Page 66 of Empire State Enemies

Jacob “subtly” takes advantage of the moment to cop a lusty feel of Connor’s imposing bicep, pretending to fix his shirt. I bite my lip to stifle a laugh at Connor’s warning snarl.

Jacob’s camera clicks away frantically as he nudges them closer—Connor’s arms wrapping more snugly around Willow’s striking figure, her chin gently tilted for the perfect angle, her thigh pressed intimately against Connor’s.

They look unfairly hot together, two annoyingly beautiful people. Connor is dressed even sharper than usual in a tailored vest that clings to his muscles in a way that should be illegal. Yeah, he’s looking devastatingly hot, and I’m not thrilled about admitting that—even in the privacy of my own head.

Is this effort all for Willow’s benefit?

Apparently, Willow and I aren’t the only ones doing a double-take. Female joggers running along the river are now inventing reasons to stop—suddenly afflicted by phantom stitches or mysteriously unlaced shoes. Can’t blame them really.

Connor catches on to the sudden interest, and if anything, that sulky, broody scowl deepens further.

Willow leans back, head on his heart, hair cascading everywhere, pushing her breasts up like they’re vying for a spot in the skyline. Any man with even a hint of a pulse would need to rearrange his slacks.

Connor meanwhile stays iceman statuesque.

Willow presses her rear suggestively against Connor’s groin. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t pull back.

A flash of irritation hits as I watch Willow play supermodel. Okay, so she’s hit a rough patch with the whole audio leak fiasco, but let’s be real—life’s handed her a pretty good deck. Born with a silver spoon and supermodel genes, while the rest of us mere mortals are trying not to faceplant on our way to work.

And hereIam, sweating in my Target shirt after sprinting like a madwoman to get here.

I bury my cattiness quick.

Jealousy is not a good look on you, Lexi Sullivan.

It’s not her fault she’s an heiress with legs for days while I look like I get dressed eyes closed. And she’s the client—I’m here to do a job, not envy her lavish lifestyle.

“Smile, Mr. Quinn!” Jacob yells.

Connor grimaces like he’s passing a kidney stone.

“No, no, no, this won’t work!” Jacob laments dramatically. “Mr. Quinn, you’ve got to loosen up! I’m looking for the radiance, the fire of a man deeply, passionately in love!”

“I am loose,” Connor grinds out, looking anything but.

Willow writhes against him. Connor’s hands clamp her waist to stop her overeager undulating. Jesus, is she trying to get him hard right here?

“No, no, no!” Jacob pulls at his hair tragically. “Mr. Quinn, you’re holding her like she’s your little sister! Where’s the passion? The hunger?”

He manhandles Connor’s tense hand onto Willow’s waist. “Forget I’m here! Touch her like you’re alone and just got out of prison!”

Connor’s eye twitches. His stony expression isn’t cracking.

“Give me intimacy! Passion!” Jacob gesticulates wildly, snapping with the camera.

My stomach twists with anxiety. I need these shots to turn out right for the project’s sake, yet part of me wishes we could just get this torturous shoot over with before I claw my eyes out. I feel weird watching the “lovebirds.” That’s the only way I can describe it. I feeloff.Probably because of all the drama with Connor. I mean, how am I expected to relax around the man?

Willow lets out this huge sigh, leaning into Connor like she’s trying to become one with him.

I quickly turn my gaze elsewhere, pretending to be utterly fascinated by Jacob’s artistic process, which mostly consists of him snapping pictures and cursing.

The whole scene drags on for what feels like an eternity. Jacob is moaning and wailing with his hand on his head while pleading with Connor to “give me passion!”

Connor moves stiffly, like rigor mortis set in and no one told him. In his defense I think he is actually trying, through what looks like immense internal pain. He might have the chiseled looks, but his modeling skills are giving off strong “CPR dummy” energy.

Yeah, he looks like an older version of that hot felon, but his stiff moves aren’t about to land him any modeling gigs. Which is really weird because anytime I’ve seen him in interviews or in photos with attractive women, he’s all grins, practically dripping with charm.

I bite down hard on my cheek trying not to crack up.