Page 67 of Empire State Enemies

Connor narrows his eyes. “Something funny?”

“Nope, nothing at all,” I reply innocently. Christ. I didn’t even know he was paying attention to me.

“Connor, come on!” Willow explodes, losing her patience. “This needs to be perfect.”

Mid-tirade, she lets out a sneeze—this delicate, pixie-like sneeze that appears to rock her entire existence. Her eyes bulge like she’s been shot.

“Oh my god!” she shrieks, patting her face as though it’s on fire. “Do I look okay? Be honest with me!”

I can’t help but think, if a sneeze gets her this riled up, seeing her react to a fart would be something else.

“You look flawless as always, Willow,” I say smoothly, hoping to avoid a meltdown. “No issues whatsoever.”

She’s having none of it. “No. I need my team to check me.”

Cue the entourage descending like a NASCAR pit crew to triage this code red situation. They blot her already immaculate complexion and slather on more products.

Connor looks like he’s about to blow a fuse as the shoot screeches to another halt.

Jacob shoots me a desperate look. “Lexi, this isn’t working. Talk to him. I need fire! He’s giving me nothing. He’s as emotive as a pile of bricks.”

I let out a heavy sigh and head over to Connor. “A little enthusiasm wouldn’t kill you,” I suggest with a light tone.

Connor’s reply is a low grumble. “Don’t test me, Lexi. I’m here, aren’t I? If that photographer lays one more finger on me, his camera’s going for a swim.”

“I know you’re not big on taking orders, especially from me, but please—”

“I don’t take orders from anyone.”

I clamp down on my rising frustration. “Right, I get it. First rule of the Billionaire’s Playbook, answer to no one,” I toss back, trying to lighten the mood and maybe crack that tough exterior of his.

His lips twitch, a hint of amusement breaking through.

“Look, the faster he nails these photos, the faster we can hit the road. How about trying not to look like you’re scheming someone’s downfall? Preferably not the photographer’s or, heaven forbid, mine.”

“I’m pretending just fine,” Connor snaps. “Guy says smile, I smile. What’s he expecting, a Broadway performance?”

I can’t suppress a laugh. “Baring your teeth isn’t smiling, Connor. Where’s that famous charm of yours?”

He narrows his eyes. “It died along with my patience about an hour ago.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Some people have to clean the subways. You get to cuddle with a supermodel. I bet you’re still making a small fortune standing here, with hotel guests checking in all over the country. What, a million bucks for a half hour of flashing those pearly whites?”

He arches a brow, amused. “Let’s not get carried away. Good thing you’re not in charge of payroll.”

Jacob’s shrill voice cuts in. “Lexi!”

I turn to see him violently snapping his fingers at me. “Stand in for Willow. I need to test the lighting and angles. Something’s off.”

I freeze. “Sorry, run that by me again?”

“Take Willow’s spot.” Jacob charges toward us.

I barely have a second to brace myself before he’s shoving me straight into Connor’s rock-hard chest.

The impact forces a gasp from my lips, my hands instinctively spreading over the hard, sculpted surface beneath my fingers. Connor’s response is immediate, a deep growl rumbling from his chest, vibrating against my palms.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snaps, glaring at Jacob.