170

By the time I’d collected myself and cleaned up the coffee, Connor was on TV.

A strange mixture of fear and tenderness coursed through me when I saw him.

He looked amazing. I could see the strain around his eyes, but only because I knew him. Otherwise he was picture-perfect, from his $5,000 suit, to his confident smile, to his stunning good looks. On another day, in another context, he could be running for the Senate, or maybe even the Presidency – an incredibly handsome man, powerful and assured, young and full of vigor, about to change the world. It was like JFK’s spirit had been reborn in a shell that was ten times better-looking, and without the Massachusetts accent.

He was in some sort of studio with wood paneling and potted trees in the background. He looked like he was relaxing and enjoying himself – definitely not undergoing a nationwide sex scandal.

The screen cut back to the female host, and her voice filtered into my consciousness. “…billionaire investor and philanthropist