Page 116 of Empire State Enemies

Now, we have no business crossing paths.

And that pisses me off more than it should.

I wasn’t lying when I said I enjoyed myself too. Making her come was the first time in days I could get out of my own head. Finally feel free for a moment. The only break from the endless worrying gnawing at me.

I scrap the email I’m halfheartedly banging out because I can’t focus worth a damn. I switch over to the bunch of photos Vallure sent over from that over-the-top couple’s photoshoot. I breeze past most of them but pause at the only candid shot that made it through.

It’s a picture of Lexi and me, my arms around her from behind. A mistake, not meant to be included. But there it is.

As much as you get under my skin, Lexi, you’re the only one who’s made me feel good these past few weeks.

Almost worth all the trouble.

Almost.

I close the photo, my finger lingering over the delete button.

Lexi

My phone buzzes right as I’m sorting through notes on my latest “high-profile client”—some Real Housewife from Ohio with a shoplifting scandal.

It’s Grace on the line. I take a deep breath and pick up, always half expecting it to be something about Mom’s health.

But no, she’s buzzing with excitement. “Lexi. You won’t believe this. Three seriously hot dudes just showed up saying Mr. Quinn sent them? To fix up our place? One looks like freaking Magic Mike!”

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. You’ve got to be kidding me. I shot down his charity offer, and now he sends a squad of muscled fixer-uppers to my place?

I don’t want his sympathy gestures. It’s been a full week since I gave him the boot, and the only thing tying us together—the campaign—is cruising along just fine with Brooke at the helm.

He didn’t bother to reach out, not that I had any delusions about it. Guys like him don’t grovel or mope. They just keep on living in their perfect little world, doors flying open wherever they go.

And honestly, I’m glad it’s playing out like this. It’s a break from being yanked around by his hot-and-cold antics.

Plus, Willow and Connor’s not-so-secret steamy audio mishap is old news now, overshadowed by some pop star deciding to reenact a wildlife documentary with his bandmate on live TV. Though Connor’s recent interview disaster did stir the gossip pot a bit more.

“Grace, listen. Send them away, okay?”

She makes a noise of extreme protest. “What? But they’re here to fix everything—the floor, the toilet, even that nightmare of a radiator.”

I breathe in, aiming for some zen-level calm. “No, Grace.”

“Lexi, our toilet’s still on the fritz. Can’t we get that fixed at least before we boot them? Magic Mike over there says it’s a quick fix. Imagine, a toilet that actually flushes!”

Damn. The thought of a fully functioning bathroom does have its appeal.

“All right, fine,” I sigh, already regretting this. “Fix the toilet. But that’s it, then they’re gone. And tell them thanks a ton.”

It’s not the repair guys’ fault they’re chess pieces in Mr. Deep Pockets’ game.

Grace’s voice drops conspiratorially. “Did we win some competition or something? This is nuts.”

“No, Grace, we didn’t win anything.”

Then she hits me with more news. “Oh, guess what, I got an interview with Quinn & Wolfe for that internship! How cool is that? Maybe our luck’s finally changing.”

I tense up. This isn’t our luck changing. We’re just pawns in Connor’s power play.

But how do I rain on her parade?