Page 100 of Empire State Enemies

Shake it off.

Still facing his shoulder, because apparently I’m not worthy of eye contact, I try again, attempting to be the bigger person. Metaphorically, at least. “You look tired. Everything okay?” My tone’s casual, but the annoyance is there, just under the surface.

He might as well be alone in the room for all the attention he gives me. He scans the set looking thoroughly pissed. Not even a sideways glance in my direction. It’s as if I no longer exist in his world.

I crank up the volume. “Connor?” I bark out, frustration edging into my voice.

Without a glance in my direction, he turns to Mason, his expression taut with annoyance. “How long is this gonna take?”

Embarrassment washes over me, cheeks burning. Mason shoots me a sympathetic look, clearly thrown off by Connor’s cold dismissal. “Uh, Lexi was actually talking to you, man.”

Finally, Connor deigns to acknowledge me, his gaze sharp as if seeing me for the first time. “Yeah? What’s up, Lexi?”

“Nothing,” I snap, seeing red. Unbelievable. I hope his dick falls off.

A production assistant waves a sign—ten minutes to go.

“Connor, we need you on set,” Mason says. The two walk away, leaving me standing there alone. My cheeks blaze as I imagine the whole studio watching him flat-out ignore me.

I watch him saunter toward the set, memories of that night flooding back. God, I gripped those broad shoulders so hard. I hope I left permanent bruises.

It was proper no-holds-barred animal-style fucking, consequences be damned. And now I can’t get the images out of my head. How can he act so casual and indifferent today afterthat?

Because that’s just an average Friday night for the jerk, the nagging voice in my head sneers. Probably a dull one at that. His office desk must be worn from all the action it’s seen.

I bristle and pretend to focus on my notes on the pad.

Willow glides out, her squad in tow, all mic’d up and camera-ready. She gives me a little wave, and I reluctantly wave back, feeling even more disgusted with myself.

Connor, on the other hand, drops into his chair like he’s on death row and it’s his time, all grim face and gritted teeth. He’s clearly in a foul mood about something.

“Connor, Willow, welcome,” purrs Lucia, the host, in her signature sweet voice.

I’m only half–tuned in as she hammers Willow with questions about her charity work and, of course, her wardrobe. Willow’s all smiles, in her element.

And honestly, credit where it’s due—the woman’s done some incredible stuff, supporting education for women in conflict zones, volunteering her time to various causes. Kudos to Willow.

Compare that to me and my work with the D-list celebs. If I had some extra cash right now, I’d love to sponsor someone in her charity. Maybe someday.

As Willow gushes about her charity work, irritation prickles under my skin. Something’s shifted in Connor. They’ve got this connection—a shared drive for making a difference in education. It’s their common ground. His eyes stay fixed on her, like he’s discovering a whole new side of her. If they weren’t fucking before, they certainly will be now.

The dream team. How heartwarming.

Keep it together, Lexi. Focus on the job.

Connor knows about the car hustle but isn’t pressing charges. And with the campaign ending, I’ll never see him again anyway.

I should be feeling relieved. Ecstatic, even.

I guess I am. Sort of.

Lucia turns to Connor, eyes glinting. “New York’s most eligible bachelor taken off the market. Connor, you’ve been the city’s leading ladies’ man for what feels like forever. So, what made you switch to a one-woman man?”

I feel a weird twist in my gut. Of relief. Definitely, definitely relief.

Connor looks like he’s just bitten into a lemon. “Hadn’t met the right one.”

“So, you’ve found her? The elusive Miss Right?”