“Oh no, I completely forgot about this conference call. I need to run.” She grimaced. “But please, tell him it’s my fault. I’m sure he’ll understand. Good luck!”

  My heart sank as we ended up in front of double doors with a handle so big it required Alessandra to bend at the waist and wrench it open with all her might. My ally was gone.

  “Mr. O’Connor? Felicity Rhodes is here.”

  She backed out of the room quickly, right as the leather chair in front of the windows swiveled around.

  It took me a second to square the fact that the drop-dead gorgeous man frowning at me, who held my future in his hands, was the exact same one I’d called a “complete asshole” a week prior, right before I’d come to Veritique for my first round of interviews.

  My heart dropped to my heels.

  “You’re late,” he barked at me as he stood up, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head as he added, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “Couldn’t find a cab?”

  So that was how it was going to be. Right then. Dream job, right out the window. Should have known my luck hadn’t changed after all. For a beat, I considered playing polite, maybe apologizing, trying to convince him to give me a chance.

  But no. The cold look in his eyes told me this wasn’t a man who gave second chances. He’d made up his mind about me from the moment we’d met. Apologizing would be a waste of my time—and of the little bit of pride I still had left.

  Screw politeness. This interview was blown anyway. I might as well just say what I felt.

  “Shockingly, I didn’t have to wrestle any spoiled baby-men to get one today. Lucky me,” I snapped. “And I’ll have you know I was early to my first meeting this morning at nine, with Mr. Cook.” I paused. “He told me that if he had his way, he’d hire me yesterday.”

  He laughed at me. “Good thing Roger doesn’t have the final say. I’m the only one who knows the real…” he paused to glance at his laptop, “…Felicity Rhodes.”

  He said my name like it tasted foul on his tongue.

  “Yes, and I’m happy I already have an understanding of your leadership style, Mr. O’Connor.”

  “Please, call me Cameron.” It came out fake, like he was a cat gently toying with a mouse before delivering the killing blow.

  “No thank you, Mr. O’Connor,” I sniffed. “Anyway, as I was saying, I have no desire to work for a company that values personal gain over fairness. I’m confident my vision won’t mesh with your direction.”

  It was a struggle to say the lie, because up until this very moment I’d never wanted a job quite as badly as I wanted this one. I knew I could help find a way out of the disaster they were facing. Just sitting in the interviews all day presented me with a half dozen possible directions. I respected Veritique despite their current struggles, I adored their products, I’d vibed with every person I’d met so far, I liked the office culture, and the salary? Mouthwatering. That’s why I had to force myself to pretend the job didn’t matter to me. I couldn’t let on just how much walking away was going to hurt.

  “And how would you know what my direction is?”

  I laughed in his face. “Do you need me to say it out loud, Mr. O’Connor?”

  He swept his hand out in front of him. “Please, I’d love to hear your take on Veritique.”

  “I’ll let your recent press do it for me.” I cleared my throat. “‘Veritique remains mum on diamond mine working conditions in South Africa despite public outcry,’ The New York Times. ‘Veritique is lone holdout on mine conditions statement, amid calls for reform,’ Washington Post. ‘Top three diamond retailers unite to create a universal mining and conditions code of ethics, Veritique is lone holdout,’ The Atlantic.” I paused to stare at him. “It took you forever to come out with a statement about your workers’ deplorable treatment, and in PR, delaying your response is a response. I thought I could join the team and help change the public’s perception, but now I’m discovering that’s probably not possible.”

  “Now hold on,” he fumed, stomping toward me. “Those headlines don’t take into account that it was my father who refused to make a statement or bring about change. Things are different now that I’m in charge.”

  I laughed in his face. “Oh, is that a fact? You’re the ethical billionaire? I beg to differ.”

  “You seem to think that one stupid incident can sum up the entirety of a person,” he seethed, “but if that’s the case, what do you think it told me about you?”

  I steeled my spine. If he thought he could tear me to shreds with his words, he was welcome to try. He wouldn’t be the first.

  “I can see you’re dying to tell me, so why don’t you?” I shot back.

  “Oh, you want to hear it?”

  “Can’t wait.”

  My skin prickled under the weight of his gaze. The air in the room was charged with static, and my pulse was racing. He watched me with an intensity I could only write off as pure loathing. I didn’t enjoy fighting with the man, but I also didn’t not enjoy it. Although “enjoy” was the wrong word.

  I felt…alive as we bickered. Like I had to think fast on my feet to keep up with him. Nothing was sexier to me than an intelligent man, although I wasn’t about to admit I found him sexy.

  Even though I did.

  “I don’t see how that would be worth my time. I think we’re done here, Miss Rhodes.”

  I nearly stomped my foot like a child because he’d beat me to the punchline. I wanted to be the one to end the interview. And admittedly, I’d been a little curious as to what he really thought of me. But there was no way I was going to let him see my disappointment.

  “You took the words right out of my mouth,” I lied.

  “So we agree on something,” he shot back.

  “A first for us!” I took a few steps toward the door. “Normally, I’d say thank you for your time, but I know firsthand that manners aren’t important to you.”

  His jaw was working overtime. “You are…”

  “Out of here,” I finished for him, backing out of the room and closing the door behind me.

  I’d gotten the last word, which made me happy until I realized I’d just argued my way out of the best job in the world.

  But then, if it meant working with that man, it couldn’t be that great, could it? Maybe I’d dodged a bullet. At least this way, I’d never have to lay eyes on him again.

  “Is the beer helping?” Nina asked, leaning close to shout in my ear above the noise of an old Grateful Dead song.

  My beloved roommate had dragged me out after I gave her a play-by-play of the disastrous interview. Normally I avoided overcrowded dive bars, but one of the bartenders at the place had lived on our hall in college, and out of old Lafayette Hall loyalty, she slipped us free alcohol. Given my underemployed status, and Nina’s job as a librarian in the Hunter College Special Collections section, we needed all the free mood-altering drinks we could get.

  I shook my head at her. “Not really.”

  “Maybe some good music would do the trick?” she hollered back at me. “I think the band is getting ready to start.”

  She craned her neck to get a better view of the stage, which was all but impossible given that she was about a foot shorter than the people in front of her. Nina and I were opposites, our love of books being the one thing we agreed on. But our many differences bonded us tightly together as well, like we were sisters. For someone whose job was to make other people look good, my own appearance was pretty low on my priority list. I was a hair up, soft pants kind of person. By contrast, Nina lived her life like she was on a catwalk. Even though few people came into her branch of the library, she styled her red hair and dressed to kill every damn day. Tonight, she looked the part of a devoted concert attendee, in a vintage Def Leppard concert t-shirt and ripped jeans.

  I didn’t want my sour mood to ruin her night since she loved live music, so I let her grab my hand and drag me closer to the stage, so she could see everything.

  “Oh my gosh,” she leaned over and sighed to me as the lead singer took his position behind the mic stand. “Look at him. Gorgeous!”

  Even though skinny rocker-types weren’t my thing, I had to agree with her. The guy was clearly at home with every eye on him, even as he fiddled with his guitar trying to tune it. He oozed that magnetic something, from his floppy dark hair that kept falling into his eyes to his lanky frame. He was born to be on stage.

  Nina grabbed my arm and squeezed it. “Hold on! I think that’s Tyler Boyd!”

  The name didn’t ring a bell. I shook my head at her.

  She rolled her eyes. “‘Carved on my Heart’? You don’t remember that song? It was everywhere! Or ‘Bad Decision’?” Nina pumped her fist in the air as she sang, “‘You’re the best bad decision that I ever made!’”

  I squinted at her. “Maybe?”

  “I need to beef up your music education—you’re hopeless,” she laughed, glancing back at the guy, who paused a half second on her as he scanned the room.

  As much as I wanted to go home and fall into bed for the next week or so, I sucked it up so Nina could enjoy the night. The music was good, and I tried to lose myself in it, but I couldn’t quite shake off my day enough to really let go. Nina, on the other hand, never stopped dancing.

  “I need to hit the bathroom,” I shouted in her ear. She gave me a nod and went back to rocking out.

  I threaded through the crowd of young, too-cool types, who had piercings in places that looked painful and wore clothing that would work in a Nirvana video. For once, my jeans and ratty t-shirt made me fit in.

  I tried to keep my head down on my way back to Nina, to avoid eye contact with any of the hungry-looking guys, but my eyes were drawn to check out a figure just on the edge of the room. Maybe because he looked so out of place in the crowd of people vibing to the music. The guy was standing ramrod straight, eyes locked onto the stage with such laser intensity that he had to be the band’s manager or something. I only had a three-quarter view of him, but he was way overdressed from what I could see, in a blazer surrounded by a sea of denim. Maybe he was an industry guy, scouting the band? They seemed good enough to get some attention. Or at least the lead singer was.

  The out-of-place guy turned abruptly, and when I saw his face, I almost dropped to my knees to hide from him.

  Shit! What the hell was Cameron O’Connor doing at The Sty?

  I ducked behind two guys head banging until he refocused on the band. Luckily, Nina was on the opposite side of the stage, near a column I could hide behind to make sure The Enemy didn’t spot me. There was no way I wanted to chance running into him, especially given my sewer rat appearance. I needed to leave, now.

  I slid up to Nina and leaned close to yell in her ear. “Do you mind if I bail? I’m not feeling it tonight.”

  She pushed out her bottom lip as she grasped my hand. “I’m sorry—do you want to go somewhere else? We could get ice cream! Or cookies? There’s an Insomnia Cookies not far from here.”

  “No way am I cheating on my Levain Bakery,” I replied with a smile. “Just because you’ve been seduced to the dark side by their hours.” The bakery was famous for being open until three a.m., which meant it was right up Nina’s night owl alley. “You don’t need to babysit me—I know you’ve got your Batshit Book Club tonight.”

  Nina was a charter member of the late-night horror and paranormal book club that met in a different creepy location each month. She kept pressuring me to join, but my bookish tastes ran more to lighthearted romances.

  She insisted she didn’t mind skipping it if I wanted company, but I assured her I’d be fine and headed for the door. I slunk out of the place with my head down, so there was no way the cab-stealing dickhead would see me.

  After a long subway ride home, complete with breakdancing panhandlers and more loud music, I could barely keep my eyes open. But did I take the direct route from the station to our building? No, of course not, because I was still avoiding the indie bookstore on the way that had quickly gone from my favorite spot in the city to my arch nemesis thanks to a window display that was a slap to my face every time I saw it.

  They didn’t do it on purpose, of course. And it wasn’t like I could say anything to Maggie, the owner, because talking about the problem would draw more attention to it, and that was the last thing I wanted. Instead, I opted for one of my favorite coping techniques: avoidance. I walked an extra three blocks so I wouldn’t have to pass by the thing that was making my life more miserable than losing out on the job of a lifetime.

  4

  CAMERON

  My ears were still ringing from the show as I strode into my building.

  “Evening, Mr. O’Connor,” Carl said with a head tip as he opened the door for me.

  “Carl, when are you going to stop calling me ‘mister’?” I groused at him, only half-serious. “Do I have to start docking your pay or something?”

  His face went white. “Oh, no Mr.—I mean, Cameron, I uh, you don’t have to do that…”

  I came to a stop in front of him. I hated that Carl was still nervous around me, despite the fact that he’d been opening the door for me every day since I bought the building two years prior.

  “Of course I wouldn’t. I’m kidding.”

  “It’s just that the former owner⁠—”

  “Randall Fitzgerald,” I said, trying not to frown at the memory of my father’s old golfing buddy. The two men were cut from the same cloth, and it had been particularly satisfying to take the special building out of his portfolio. Fitzgerald had dozens of properties he ignored. I wasn’t that sort of owner.

  Carl nodded. “Yes, Mr. Fitzgerald. He insisted we never use his first name. I just figured you’d want⁠—”

  “Trust me, I’m not like him,” I replied quickly.

  “Okay…Cameron. I’ll do my best. From now on.”

  I clapped him on the shoulder, then headed for the elevators, wondering if the hearing in my left ear was going to come back eventually.

  I loved watching Tyler perform, but I preferred his unplugged solo sets—and not just for the sake of my hearing. The guys he’d hooked up with for tonight’s gig were decent musicians, but they didn’t gel as a true band. As usual, Tyler outshined them all. He was still too damaged to admit he was in a different league from anyone else in the bar circuit, which was part of his problem. Until he believed in himself again, he’d just keep treading water and feeling bad about it.

  And worse, drinking away his sorrows.

  The reminder of Tyler’s struggles, the asshole tendencies of my father and his friends, the Veritique crisis, and my throbbing head all made for the perfect storm of a trash mood. I was worn to the bone. Of course, my phone sounded off with a Google alert right as I got on the elevator, as if I needed one more thing to deal with.

  I’d set them for any reporting about Veritique, and seeing as it was after midnight, it could only be bad news. What now?

  “Oh my god, are you stalking me tonight?” a voice rang out from behind me. “First The Sty and now in my own home?”

  I turned around to see her, the annoyingly gorgeous woman I couldn’t seem to avoid, whether on my sidewalk or in my office. And how did she know I was coming from The Sty?

  “Excuse me, Miss Rhodes? You’re in my building. You’re the one who seems to keep popping up everywhere I go.”

  I scanned her slowly as the door closed behind me, pausing on her Converse sneakers. She was dressed for a bodega run, but she still looked fucking breathtaking. I was close enough to her that I could see a spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose, so stupidly adorable that they looked painted on. And her mouth. Frowning, of course frowning, but pouty. Kissable. The sweetness of her face was contradicted by her thin t-shirt and holy jeans, which promised a lush body beneath.

  “What?” she demanded. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

  I wanted to kick myself for being so obvious about checking her out.

  I cleared my throat and grabbed for something to say to cover up for my lapse. “It’s not like someone who dresses like that could afford this place. So why are you following me? Changed your mind and decided you want to beg me for the job, hmm?”

  “What?” Her eyes went wide with fury. “Now hold on a minute, I live here!”

  A loud thumping noise interrupted what was probably going to be another tirade, and the elevator jerked to a stop. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the wall.

  “Shit.”

  “Shit!” she echoed, sounding more nervous than angry with just the single word.

  Central Park Tower was a flagship structure with a rich history, but in New York that also meant old building problems. It didn’t matter how expensive the place was, an old elevator meant unpredictability. Brian, the building manager, had the Otis Elevator techs on speed dial.

  “We need to report—” Felicity began.

  “Already done,” I said as I pushed send on the text. “I just messaged the building manager.”

  “Oh, let me guess; you’re one of those ‘let me speak to the manager’ types, right? Lots of complaining until everything is exactly the way you like it. That tracks.”

  I had to force myself to not grind my teeth. “I own the building. I’m on top of building maintenance issues to ensure my tenants remain happy. Even the ones who don’t deserve to be here.”

  Felicity sputtered at me, unable to form words. Good. Maybe she’d finally stop insulting me.

  She started pacing from one end of the elevator to the other with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

  “I don’t like this.”

  “You think I do, Fagin?” I countered.

  The chimes on my phone kicked up until they started sounding like a snoozed alarm clock.

  “Better text your clingy girlfriend back,” Felicity taunted.

  I gave her a withering stare, trying to ignore the fact that her face looked pale. Was she nervous being alone with me in close quarters?

  “Please,” I scoffed at her, refocusing on the torture device in my hand. “It’s work.”