"My parents were both accountants. I didn’t do it because of you." I didn’t want to let him get to me, but I couldn’t let that one go. "And now it’s what I’m going to get back to doing. Have a nice life."
Connor’s face clouded over. "Hey, Rye, don’t be like that," he said. "Look, I know things didn’t end well between us. And I’m sorry for that. I just—I saw you over here and I couldn’t let things stand the way they’d been. It’s been a long time, Rye-Rye."
I looked at him, unwilling to believe what I was hearing. It was the first time I’d ever heard him make what sounded like a sincere apology. "Yeah. It has," I said, my voice softer than before.
"What have you been up to, anyway?"
I let myself relax a little. If Connor wanted to make small talk and pretend we didn’t have a past, fine. "Working. Mostly in New York," I said, letting pride inflect my sentences. "I have a great job in the financial district, but this week I’m out here on business."
"New York." Connor’s eyebrows lifted, and he shook his head. "I was happy to get out of that rat race. Hell, even L.A. is relaxed by comparison. At my first internship in New York, three of us woke up at four-thirty every morning to see who could get coffee to the senior partners soonest."
I couldn’t help feeling a little secret delight—I’d been able to stay in the city that had been too much for him. "I guess some people just can’t hack it in Manhattan," I said, smiling smugly.
I expected him to be pissed off, but he just laughed. "There’s that Riley smile I like to see," he said. "And the attitude. I missed that."
"It’s been missing for a reason."
"I know." He stepped toward me, his voice soft. "It’s just, you know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot, lately."
"No. Not interested." I took a step backwards, looking down to make sure I wouldn’t trip on any of the cords around the soundstage. Jax and the rest of the band were in straitjackets, and the director filmed them as they writhed on set—I was just glad Jax wasn’t looking in my direction.
"There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Something I’ve been working on, and you deserve to know about it."
I crossed my arms tighter. "Look, whatever it is, I don’t want to know. It was nice seeing you, Connor."
"I found out after we broke up that I’m a sex addict," he blurted, loud enough that I looked around to make sure no one had heard.
A sex addict? What the hell does that have to do with anything? "No, you’re not, Connor," I said, my voice rising angrily. "You’re a self-centered, manipulative liar."
He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Hey, no, I deserve that." He paused, then said, "I just wanted you to know I got in a program. I’m on Step Nine."
I rolled my eyes—hard. "Please stop talking."
"Wow, Riley, I expected better from you." His tone was derisive.
He wants to talk about expecting better from me? I looked at him, dumbfounded. "What?!"
"Be pissed off at me if you want," he said, the words rolling smoothly off his tongue. "But the Riley I know would at least let me tell her I’m sorry. Do you even know what Step Nine is?"
I stared at the set, looking away from Connor. "No."
"Step Nine means I have to atone, whenever possible, for the hurt I caused other people." He stepped in front of my line of sight, with a frown that made him look like a sad puppy. "Rye, I hurt you. I know I did."
I lowered my voice, hoping he’d do the same. "Connor, you don’t have to do this."
I didn’t care if he wanted to apologize. I didn’t want to forgive him. I still shook every time I thought about how our relationship had ended.
On the set, the director was shouting to the bandmates: "Okay, now burst through the doors!" All at once, the cells sprang open, and each band member came out, carrying an instrument and leaving their straitjackets behind. The zombies started giving chase right away. I watched pointedly, looking anywhere but toward Connor.
"Riley, seriously, listen to me," he said, "I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry. I lied to you. I cheated. I did terrible things in pursuit of my addiction, and I regret every moment of pain my affliction caused you."
My nose wrinkled in disgust. Even his apology was evasive, trying desperately to avoid responsibility. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his affliction that had caused me pain—it was his actions. But more than that, I just wanted him to go away.
"Apology accepted," I said flatly. "Don’t you have work to do?"
"Hear me out," he said, reaching out to my shoulder. "Just last week, I was thinking about you, wishing I had your number so I could atone. And just like that, here you are. It’s like fate or something."
The director’s loud Boston accent ripped through our conversation. "Hey, Jax, get your head in the damn game," he said. "The redhead will be there when you get done."
I felt suddenly embarrassed. Jax seemed to be looking at the stage, now, but had he been watching me? What did he think—and did he see Connor trying to touch my shoulder and get close?
I brushed his hand away, bristling. "It’s not fate, Connor. It’s bad luck. And you’re too late anyway—I’ve moved on."
His nose wrinkled, and he lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Who is he?"
Shit. I’d said too much, and I didn’t really want to blab to Connor that I was sleeping with America’s next top rock god. I pressed my lips together. "That’s none of your business."
"I bet he can’t give you what I can. Remember how you always wanted to go to Ibiza?"
Don’t, Connor. Just don’t. "Yeah," I said, my eyes starting to well up with tears. "I was all ready to go that Christmas when you broke up with me. Thanks for the memory."
"Well, don’t get so sad, because we can still go," he said, his chest puffing out with ego. "My work is sending me out there to hammer out a contract with an A-list director—but I can’t tell you who. Never know who might be listening."
I gave him my best I-don’t-give-a-fuck smile. "I don’t care. Those dreams are done, Connor." Turning my heel, I started walking toward the soundstage exit.