Page 129 of Empire State Enemies

I let my mind wander back through all the times Connor and I interacted.

Now when I look for them, I have lots of dots joining together.

I have to ask . . .

“That first night we met,” I begin, hesitantly. “At the hotel.”

He cuts in with a rough voice. “I’d just been to the doctor.”

I wince, guilt hitting me. “Right, so my little hustle was the perfect ending to your already shitty day. I really earned your wrath, didn’t I?”

Connor chuckles darkly. “Lexi, I didn’t care about the car. Not really. Yeah, you pissed me off. But my anger went deeper than that. I was grappling with a lot of mixed feelings about you that I couldn’t make sense of.”

He pauses, letting the words linger in the air between us. “Maybe I’m still trying to figure them out.”

“Oh,” I manage to say, feeling my heart rate pick up. This open version of Connor scares me more than ruthless Connor, because caring Connor has the power to hurt me deeper.

I know his diagnosis doesn’t excuse all his dick moves, like kicking me out of his office after we hooked up. We all have issues, but that’s no excuse for hurting others.

Yet this is new for him. I’ll extend some grace as he learns to handle it better.

His hand finds its way back to my leg, just resting there as if it’s the most natural spot in the world.

But I can feel the weight of it, hyperaware of his touch.

I have no idea where we stand but hearing him open up like this feels like a breakthrough. Like there’s something here beyond explosive fights and mind-blowing sex.

But I need self-preservation. I absolutely cannot afford to give Connor another opportunity to shatter my heart into pieces.

THIRTY-FIVE

Lexi

I’m standing in one of New York’s most expensive apartments. Fact. A few years back, Connor splurged an amount on this place that some countries earmark for their annual budget, grabbing headlines for the sheer cheek of it all.

Strolling down the hall, my chin’s basically dragging on the shiny floors. The place is the ultimate shrine to bachelorhood. It’s a deluxe man-cave aquarium, with skyscrapers peering in and helicopters doing nosy fly-bys outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The ceilings are insane. They’ve got to be three times the height of a normal apartment, with these massive, exposed beams that scream “urban oasis.”

My nerves kick up a notch as I take in the sharp designs, tech that’s probably too advanced for its own good, and artwork fitting for galleries, not someone’s home. The whole place reeks of rich guy testosterone.

“I can’t believe I let you inside Maison du Leak,” I groan, doing a little twirl in his swanky living room.

His brow cocks in amusement. “Maison du Leak?”

“My place. Sounds way classier in French, doesn’t it?”

“Got it. Though I’ll admit, my focus wasn’t really on the decor during my quick tour of your bedroom.” That twinkle of amusement is back in his eyes.

He seems more relaxed now, like he’s put his issues on the backburner for the moment. I can’t brush them aside so easily though. But I’m honoring his request from the car ride—to have a relaxing night. I’m letting it go for now, waiting for the right time.

Connor’s obviously struggling with his feelings about the diagnosis, stuck somewhere between denial and frustration. And from experience, forcing someone through those stages never goes well. Better to quietly do my homework and wait for the perfect moment to start chipping at his guard.

He watches me check out his living area, a smirk playing on his lips. “You know, you’re the first woman who’s ever kicked me out of her place.”

“Because nobody has the guts to say no to Connor Quinn?”

He lifts a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Sometimes a guy needs to be reminded of his place. Especially by certain fiery individuals.”