Page 36 of Empire State Enemies

Connor’s handsome face remains carved in hard, unforgiving lines.

I keep my eyes glued to my laptop, pretending to work but really just hitting random keys.

Get through this now. Panic later.

Brooke concludes her pitch. “Then, we strategically rehabilitate both your images—spotlight your leadership, philanthropy . . .” As she talks, the details swim out of focus.

Connor responds with yet another one of his signature grunts as Brooke finishes.

“And you.” He pins me with a look so intense it feels like a physical force. “What’s your take, Linda?”

I choke on thin air. Who the fuck is Linda? Do we have a Linda? “Uh, it’s Lexi. And I agree with Brooke’s strategy, Mr. Quinn.”

“Lexi. Right.” His tone oozes disgust. “No original thoughts in that head of yours then? Just gonna nod along?”

Before I can respond, Vicky interjects. “Brooke and I will handle the strategy. Lexi is one of our junior team members.”

But Connor’s not having it. “You included her in this meeting. I want to hear her perspective. Let’s have it then—how would you fix up this PR mess?”

Vicky pales at his abrasiveness, but nods for me to speak up. I swallow down my nerves. What’s his game here?

I’m about to parrot Brooke’s scripted apology-plus-donations tactic when defiance grips me. Maybe it’s the steel in Connor’s glare, like he’s daring me to challenge him.

I shut my laptop and clasp my hands together, trying to project calm.

“Sure, throwing money at the problem might help optics,” I say evenly. “But people see through publicity stunts these days. We need a game plan that’s more about rewriting the story than just hiding the messy parts.”

With a fake smile, I float my next idea to the group. “Now, we all know Connor’s got this . . . reputation. Why not use that to our advantage?”

Vicky gasps, looking ready to pass out. But Connor silences her, laser-focused on me. I feel sweat pooling in my pits, but I keep my chin raised.

“Let’s leverage the extremes of their public images,” I say, smiling at Willow. “The public sees you as a wholesome role model—Harvard grad, Miss America, human rights advocate. A paragon of virtue.”

“Now I’m a bad meme,” Willow whimpers.

I smile sympathetically at Willow while ignoring Connor’s death glare. “But tabloids paint Connor in a . . . less flattering light.”

I don’t dare look at Vicky.

“And how exactly am I painted?” Connor asks, his tone dangerously soft, like velvet wrapped around a knife.

I force an innocent expression even as my knees shake under the table. What am I doing, poking the beast?

“Well, the media loves spinning stories of your champagne-fueled hot tub orgies and revolving door of lingerie models,” I say breezily. “The tabloids speculating about your threesomes probably gets you more press than yourForbesachievements. Terrible rumors, of course.”

Loaded silence follows. Even the suits fight grins. Vicky looks one shade shy of a stroke.

Connor’s face remains stone, but his jaw feathers.

Brooke tries to jump in, “Maybe we should—”

“No, I want to hear this plan,” Connor sneers. “Tell me,Lexi. I’m on the edge of my seat here.”

Refusing to squirm, I continue. “We put a spin on it. Play up the angle of Willow, the symbol of morality, transforming the notorious playboy Connor into a reformed man.” I even spread my hands as if envisioning the headline. “Through love.”

“It could work,” Willow chimes in bubbly agreement. At least someone appreciates my creativity, even if it involves whoring out her love life.

“How?” her father bellows.