The Downfall of a Good Girl. Kimberly Lang

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СКАЧАТЬ tear yourself away, but there are other people’s schedules to consider.”

      “And there’s the mood swing to the Vivi I know.” He sighed dramatically. “I knew that perkiness was too good to last.”

      Damn it, she’d already forgotten her pledge to be gracious and polite. “It’s six o’clock in the morning. I need to save all my perkiness for the cameras. Sorry.”

      The driver had fresh coffee from a nearby shop waiting for them in the car. She nearly hugged him in gratitude—both for the caffeine and the chance to gather her thoughts and adjust her tone as she took a few sips and settled in.

      “However, I don’t have the skill set necessary to be your bouncer, so you’ll need to either provide one yourself or else learn how to extract yourself from the fawning adulation of your fans.”

      Connor leveled a look at her across the backseat. “Without those people I have no career. They support me. So the least I can do for them is sign an autograph and smile for the camera. Mock me all you like, but don’t ever mock my fans.”

      The words were hard and cold, and that combination got her attention. She’d never heard Connor speak like that. “You’re actually serious.”

      “As a heart attack.”

      Vivi felt about two feet tall. “My apologies, then, for insulting your fans.”

      Connor nodded his acceptance of her apology, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and began to tap at it. Vivi was glad for his distraction; she needed a moment to process. She’d seen Connor’s posing and autographing as glory-mongering—something to feed his ego. She hadn’t expected Connor to get so passionate about it. It made sense, though. He wouldn’t have a career without fans, so he should be appreciative of them.

      She just wouldn’t have guessed that he would be.

      Connor didn’t look up from his phone. “By the way, good job deflecting that question and reframing. You’ve had media training.”

      The terminology gave him away. “As have you, it seems.”

      “I learned the hard way that performing onstage and doing an interview are two totally different things. I only had to screw up once before I swore I’d never make that mistake again. What made you do it?”

      Was he being intentionally dense? “About the time I won Mississippi River Princess I realized I really needed it.” She paused, but Connor didn’t make the connection. “I had my sights on Miss Louisiana and Miss America. I had a platform to promote, a title to represent and a reputation to protect. There was no way I was going in unprepared for the job.”

      “I hadn’t thought about that. It doesn’t really look like that hard of a job.”

      She snorted. “I could say the same thing about your job, you know.”

      He looked at her like she was insane. “You’ve never done a six-month world tour.”

      “And you’ve never been Miss Louisiana.”

      “It’s not all glory and encores, you know. It’s hard, exhausting, cutthroat work.”

      She smiled sweetly at him. “So is the Miss America pageant.”

      Connor’s eyes widened at the implication. “I’m just surprised there’s more to it than showing up and looking pretty.”

      “Somehow your lack of insight doesn’t really surprise me.”

      “No need to get so huffy about it.”

      She caught herself mid-huff and lifted her chin instead. “I really don’t have the patience to school you on incorrect pageant stereotypes this morning. If you want to believe I’m nothing more than an airhead, so be it. I’ve been called worse by better. But just let me remind you that my reign was over years ago. My tiara-wearing days are behind me, and I’ve moved on to other things to be proud of.”

      “Like your gallery?”

      “Yes.” She was very proud of the gallery and happy to brag about it to anyone who would listen—including Connor. And it seemed like a safe enough topic. “It seemed to take forever to get off the ground, but it’s doing really well now. We’ve recently been able to offer patronage to a few young emerging artists—providing studio space and a small stipend.”

      “Good for you, Vivi.”

      She couldn’t tell if that was sarcasm or not. Not that she would bite back—she was determined to keep a better hold of her tongue if it killed her—but she’d still like to know if Connor was mocking her. His face was inscrutable as he leaned back against the leather seats of the limo and closed his eyes.

      “Wake me when we get there.”

      And now I’m an alarm clock? Connor was obviously used to traveling with an entourage to cater to him. Don’t be so touchy. If it were anyone other than Connor, she knew it wouldn’t bother her quite as much. Still, though…it was rude to decide to nap instead of make polite conversation. Not that she wanted to make polite conversation, but it was the principle of the thing.

      Connor stretched out his long legs, taking up a bit more than his fair share of the available space, and crossed his feet at the ankles. Amazingly, he seemed to be asleep a second later, his breathing slow and deep. How did he do that?

      But that left her crawling through morning traffic in the back of a town car with no one to talk to. She could lower the privacy screen and talk to the driver, but thanks to Connor hogging the space she’d have to contort herself in order to accomplish that.

      She pulled out her phone instead, to check her mail, but her eyes drifted to the big black boots parked next to her simple black flats. Big feet, she thought, to match his big head.

      The head in question was tipped back against the headrest. Shaving the goatee really did make a difference, making his mouth seem more prominent and emphasizing that strong chin. Even with his features relaxed in sleep, Connor projected attitude.

      He might be a piano-playing crooner, but Connor looked the part of a bad-boy rock star, and that image had helped fuel his popularity. Women loved the idea of a man who looked like that singing love songs in a voice that could send shivers all the way down to their toes. He was practically a musical fantasy come to life.

      Even she had to admit—privately, of course—that Connor was freakin’ gorgeous. Broad shoulders, lean hips, a smile that caused feminine flusters every single time…A woman would have to be blind or dead not to appreciate him based on looks alone, and she was neither. She wasn’t ignorant or denying of his attributes; she was just immune to them because she knew him.

      Wow, it was getting hot in here. The man radiated heat like a generator. Vivi had to fan herself. She did not want to go on TV all sweaty and red-faced. The climate controls were next to Connor, out of her reach unless she wanted to crawl across his lap, so she’d settle for cracking a window for fresh air.

      The windows on her side of the car didn’t seem to open, so that meant she’d have to open the ones on the other side. But Connor’s legs blocked easy access to those controls, too. Who designed this vehicle? СКАЧАТЬ