I’m suddenly struck with the image of her coming to my house in nothing but that coat and a pair of matching heels. I’d lift her onto the kitchen counter and untie the belt while—
“Sam?” Connor says behind me. “Did you hear what I said?”
Not a word.
“I’m wondering if you’re bringing a date to the gala on Saturday? Operation Make the Player Look Like a Good Guy?”
“Yeah,” I grunt without taking my eyes off Liz. “I’ll have a date.”
“Who?” Connor follows my gaze out to the street, then clears his throat. “Maybe run that by your dad?”
Reluctantly, I give Connor my attention. “Why’s that?”
“This is his political career you’re affecting. I’m just thinking that someone else—”
“Liz is going to be my date,” I say, though in truth, I still have to ask her. The more Connor attempts to push me away from her, the more determined I am to keep her close. I like her, but I don’t know if I trust her. I know better than anyone that those two emotions don’t go well together—not if you’re looking for a happy ending. But I’ll keep her away from Connor and close to me because I’ve never expected a happy ending anyway.
“We shouldn’t have hired her,” he mutters.
I turn to him and narrow my eyes. “Excuse me?”
He sighs then shakes his head. “You don’t think with your brain where Liz is involved.”
“Guess that makes two of us.”
* * *
Liz
I have to quit my job. I barely slept last night trying to think of a way around it, but I can’t keep working alongside Connor. It’s bad enough that I had an online relationship with a married man, bad enough that we had very dirty conversations through the course of that relationship, bad enough that we almost met in person, but add to all that my history with Connor and the fact that I was the key player in what his wife sees as his biggest betrayal, and if this relationship gets out, we’re screwed. Della would hate me more than she does now. She’d divorce Connor. And Sam . . .
In some weird way, I feel like I just got Sam back. I’m not foolish enough to think Saturday night was the start of some new romance between us, but it was something. I thought maybe we could be friends again at the very least. But if he knew, he would go back to hating me.
Taking a deep breath, I push through the doors and into headquarters. As luck would have it, Connor’s the first person I see. “How’s the baby?” I can only pray he can’t tell how forced my smile is.
Connor beams. “She’s beautiful. Not letting her mom and dad get much sleep, but worth every second of torture.”
“I’m sure,” I whisper. “And Della?”
He shakes his head in wonder. “She’s so amazing. She was meant to be a mom. She’s a natural.”
He looks so happy. Is that the face of a man who would cheat on his wife? I won’t be the reason Connor and Della’s marriage falls apart. Last night the girls did their best to convince me that I’m not the one responsible here. There was no way I could have known that River is a married man, and his decision to engage in an inappropriate online relationship is his betrayal alone. So, yeah, maybe he’ll find someone else when I stop replying on Something Real, but at least if he crosses that line and cheats, I won’t be the one responsible.
“Hey, Liz.”
I gasp at the sound of Sam’s voice, as if he could hear my thoughts. I shake away the silly worry. “Hi.” He’s handsome today in his banker’s clothes. Some men look uncomfortable in a suit and tie, but Sam owns it and it looks as natural on him as jeans and a T-shirt look on other guys. “How are you?”
“Good.” He slides his eyes down my body and back up, and I have to reprimand my girly parts when they start in with a celebratory cha-cha.
“I need to talk to your father,” I blurt.
“Sure.” He takes my arm and leads me back to his father’s office, but when we’re in the middle of the hallway he stops and pins me against the wall with a hand on either side of my head. “How are things with Connor?”
“Wha . . . what?” He found out. He found out about River.
“Is it weird?” he asks, his eyes dipping to my mouth. “After what happened between you?”
“Oh. No. Not weird,” I stammer. He’s looking at my mouth still, and instead of thinking of a good way to answer this question, I’m thinking about how much I want him to kiss me. Why does my brain take to the hills every time Sam’s around? “I . . . think I need to quit anyway, so it won’t be a problem.”