to him. “I agree on the pants. Very eighties glam metal. But then I guess it fits the costume.”
Vivi smiled—a genuine one this time—at the server who filled her wineglass, but the smile disappeared as soon as the server did. “I don’t know what Max was thinking,” she grumbled at her salad. “The Saint and the Sinner are supposed to be local celebrities.”
“I’m literally the boy next door, Vivi. I’m as local as you are.”
“You were local,” she corrected him. “Now you’re international. You’re off touring far more than you’re in town.”
He tried to get comfortable in his chair, but the enormous black wings attached to his back made that feat nearly impossible. He didn’t quite understand the mixed-metaphor approach to Saints and Sinners, but Ms. Rene had gone for a Lucifer vibe. He felt more like a giant crow. “So it’s the fact that my job requirements keep me out of town a lot that you object to?”
Vivi tried to brush her hair back over her shoulder, but it only got tangled in her wings, creating modern art-inspired shapes in the white feathers. She tugged at the strands as she spoke. “I object to the creation of an unlevel playing field.”
Except for that jet-black hair, Vivi had the right looks to pass as an angel—wide blue eyes, fair skin, elegant features. The fire in her eyes was far from angelic, though. Irritation made her movements jerky, tangling her hair even worse.
“How is this unlevel in any way?”
With one final tug that probably pulled some of it out by the roots, Vivi finally got the last of her hair loose. A rhinestone from her wings, loosened in the tussle, fell into her cleavage. Vivi looked down briefly, and Connor’s eyes followed hers to the valley of creamy skin before he snapped them back to her face. She had a beautiful mouth, lush and full and sinful—until she opened it and killed the illusion.
“Your groupies and your fan club and all your famous friends will make sure to fill your coffers so that you win.”
“But that’s what this is about, right? Raising money?”
“Of course that’s what’s important,” she conceded through a jaw clenched so tight it had to be painful, “but you have an unfair advantage when it comes to the actual contest. No one could compete with you.”
He grinned at her. “I’m glad to finally hear you admit it.”
“I meant,” she gritted out, “that I’m a hometown girl and you’re a freakin’ rock star. You have a bigger fan base by default and that’s an unfair advantage.”
“Your title is ‘Saint’, Vivi, not ‘martyr’.”
Vivi’s knuckles turned white, and Connor expected the stem of her wineglass to snap at any moment.
“Just eat your dinner.”
He shot her a smile instead. “You could just concede now, you know.”
She choked on her wine. “Hell has not frozen over.”
“So it’s on?” he challenged.
“You’re damn right it’s on.” Grabbing her fork, she speared her lettuce with far more force than necessary.
Vivi could never turn down a challenge. It didn’t matter what it was, Vivi went after everything in her full-out, take-no-prisoners style. He actually respected that about her. It was one of the few things they had in common. Everything else about her, though, drove him insane. Always had.
He really shouldn’t let Vivi get to him. He was an adult, for God’s sake. Vivi might not like him, but plenty of other women did, so her holier-than-Connor attitude shouldn’t bother him. There was something about her, though, that just crawled under his skin and itched.
Would he have agreed to do this if he’d known up front that Vivi would be a part of it? Or would he have just sent another check and let it go?
No, he’d been thinking about home for a while now; this was just the nudge he’d needed to get him here. It gave him an excuse to do some damage control, make some new headlines that didn’t involve paternity suits or sexual activities. He could take a step back and maybe take a deep breath for the first time in years.
He hadn’t realized how truly tired he was. Getting everything he’d ever wanted in life was great in theory, but he hadn’t known he’d be left feeling like a well-dressed hobo. He had accepted that at first: he couldn’t have gotten this far if he’d been tied down to any one place or thing. There was a great freedom to it. But it came at a cost, nonetheless.
Being home—really home, not just the place he slept between shows—made him feel like the earth was solid under his feet again. The ideas that had been swimming unformed in the back of his mind seemed to be taking shape now that he was here. New Orleans was good for his mind and soul, and he could use the next few weeks to really refocus and figure out what was next. Or what he wanted to be next.
He heard Vivi’s deep sigh of irritation and it brought him back to the present. Right now he had a contest to win. It felt good to come home; even better to come home to a warm welcome and the opportunity to do something good for his hometown.
Annoying Vivi while he did it was just a bonus.
Vivi chewed each bite a dozen times and then immediately put another bite in her mouth to keep it full. She couldn’t control her thoughts, but this was one way to guarantee she would not take Connor’s bait and end up saying something she’d regret later.
This just sucked. She’d headed enough fundraisers to know that Connor was a gift from the fundraising gods. The money would pour in and the publicity would be unreal. The rational, reasonable part of her mind applauded Max Hale’s choice and envied his ability to get Connor to agree to participate.
But Connor Mansfield? Argh. If she had to be paired with a musical superstar, why couldn’t they have picked any one of the other dozens of musical legends who called New Orleans home? But, no, they had to get maximum mileage by bringing Connor in, especially since he was very much the biggest Sinner in the media right now.
From the top table she had an excellent view of the entire ballroom. The guest list was a Who’s Who of New Orleans’ rich and powerful, and she knew every face in the crowd. And everyone in the room knew damn well that they hated each other.
Hated was the wrong word. People liked to toss it around, but she didn’t hate Connor. She disliked him a hell of a lot, but hate implied more energy than she was willing to commit. She and Connor were just not meant to occupy the same time-space continuum. Connor was the one person who could make her blood boil just by breathing. Any conversation was just asking for an anger-induced stroke.
She felt a headache forming behind her left eye.
From the looks being tossed their way, every person in that room knew exactly how much she hated being up here with Connor and found it endlessly amusing. There were probably bets being taken right this second that they’d witness a repeat of that ball ten years ago when the Queen had slapped the King ten minutes after their coronation.
Connor had completely deserved it, but it had taken her forever to live that down nonetheless. It had even come up a few months later,
