Page 42 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

"I can't tonight," I say quickly, even as the Elvises continue their performance. "My dad has a doctor's appointment tomorrow morning, and I need to?—"

"Already rescheduled for next week," Connor cuts in smoothly. "Your sister Kat's taking him. I also had Nonna Flora send over enough of her famous lasagna to last him through the weekend."

"You what?"

"I know the Gallos." He shrugs. Like he hasn't just casually dismantled my first excuse. "Nonna Flora and La Famiglia’s been feeding Seattle for forty years. She was thrilled to help."

"But—"

"And before you mention Lily's credit situation," he continues, "I had my financial team look into those parking tickets. They're handled."

"You can't just?—"

"I can. I did."

"TAKE MY HAND," Middle Elvis croons.

"I'm perfectly capable of?—"

"Of course you are." Connor steps closer. "But capability isn't the point."

"TAKE MY WHOLE LIFE TOO..."

My phone lights up with another client crisis:

MRS. PLATSKY: Son posted TikTok about yacht parties. Again. Need help ASAP.

"You need backup," Connor says quietly.

"I don't need?—"

"Ariana." Something in his voice makes me look up. "Let me help."

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. For once.

"FOR I CAN'T HELP," the Elvises build to a crescendo.

My phone buzzes again. And again.

"Fine." I stand, straightening my skirt. "But only because it's good PR."

"Of course." His ashen-blue eyes are now playful. "Nothing to do with my exceptional dance moves."

"FALLING IN LOVE..."

"That was a one-time thing," I remind him. And myself.

"WITH YOU..."

The Elvises strike their final pose.

Connor grins. "I'll pick you up at eight."

He leaves before I can respond, somehow managing to look completely unruffled despite the impromptu concert.

I sink into my chair, staring at the growing collection of Elvis memorabilia, my buzzing phone, and the waffle iron that the courier is still hopefully holding.

Right Elvis winks. "So... encore?"

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