Page 16 of My Favorite Mistake

Liza glanced over her notes one more time before laying the tablet on the table and sipping from her martini, eyeballing Connor over the rim of the glass. His stubbly cheeks were stretched into a wide grin as he occasionally took a pull from a beer bottle and then used it to gesture at Jimmy. The low lighting seemed to take years off his face, and that threatened to throw her into an emotional tailspin.

Looking at him now, all she could think of was ten years ago. His three weeks of silence that had been broken by the heart-shattering phone call, which had resulted in the incident that turned her world on its head.

The thought of that grounded her. That was the reminder that he couldn’t be trusted, not with her. That reminded her that, no matter what happened during her time working with him, there could only be a professional relationship between them; not even a casual friendship, and certainly nothing more than that—despite the fact that when he merely stood near her, that same undeniable heat began to simmer low in her tummy, just like it always had before.

Connor suddenly turned his face toward her, and their eyes collided. She dropped her gaze to the martini as she took another sip and then focused her attention on the band. No such luck. He was making his way over, alone. She was tempted to pick up the tablet again, but that would be far too obvious that she was trying to avoid talking to him.

Approaching the table, Connor set down the beer bottle and eased onto the stool across the small table from her. “How ya doing, Liza?”

She swallowed and then offered a polite smile. “Doing well. How’s the entourage?”

His brow pulled low. “Entourage?”

“The people with you, Scott, and Jimmy.” She raised her index finger toward the small group. “I assumed they’re with the band.”

He turned to glance over his shoulder and began pointing at people. “The young guy next to Scott is Luke. He’s a friend of mine and a bartender over at the bar on the Point. He got out of the Marines a couple of years ago and can’t figure out a steady job, so I’m talking to him about maybe coming to work with us. The lanky guy is Carson McDermott, who handles our contracts, but he likes to rub elbows and pick up women, so he turns up at all the shows.”

“Oh. Jimmy mentioned Carson earlier.” Liza sipped her martini. “I haven’t met him yet, so I probably need to introduce myself before I leave.”

“Oh, yeah, probably,” Connor said with a high-pitched, nasal tone that caused her to look up at him.

Was hemockingher?

“What do you mean by that, Connor?”

He lifted one shoulder and dropped it as his eyes gave a tiny roll. “Don’t mean nothing by it. I was agreeing with you.”

“Your tone was…snide.” She picked up her martini again, and he cocked his head.

“Was it?” His eyebrows were high on his forehead, and it was abundantly clear he didn’t like her, and that’s when she knew for sure after spending all day wondering.

Connor recognized her, probably immediately, and he was pissed that she was suddenly there again.

His callous tone spliced with the memory of both magic and betrayal caused a sharp pain in Liza’s chest, and she was overwhelmed by a curious sense of homesickness. She glanced back down at the tablet as a meditative exercise to focus on the real reason she was here—her job. Because that’s what would keep her from tapping into her savings, and that would ensure that she’d have a home of her own sooner rather than later.

“Actually, no.” She tapped random icons on the tablet strictly to make herself look busy and to avoid looking up at him. “You’ll have to excuse me. It’s kind of loud in here.”

They sat in silence for a beat or two, and she didn’t look up, hoping it would erect a wall between them that might compel him to leave.

No such luck.

“So,Liza, are you just gonna stare at that iPad all night, or are we gonna deal with the neon purple elephant in the room?”

Her shoulders sank, and she exhaled quietly. “What elephant is that, Connor?”

“Like you don’t fuckin’ know,” he said through his teeth with a threatening growl in the back of his throat.

She snapped her head back up at the sound of his aggressive tone and set her jaw. “Idoknow. And you clearly have a bone to pick, so why don’t you go ahead?”

He braced his corded, rippling forearms on the table and leaned toward her, his face hard with a severe expression. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Her jaw slackened and then gaped. “I beg your pardon.”

“Isaid,” he hissed, drawing out the word and getting even closer, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Myjob.”

“Yeah? And how’d you get yourjob?”

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