Page 71 of Empire State Enemies

I give the letter one last read-through. Trying to predict Connor’s reaction is like trying to stick Jell-O to a wall.

I’d like to sincerely apologize for my reckless behavior recently. I allowed myself to get swept up in the moment . . .

blah blah blah

Willow handled the situation with complete grace and class. She is an amazing woman who brings out the best in me. I’m truly grateful to have her in my life. Our relationship is still new and finding its footing. We kindly ask the press to respect our privacy during this time. We both value the special connection we’re building together.

This experience has been a wake-up call for me to grow and better myself. Willow inspires me to become the man I want to be,

More blah.

We appreciate the public’s understanding and support moving forward.

Final blah.

So much bullshit blah. I hit send before tossing off my glasses with a groan. What I really ought to publicize is more like:

“Dear America, please accept my sincere apologies for acting like a straight-up dog at the event. Had one too many fizzy drinks and my cock did the thinking for me. The end.”

Something along those lines anyway.

“You gonna send my resume toConnor?” Grace pipes up.

She loves that she’s on first name terms.

I sigh. “I’ll get to it tomorrow, okay?” At her fallen face, I gently add, “Don’t get your hopes up too high. He may have just been mouthing off with that offer.”

Never mind Grace’s resume. I’ve been busting my ass sending out my own, trying to secure a salary hike. I’ve got some interviews lined up but nothing’s concrete yet, while that looming installment bomb ticks ever closer, fraying my last nerves.

I close the pyramid scheme tab giving me false hope. Desperation drives people to illogical shit, as I discovered after falling down an MLM rabbit hole.

“Want to earn thousands extra a month?”

Yes, I do, Scammer! Tell me more!

The only feasible option so far was a niche squishing fetish site. Crushing tiny toy cars for quick cash and I wouldn’t even have to show my face. Tempting. Might have to revisit that idea.

I shut down all the job sites tabs on my laptop—the ones with legit PR job listings, and the ones where I fantasize about being a psychologist. A girl’s allowed her dreams.

Then my phone lights up with an unknown number. I answer with a hesitant “Hello?”

“That message you crafted is rather emotionally charged,” comes Connor’s unmistakable voice.

Instantly, I’m on edge, heart racing. Speak of the arrogant devil. He must’ve got my number from my email or that damn background check.

“We’re aiming for ‘madly in love’ here. The message fits,” I fire back, trying to sound unfazed that he’s calling me at home.

Connor lets out a sigh that I can practically see turning his frustratingly handsome face into a frown. “Please tell me we’re fucking done for now.”

I slip into my bedroom for privacy. “Not yet. You’ve got that big, lovey-dovey public date with Willow next. When can you make that happen?”

In the background, there’s a burst of female yelling, and my heart does a quick panic dance. He’s not supposed to have women over during this campaign. Unless it’s Willow?

“Who’s that?” I rush out, way sharper than intended.

Another female voice chimes in, rocketing my stress levels through the roof.

He chuckles. “Relax, it’s just my niece and her pal. They’ve commandeered my home theater for aFortnitemarathon.”