Page 48 of Empire State Enemies

As he knots his tie with unnecessary force, his gaze locked on me is so intense I half expect him to vault over the desk. I wonder if he’s imagining choking me out with it.

“It’s interesting how you’re looking at me so much in these shots. My team is using tech to decipher what you were reading on your phone that night. We’ll uncover the truth.”

Shit. I let out a fake scoff, ignoring my galloping pulse. “That’s a real violation of privacy you’ve got going on. I hope I wasn’t sexting anything too scandalous. Well, enjoy the read.”

Connor sizes me up with that signature icy stare of his, but there’s a brief twitch in his expression, so quick I almost miss it. “Does everyone look like they’re at a crime scene when they’re sexting? I know a guilty face when I see one. And those . . .” He glances at the pictures burning holes in my lap. “Those are the face of a hustler, plain as day. The footage is rather damning as well,Alexa.”

Call. His. Bluff. Don’t let him see you sweat.

He said they wereinteresting.Interesting doesn’t equalevidence.

Despite the intensity of his stare sending shivers down my spine, I hang on to my sass for dear life. And damn, despite everything, I can’t help but notice he’s got the longest, most beautiful eyelashes I’ve ever seen. Lashes a giraffe would envy. It’s not really fair given his ruthless personality.

Time to double down.

“Connor, they’re just pics of me unwinding at a bar,” I say evenly. “I’m pretty appalled you’d jump to absurd conclusions based on that. Is it really such a crime for a woman to enjoy a night out solo?” I force a breezy laugh. “You should hang some of these shots up. They’d give your macho office a bit of flair.”

I catch his jaw tightening, but I press on. “And it’s Lexi, not Alexa. I wouldn’t want your digital Alexa getting the wrongidea and ordering ‘How not to be a naughty rake’ during our meeting.”

He actuallygrowlsat that, a sound straight out of the wild.

Too far—I’ve crossed the line, no going back now.

I give him a defiant smile. “Now, is there anything else substantive you’d like to discuss, or can we get down to the real reason I’m here—your PR campaign?”

I’m the mouse roaring back at the lion.

“You’re on thin ice now,” he murmurs, his voice a dangerous purr. “Lexi . . .” The way he draws out my name as he leans closer, like it’s both a caress and a threat, makes me shiver.

Our volatile stare remains locked, the space between us thick with enough tension to choke on.

I’ll need a cold shower if I survive this.

Then, out of nowhere, Connor chuckles, a rough sound that slices through the tension. “All right then, impress me with this PR genius of yours,” he drawls.

I’m thrown off for a second, blinking in confusion. Wait, does this mean I’ve won this round?

I straighten up, trying to get my head back in the game. “Let’s dive into the proposal. The idea is sculpting a redemption arc for you—from playboy to devoted partner, with Willow as your inspiration for change.”

“Enlighten me,” he sneers. “How does a man like me ‘redeem’ himself exactly?”

I sigh, seeing this isn’t being taken seriously. “I’ll cut to the chase then. Step one: No more scandalous behavior. The rake is dead, you’re a changed man. Two: You’re now the poster child for Senator Madison’s political campaign. Three: You and Willow become this era’s great romance, maybe with you lingering wistfully outside engagement ring displays.”

He pulls a face like I force-fed him vinegar. “I intensely dislike all those options.”

“But you made a commitment to Willow,” I remind him. “You owe it to her to at least try.”

“Firstly, I don’t give a damn about the tabloids or public scrutiny of me. Spin my image however you want to shield Willow.” His voice hardens. “Second, I won’t blindly support any campaign. I disagree with most of his stances. And third—absolutely no engagement stunts. I don’t do rings. End of discussion.”

“But the public needs to buy into your transformation,” I push back.

He locks eyes with me, his expression ice-cold. “I’m not going to be the senator’s puppet, and you can forget any grand proposal schemes. Those are off-limits.”

“Got it. We’ll scrap those ideas.” Clenching my teeth, I throw out, “But if you’re serious about shedding your unsavory rep, how about we play up a struggle with sex addiction? You know, a stint in rehab, with Willow as the loyal lady waiting for a tearful reunion?”

Internally, I’m cursing Vicky for making me pitch this.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”