my question, on his way out the door. “See you there.”
