Page 101 of Empire State Enemies

His jaw tightens, muscles working overtime. “Yes,” he says, almost snarling, “I’ve found her.” He rubs his stubble, clearly wishing he were anywhere but here.

Oh god. Every time I look at him, all I can think about is sex. And Ihateit.

Remembering his grunts and moans, the look of ecstasy on his face when he comes. The feel of that big, hard cock—all wrapped up in his fancy suit now—driving me wild with each and every thrust. How those muscular thighs felt. The feel of his taut back muscles as I ran my hands over them.

I snap myself out of my dirty thoughts with a mental slap. He’s not worth it.

“We’re all absolutely enchanted by this fairy-tale romance,” she gushes. “But let’s get real, shall we? There are some not-so-pleasant whispers going around that this whole love story is just a PR stunt after the, hmm, incident. Care to comment on those rumors?”

My grip on my coffee cup tightens, the temptation to hurl it at the stage real.

Connor looks like he’s on the verge of storming off the set. “Rumors are just that—rumors.”

My chest constricts. Come on, Connor. You’ve been media trained. Stop acting like a sulking teenager.

He’s meant to be charming, not brooding. Is he trying to tank the interview on purpose?

Lucia, unfazed by his moodiness, leans in even closer. “Tell us, is Willow your one true love?”

He scowls. “Could you repeat that?”

Is this his attempt at humor?

She laughs it off. “You said in a previous interview that you thought the concept of soulmates was ridiculous. How about now? Is Willow your forever girl?”

Cue the most cringeworthy silence in television history. Connor looks like he’s in a mental tug-of-war. What the hell is he waiting for, phone a friend?

Beside him, Willow squeezes his hand and forces a tight smile. This isn’t exactly Connor’s finest hour.

“Willow is one of a kind. Her charity work has left us all in awe. But I don’t believe in ‘soulmates.’ If we all had just one perfect match, humanity wouldn’t stand a chance,” Connor states.

Willow and Lucia respond with laughter, but Willow’s eyes screamWrong answer, buddy.

“So, what’s in store for the lovebirds? Any wedding bells on the horizon?”

He just stares at her blankly, the silence stretching uncomfortably.

“Umm,” Willow stammers, shooting Connor a look that could easily set the set on fire, though her smile stays mannequin-frozen.

Connor’s brow furrows. “Run that by me again?” he asks slowly, confusion and irritation evident in his tone.

This is getting awkward. My heart beats faster.

“Is he high?” someone mutters behind me.

Lucia obliges with her trademark broad smile, over-enunciating like she’s talking to a child.

Connor’s face shifts to anger, his grip on the chair arms so tight that I can see every tendon and vein. He looks like he’s in agony, or maybe just grappling with the idea of a future filled with wedding planning and honeymoon destinations. This image of domestic bliss that the public expects from him now.

I hold my breath, watching him. Something is definitely off—he’s been unusually moody and volatile, even for him.

“Let’s move on,” he says tensely, his body rigid.

The studio’s atmosphere thickens with unease, everyone exchanging perplexed looks at Connor’s unexpected reaction. This is definitely not following the script.

“Oh, we’re just enjoying living in the moment,” Willow says with a nervous laugh, attempting to gloss over the awkwardness.

“Let’s talk about that rock weighing down your neck, Willow,” Lucia smoothly transitions, her smile aimed at a camera. “Can I get a ‘wow’ for that diamond?”