Yet another visceral flash I didn’t invite. I force the interloper from my mind, focusing on the woman in front of me.“Forced to attend as your father’s glamorous plus-one again?”She offers a wry smile, circling her olive in her glass. “Mother refused duty tonight. I drew the short straw.”“Then I guess I should be grateful for your ‘misfortune.’ You look stunning, as always.”She glances up at me with a hint of mischief. “You’re not too hard on the eyes yourself, Mr. Quinn. But I think you already know that.”“I clean up all right,” I reply, the corners of my mouth ticking up.“I know your game, Connor Quinn,” she says, a touch of challenge in her tone.My brow arches. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”“Playing nice with the senator’s daughter?”I let out a low chuckle. “I’m not sure the senator wants me playing with his only daughter.”Madison talks a big game about family values. The Madisons aren’t just a political clan; they’re a squeaky clean, all-American brand. Willow proudly flau
Vallure PR does crisis management for celebs caught pants-down in alleys, parks, and restrooms. We’re basically a PR firm for morons who never grasped zippers.There was the boyband member caught in a compromising position with an inflatable doll—that was “artistic exploration.”The family-friendly comedian snapped with a sex worker was just “discussing scripts.”The naked politician found ass-up in a fountain was “researching architecture.”Such is life.I carefully compose my features into polite interest as Vicky and Brooke volley tasks about rehabbing Gina’s rep. I jot down notes for the rest of the meeting, hoping to redeem myself after this morning’s lateness.Kayla discreetly clears her throat beside me.Vicky’s head whips around, eyes flashing. “Don’t interrupt.”Kayla’s eyes widen. “Oh, I wasn’t! Just had a little tickle in my throat.”Vicky’s face is frozen, but a muscle in her jaw ticks. “That’s nice. Any other bodily outbursts to share before we proceed?”“No,” Kayla says
I force my face into cool indifference, like I’m totally unfazed by this “news.” Which is ridiculous, since there’s no way anyone could guess what happened between me—Lexi Sullivan, lowly PR assistant—and Connor Quinn, billionaire playboy currently plastered across the CNN headlines.“I better get to work,” I murmur to no one in particular.TENLexiIt’s like popping a zit you know will crater yet lacking the willpower to stop.That sums up me, scrolling the blow-by-blow of Quinn’s steamy tryst with Miss America. Their R-rated convo leaked everywhere. Ninety percent too explicit without bleeps.This is blowing up exponentially. It’s like if Mother Teresa, or whoever the popular saint is these days, launched an OnlyFans. America’s sweetheart caught with billionaire playboy at a political gala with her senator dad there? Cha-ching, the hits keep coming.It doesn’t help that there’s photos of them too, looking cozy.And me, sadist that I am, just can’t look away. I make the conscious dec
Except for the girls in marketing who have been ogling me like I wandered through stark-ass nude just for them. At this rate, I should start charging for the show, considering how many flushed faces I’ve seen today.Does a single damn employee have actual revenue-generating work, or has today’s main event just become watching me react to the latest tabloid fodder?As I lock eyes with one of the accountants, her eyes widen like she’s seen the Candyman, not her boss. And there goes her giant Smartwater, spilling across the desk. Maybe HR needs to vet for steadier hands during interviews.I raise an eyebrow at her, and she dives for cover behind her screen.What a damn mess this morning’s turned into. I’ve had Killian in my ear for a solid hour ranting about “recklessness” and “reputation hemorrhaging.”Sure, the leaked audio mess is on me. The idiot behind it has been ID’d, and by the end of the day, they’re going to deeply regret ever crossing me.Stepping out onto the executive floor,
ELEVENLexiI stand paralyzed in the doorway, laptop clutched in my white-knuckled grip as I meet Connor’s equally stunned expression.His jaw is clenched, muscle twitching as he grapples for words, opening and closing his mouth in a silent yet terrifying snarl.He looks utterly mindfucked—a volatile mix of fury, disbelief, and god knows what else swirling across his unfairly handsome features.What the hell do I do?Keep staring him down?Make a run for it?In this split second, I realize there are only a few ways this could play out, and none look good for me:Scenario One—Clueless Quinn. He was too trashed to recall our tryst properly. Outcome: Bruised ego that he can’t remember my face and vagina, but no jail time. But judging by the flared nostrils and pulsing forehead vein, I’m ruling that one out.Scenario Two—Pissy Quinn. Remembers me and is resentful I bailed, but his car wasn’t part of a crime spree. Outcome: Could tank my job, but no criminal charges.And last but not least
I don’t miss Willow’s grateful smile his way. My hands clench the laptop harder.“What kind of man preys on a young woman like her?” The senator is working himself into an impressive frenzy now, looking like someone should hook him up to a blood pressure cuff.Tense silence follows, everyone assuming it’s rhetorical. We stay frozen, as if sudden motions might set either of them off.The guy next to me crosses his arms, and I hear a weird squelching sound from his armpit. I hope to god everyone knows that wasn’t me.Even I have to admit, the man’s going overboard. Willow’s not exactly a kid—she’s what, twenty-four? Two years younger than me. But she just sits there, not moving a muscle.Vicky opens and closes her mouth wordlessly.“She’s too good for you, Quinn!” He jabs a sausage finger Connor’s way, trying to spear him from across the table. “Who do you think you are?” Each word is punctuated with spit flying across the table.“I don’t argue that,” Connor grits out. “Your daughter’s
I’m about to parrot Brooke’s scripted apology-plus-donations tactic when defiance grips me. Maybe it’s the steel in Connor’s glare, like he’s daring me to challenge him.I shut my laptop and clasp my hands together, trying to project calm.“Sure, throwing money at the problem might help optics,” I say evenly. “But people see through publicity stunts these days. We need a game plan that’s more about rewriting the story than just hiding the messy parts.”With a fake smile, I float my next idea to the group. “Now, we all know Connor’s got this . . . reputation. Why not use that to our advantage?”Vicky gasps, looking ready to pass out. But Connor silences her, laser-focused on me. I feel sweat pooling in my pits, but I keep my chin raised.“Let’s leverage the extremes of their public images,” I say, smiling at Willow. “The public sees you as a wholesome role model—Harvard grad, Miss America, human rights advocate. A paragon of virtue.”“Now I’m a bad meme,” Willow whimpers.I smile sympa
TWELVEConnor“Dad, let’s give them some privacy, shall we?” Willow guides her father out, shooting me a sweet smile.“Appreciate it, Willow,” I say, my gratitude genuine.Vicky and Brooke look ready to piss themselves as I shut the door, leaving me alone with Little Miss Thief. She’s clearly not trotted out for major clients often.“Sit.”She bristles. “I’m not a dog.”“No, you’re more of a sneaky little honey badger stealing what isn’t yours.”Panic flashes in those expressive eyes before she quickly masks it. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”“I think you do. Sit down.”Reluctantly, she perches on the edge of her chair, laptop balanced precariously on her lap.I position myself between her and any possible escape route, casually leaning against the table.Is this all part of some setup? The car, the leaked audio, her sudden appearance on Willow’s team . . . What the hell is really going on here? Is one of our competitors trying to screw me over in some elaborate scheme?
Six months laterLexiI love visiting Connor’s Irish cottage.This place is special to me, and not just because it’s where I accidentally flashed a funeral party. Sure, that’s pretty unforgettable, but it’s not the only reason this place holds a special place in my heart.Streaking aside, this cottage is where Connor and I fell in love, even if it took a bit of separation anxiety to realize it.Now, we’re back for a mini-vacation, but this time we’ve brought the whole crew: Grace, Clodagh, Killian, Teagan, and Connor’s mom.We’ve just stuffed our faces with Guinness stew and bowls of seafood chowder, in a small quaint Irish pub, and everything feels perfect. My belly, my soul, and my heart are all content.There’s something about Irish pubs that sets them apart, making them the best in the world. The Irish sure know how to have a good time.The traditional band is absolutely killing it tonight. The fiddler is playing like his life depends on it, and the guy with the tambourine-looking
One year laterConnorI guide Lexi along the street, her hand clutching my arm as I lead her to the surprise. I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little on edge here.“Connor, the last time you blindfolded me, we ended up on a different continent. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was amazing. But it’d be great if I could pack my bags for myself.”I smirk. “That’s not entirely accurate. The last time I blindfolded you, I had you bent over my bed, begging for mercy.”“Okay, fine,” she says, smirking under the blindfold. “The last time in public. I sure hope no one on the street heard you say that.”“Come on, just a few more steps.”I slowly slide the blindfold off, watching her face closely for her reaction.She blinks, taking in the Fifth Avenue townhouse we’re standing in front of.“Wait, are we at Killian’s place? No, hold on . . . Killian’s is farther down, isn’t it?”I feel a grin tugging at my lips. “It’s ours, Lexi. If you want it, that is.”Her eyes go wide, jaw dropping. “What? You bought t
My fingers dance over his stomach, tracing the lines of his abs and hipbones and the trail of hair that leads down to his cock.He chuckles, his muscles jumping under my touch. “Hey, that tickles.”“Sorry,” I laugh, but I’m not sorry at all.I can’t stop touching him. Or looking at him.I want to watch him sleep all night. I want to see those long, giraffe-like lashes flutter, those lips part in silent dreams, and that ridiculously sexy wolf tattoo heave with every breath.I’ll be disappointed in myself if I fall asleep.Christ, I sound like a psycho.We’ve fucked maybe one billion times tonight, and it must be 4 a.m. What a night.Connor looks just as exhausted but blissfully happy as me.He’s sprawled out next to me, one arm propped behind his head like he’s posing for a Calvin Klein ad and the other slung possessively around me.And I swear to god, I’m so happy to be in his arms, so content, that I could almost kiss his armpit with its dark fuzz.That’s how deeply I’ve fallen for t
EPILOGUELater that nightLexiThere’s something about elevators that really gets me going. Makes me feel naughty.It’s the forced proximity, the way you’re locked into this tiny metal cube with someone; your personal space nonexistent.It’s the sensation of that lurch in your stomach as you shoot up or drop down.It’s the fact that it’s a moving box that feels like you’re in a private little world while still being in a space that’s open to anyone who has the audacity to hit the button and interrupt your moment.But most of all, it’s the fact that you’re time-boxed. You’ve got forty seconds, if you’re lucky, to do all the things you’ve been dying to do.So when Connor and I finally escape the police investigation and step into the elevator that will take us to his penthouse, it’s like every over-the-top movie elevator scene brought to life, where the characters can’t keep their hands to themselves.Our hands are all over each other, our mouths are all over each other, our noises are
“Connor,” Grace squeaks.“Connor,” I rasp, staring at him.He’s here. In his tux. Looking like James Bond and the hot felon model guy rolled into one ridiculously handsome package.“Don’t hurt them,” Connor says, his gaze fixed on Deano as if I’m not even there.I want to run into his arms, to bury my face in his chest and just breathe him in. To replace the stench of Deano’s stale cigarette breath with the intoxicating scent of Connor.His chest rises and falls with each labored breath, his jaw locked tight, eyes burning with fierce resolve. “This has nothing to do with Lexi or Grace. I’m the one who got you locked up. Your problem’s with me. Point that thing my way,” he says slowly and deliberately.He takes a step toward Deano, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.Deano keeps his gun aimed right at me.“Shoot me. You know you want to. I’m right here, buddy, yours for the taking. Why go near Lexi when you can have me?” Connor’s voice is steady, but I can hear the undercurrent
“Ask me about him. I won’t mention him unless you do.”Fuck. She hasn’t even said his name, and the pang is sharp. It’s harder in New York than in Maryland. Because I know he’s here, I know he’s out there breathing the same New York air, gazing up at the same sky.I could make a run for it, sprint those twenty blocks like my life depended on it, just to catch a glimpse of him. I know exactly where he is right now.I could drag Grace back to her staff party and face my heartache head-on, because I’m a glutton for punishment. Maybe seeing him in the flesh would finally be the pain I need to forget him entirely. To stamp out that teeny tiny sliver of hope that’s stubbornly clinging to my soul.It’s ridiculous. The dull pain has lasted longer now than the fling itself. It’s not supposed to be that way. I’m supposed to be over him, moved on.And Tom’s great. Funny, handsome, uncomplicated. He’s the antithesis of a brooding billionaire type. Tom is the kind of guy who belongs in my world, t
Lexi turns to hug her sister. That moment—catching sight of her heart-shaped face, the one I’ve tried to shove into the deepest corners of my memory—it hits me like a punch to the gut.There she is. In the flesh. So damn close.She smiles at Grace, says something that makes her laugh, and then throws her head back in laughter—a sound I can almost hear in my head.Then she’s gone. She’s gone before I can do something reckless like vault over the balcony and shatter both legs getting to that taxi.I slump against the railing, feeling this sharp pain in my chest, like I’ve been shot. After all this time, just catching a fleeting glimpse of her undoes me completely.It felt like hours, drinking in every detail. But it must’ve only been a minute, maybe less.I don’t have many regrets in life, but the haunting memory of letting her walk away that night at Killian’s house might just be my biggest.It’s a deep cut that won’t heal, keeping me up at night as I stare at the ceiling, my vision sw
“Someone I used to know,” I say numbly.My chest tightens.Because the woman she’s unintentionally channeling tonight? There’s a very real chance she might be there in the flesh.◆◆◆One of the cons about coming out about my hearing condition is that people have taken to shouting at me, like I can’t hear at all. It’s enough to give me a headache worse than when I was straining to hear people.Even the flirtatious attempt by the marketing department’s latest addition, who loudly declared her single status and interest, felt more like a yell meant for a stadium than a failed-attempt at seduction. If there’s one way to blow your career at my company, it’s to think I’m interested in having a fling with someone on my staff.Yet, there’s one individual who seems determined to keep her distance, the young intern with the heart-shaped face from Yonkers. Our eyes have met several times, but each encounter is met with her quick retreat, a clear avoidance that speaks volumes more than the overt
I find myself glancing away, checking the sad state of my herb garden through the window. The basil’s dead. It makes me want to cry, I tried so hard with it. Some things just aren’t meant to thrive, I guess.When I glance back at the screen, Connor and the stunning professor are bantering so easily, so effortlessly, that I hit pause, unsure if I can stomach more.Despite the deep ache in my chest, I realize part of me is actually happy for him.All this time, I’ve avoided thinking about him, pushed him out of my life and my heart. Yet he’s still managed to find his way into my thoughts.Is he drinking and partying? Is he alone? Is he isolated, pushing everyone away like he did with me? When I lay awake some nights and think about how he pushed me away, how he pushed his family away, I imagine his condition making matters worse.I even wonder, pathetically, if he ever thinks of me anymore. If he’s ever regretted how we fell apart or thought about what we could have been.But seeing him