Page 43 of Manhattan State of Mind

I meet Wolfe’s gaze through his window. Helen’s gone. Wolfe’s pacing like a caged animal, phone in hand. But his eyes? Glued to me. Not quite a smile, more an intenseI’m watching you.

Christ, what do I do?

Andy did say networking was key. I lift a hand, giving Wolfe a friendly wave and my most casual “How’s it going, boss!” face.

“Lucy, what on earth are you doing?” Taylor’s voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin. She’s approaching to her desk, arms laden with a mountain of paperwork. “Stop waving at Mr. Wolfe like you’re in a parade.”

“He was staring right at me!”

She gives me an incredulous look. “He’sobviouslylooking at the stats board behind you, genius.”

“Oh.” I glance over my shoulder at the board showing our progress. Well, shit. That makes more sense. My face burns.

“Remember your last run-in with Mr. Wolfe? We thought you were going to get fired.”

I gape at her, freaked. “Nooo. Memory loss, remember?”

She rolls her eyes, heaving a sigh. “Just… stay clear of him, okay?”

Goosebumps spread over my skin. If I can’t remember, it didn’t happen. Right?

TWELVE

JP

I look at Lucy through the glass wall of my office. She’s eyeing me like I’m some kind of psychopath. Probably because I’ve been staring at her. I haven’t spoken to her all day, not since our little chat after the meeting yesterday.

If there’s a God, they have a sick sense of humor. What’s the lesson here, pal? That I don’t get to be happy?

In the weeks leading up to Lucy’s accident, I’d been walking the razor-thin edge of redemption, trying to scrub clean the stains of my past. All my attempts to be a better man. Yet, now, it all seems in vain.

I spot Killian striding toward my office.

These past few days he’s attempted to be nice, in his own twisted way. Maybe it’s the influence of Clodagh, his new flame. Maybe love is finally softening that stony heart of his, making him friendly.

Friends. Buddies. Are those terms I can use for Killian and Connor?

We have a mutual understanding, a well-oiled machine when it comes to business. We built this billion-dollar empire together, each of us with our designated roles. I handle the nightlife and casinos, while the Quinn brothers spearhead the hotel chains.

They know enough of my dirty laundry to hang me out to dry if they ever decide to turn their backs.

But would Killian prioritize my well-being, my desires, over the company’s bottom line? Would Connor risk his stocks plummeting to save my ass from a public scandal?

I’ve never had to test the theory.

Until recently, I echoed their sentiment. A few months back, the company was all that mattered. My identity. My purpose.

I never considered putting in the effort to make friends. Who needs to chase friends when you’re the biggest whale in the sea?

The magic of a two-billion-dollar bank account is that it works like a fucking magnet. It pulls people in, bends them to your will. I never had to bend over backward to please anyone.

But staring at Lucy now, I understand the emptiness of that power.

Killian barges into my office without waiting for an invitation, just like his entitlement always allows.

“Killian,” I acknowledge.

His eyebrows arch as he pulls out an unmarked envelope, tossing it onto my desk. “I’m going to cut you some slack given your circumstances, but this”—he gestures toward the envelope—“this needs to be fixed. Now.”