Page 91 of Empire State Enemies

Lexi’s smile is strained to snapping point. “Just didn’t think it was relevant.”

I raise my glass, a sly grin playing on my lips. “Ah, Gigi. We were quite the item back in the day. Hot and intense, until she ditched me for that loser . . .” I snap my fingers, pretending to rack my brain. “Damn, what was that fool’s name again? You remember, don’t you, Lexi?”

She looks at me weird. “Mike?”

“Nah,” I draw it out, “Oh, that’s right. Wait, I remember now. Deano.”

The instant the name leaves my lips, Lexi goes rigid, eyes wide with dawning horror.

Bullseye.

“Deano Johnson, right?” I keep on, twisting the knife a little more. “Tore me up, watching her run off with that no-good. But you remember Deano real well, don’t you, Lexi?”

The look on her face is fucking priceless. Like I lit her hair on fire then handed her a mirror to watch herself burn. Never seen anything quite like it.

For a split second I almost feel a twinge of remorse.

Almost.

Maybe I played my hand too soon, without concrete proof to back it up. The strategic move would have been to bide my time, gather more evidence.

But the chance to see her squirm was too tempting to pass up.

And now, I have all the intel I need.

Lexi stands paralyzed. Those hypnotic eyes blink rapidly, her usually quick comebacks nowhere to be found.

Check and mate, angel.

I study her, my pulse quickening. There it is, the confirmation I’ve been chasing, laid bare before me in flushed cheeks and expressive eyes.

Yet I’m not quite sure how to feel about this damning revelation.

A part of me relishes finally catching my little hustler red-handed. But there’s this unexpected, unwelcome twinge of . . . what? Concern? Protectiveness? It’s a vexing sensation, especially when it’s directed at her.

“This shrimp . . . not sitting right,” she mutters, her complexion drained of all color. “Excuse me.” Her entire demeanor is on the verge of collapse. She looks dangerously close to retching on her shoes. “I just need to . . . restroom.”

As she makes a beeline for the exit, her friend calls, “You need someone with you?”

“No!” Lexi snaps.

I watch her dash off, a mix of irritation and something else brewing inside me. Something that’s really grinding my gears.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, shouldering my way through the crowd, hot on her heels.

“Lexi,” I shout, but she’s already dodging toward the elevator, pretending she doesn’t hear me.

I make it just in time to jam my foot in the closing doors. “Hold up,” I demand, my stare clearing the elevator. “Everybody out. Now.”

They don’t need to be told twice.

Lexi tries to slip past me, but I block her way with my arm. “I said wait.”

She refuses to meet my gaze, and I notice the telltale shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. My annoyance flares—she doesn’t get to play the victim card here, just because she’s been caught.

But then a single tear escapes, rolling down her cheek, and something in my chest constricts painfully. Dammit, this isn’t part of the plan.

She shrinks back against the wall, every muscle coiled tight, body tensed for fight or flight.