Page 51 of Sweet Sinners
I don’t want to analyze it. I don’t want to entertain thoughts of anything more than what we are. But it’s impossible to ignore how compelling he is, how he carries himself now with an ease that isn’t arrogance anymore—it’s control. He doesn’t have to raise his voice to command attention. He doesn’t have to throw punches to hold power.
He just exists. And that alone is enough.
I lick my bottom lip, breaking the moment, my voice threading with concern. "How’s your finger?"
He lifts his hand, flexing his fingers. "No bleeding through. It’s tender, but that’s to be expected. I’ve had worse."
"That doesn’t mean I’m letting you work with glass again," I warn, my tone firm.
His smirk deepens, full of challenge. "And how would you know? You’re at work all day."
I narrow my eyes, tilting my chin just a little higher. "I’ll notice. I have sharp eyes. And I’ll guilt you into taking better care of yourself."
"Ah, emotional manipulation," he muses, obviously enjoying my tactics. "You really are the CEO."
"It’s for your own good," I fire back, matching his smirk. Then, softer, I add, "If you get hurt, I’ll have to take a day off, at the very least. And even if I don’t, I’ll be here, worrying about you instead of dealing with lawsuits and scandals."
I sigh, running a hand through my hair.
A moment of silence stretches between us. I half-expect Connor to start picking apart my words, pressing for details, trying to fix things like he always does. But as the seconds tick by, the quiet lingers, thick and weighted. For the first time, I wonder if I’ve said too much.
Then he leans forward, his gaze locked onto mine, voice softer than I expect. “You worry about me?”
I swallow. “When… when you give me a reason to worry,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. The words slip out before I can stop them, and they feel like too much, like I just handed him something I can’t take back.
Under the table, his foot brushes against mine again, and I tense. It’s the smallest touch, fleeting and unintentional, but my whole body locks up in response. I need to break this moment, to steer us away from whatever unspoken thing is thickening the air between us but I can't think of anything, too lost in my own head.
“What else do you worry about?” he murmurs, voice low, coaxing, like he already knows there’s more.
I exhale, shifting in my chair. “Work stuff,” I answer, but it feels inadequate, like a pathetic attempt to put distance between us.
“Work stuff,” he repeats, nodding slightly, like those two words somehow hold the weight of everything pressing down on me. “You already tackled the embezzlement. And the relationship rumors. What’s left?”
I hesitate, feeling the heat of frustration creep up my spine. “The person leaking to the press,” I say, my voice sharper now. “It started right after I took over. That’s not a coincidence.” I push my plate away, shaking my head. “It feels like someone’s gunning for me. Or trying to sink the company. I don’t know who to trust anymore, and paranoia is becoming my new normal.”
Connor watches me for a beat, then stands, gathering the dishes without a word.
I blink. “Connor, you don’t have to—”
He silences me with a raised hand, carrying our plates to the sink like it’s nothing, like this is just routine. “You’re grinding day in andday out, Cali,” he says, flicking the faucet on. The rush of water fills the space between us. “The least I can do is help out here. Plus, I think I’m close to winning Maya over. The staff still doesn’t know what to do with me.”
I huff a small laugh. “I wasn’t waiting for you to do that.”
His back is to me, but I can see the way his shoulders shift, the way he pauses, as if considering something before speaking again. “Anyone at work giving you bad vibes?” he asks, his voice casual, but there’s an edge to it—like he already knows I have a name in mind. “Might sound small, but your instincts are usually right.”
I think about it, running through every face, every interaction. Anna’s been slipping up more than usual, but maybe I’m reading too much into it. Jackson hasn’t given me any trouble lately, but that doesn’t mean I should let my guard down.
“Maybe,” I admit. “I’ll have to make a list.”
Connor glances over his shoulder, smirking. “You love your damn lists.”
I do. They help me sort out the chaos in my head.
And right now, I need that more than ever.
Yeah. A list sounds like a good place to start.
Chapter twenty-five
