The Downfall of a Good Girl

by Kimberly Lang

  Oh. He gave himself a good mental shake. “Agreed.”

  She slid her finger over her phone, looking at something. “You’re already kicking my butt with online donations to your war chest, but I still plan to put on a good showing—in the competitions, if nothing else.”

  “Because that’s what’s important.”

  “Of course. You’re going to bring in buckets of money and—”

  Enough. “I’ll match yours.” The words were out before he’d even thought them through.

  Vivi chuckled. “Oh, you’ll surpass mine. I’ve accepted that.”

  “No. I mean I’ll match yours. Dollar for dollar, whatever you raise, I’ll match.”

  That got her attention and she finally met his eyes. “You can’t.”

  “Worried about my finances?”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt you can afford it. It’s just that any money donated personally by the Sinner and the Saint doesn’t go into the final tally.”

  He relaxed back into his seat and got comfortable. This might be interesting. Could her personal dislike of him outweigh her competitive spirit? His money had never brought him quite so much pleasure before. “I can’t count personal donations into my own war chest, but there’s nothing in the rules that says I can’t donate to yours.”

  “But why would you?” Vivi was too competitive to even contemplate the idea.

  “It levels that playing field.”

  Vivi’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What if that puts me over the top?”

  “Then you win.”

  That brought another chuckle, only this time there was real humor behind it. That was progress. “Can your pride handle that, Connor?”

  “The question is, can yours?”

  She snorted. “Taking your money? Definitely. In fact, it would give me great pleasure.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.”

  A flush crept up her neck. “As I’ve said, this isn’t about us.”

  “Then why else would it give you pleasure to beat me?”

  “The fact there’s a bigger, more important purpose to this competition doesn’t preclude me from gaining personal satisfaction.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her choice of words and watched the flush get darker. Strangely, it made his pulse kick up a notch.

  She cleared her throat. “From beating you, that is. Competition is healthy and good.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. But I fully expect you to live up to your promise. If you try to renege on this…”

  “I always deliver on my promises, Vivi. Always.”

  A strange silence fell and Vivi looked away. The tension still felt heavy, but it crackled a bit now that pride and challenge had joined it.

  The car stopped and Vivi looked out the window, eyebrows drawing together. Reaching for the intercom button, Vivi said, “My car’s at my house. I don’t know why he came to the gallery.”

  Connor caught her hand, causing those eyebrows to furrow at him. Then, like his touch was painful, Vivi extracted her hand from his.

  “This is my stop.”

  “What?”

  “I’m staying in a friend’s place.”

  Vivi looked around. “Where?”

  He pointed to Gabe’s building.

  “But that’s Gabe Morrow’s building.”

  “Yeah. He’s in Italy right now—”

  “I know that. I didn’t know you knew Gabe, though.”

  “We have mutual friends. I just didn’t know they included you.”

  “Did you know my gallery is right there?” She pointed.

  “I do now. I’d say you were welcome to drop by for a drink sometime…” He let the thought trail off and, predictably, Vivi rolled her eyes. “See you tomorrow, Vivi.”

  The cool air felt good against his skin as he stepped out of the car, and with Vivi safely away, he began to feel normal again for the first time in hours.

  Something had happened today. He just wasn’t sure exactly what. Or why. Or how, for that matter. But whatever that something was…

  Vivi just had the ability to make his brain short-circuit. That was the only explanation.

  But while it was nice to have that explanation, it also meant he was going to be permanently brain-damaged by the time this was done.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT NEVER failed to amaze Vivi how slow recovery was coming to some areas. If not for the tall weeds and faded Xs painted on the buildings, people might think the hurricane had come through weeks ago instead of years. It wasn’t something visitors to New Orleans saw unless they specifically came to see it—all the popular tourist areas were up and running—and, unbelievably, it wasn’t something she saw very often even though she lived in the city. More than distance separated the hardest hit areas like the Lower Ninth Ward from the Garden District and the French Quarter. Less than a third of the residents had been able to return, and the neighborhood felt empty and lifeless. She thought of her own lively neighborhood, and it only made the loss here sharper.

  Vivi hauled another bag to the portable Dumpster and grunted as she tossed it in. Her shoulders and arms throbbed and her legs ached, and they’d only been at this for a few hours. There was a big difference between working out at the gym and actually working, and she was feeling it already.

  Lorelei appeared beside her, water bottle in hand. Although the day was cool, sweat beaded around her hairline from the work. She had a dirty smudge across one cheek. Like Vivi, she’d layered a thermal shirt under her Team Saint T-shirt, and the sleeves were now dirty and stained.

  Lorelei took a long drink and groaned as she leaned against the Dumpster. “You owe me a massage and a manicure.”

  “Done.” The look of surprise on Lorelei’s face told Vivi she’d been looking for a chance to grumble, and that look was well worth what she’d pay for the spa. “I do appreciate your help, though. We are kicking Connor’s butt.”

  “It’s a fine butt to kick, if you ask me.”

  “I happen to agree,” said Vivi.

  Lorelei snorted, and Vivi wanted to suck the words back in.

  “It is a very fine butt, isn’t it? I didn’t know you’d noticed.”

  “Don’t you have work to do?”

  “Slave-driver.” Lorelei pulled her gloves back on. “I feel bad for Connor, though.”

  “What?”

  “It’s got to suck to always have a camera following you around. Here he is, trying to do charity work, and while everyone wants him to talk about what he’s doing, none of them will actually let him do it.”

  Vivi turned to look at the circus on the other side of the street. Connor and his team were being followed by camera crews and reporters. It was good publicity for what they were doing, but it meant Connor’s team was doing it very, very slowly. Lorelei had a point, but still…“Pardon me if I don’t cry for him.”

  “Wow, you’re mean. It’s a good thing the Bon Argent people don’t know you better or they’d pull your halo in a heartbeat, Saint Vivi.”

  “He told me yesterday how much his fans mean to him. He doesn’t mind this.”

  “There’s a big difference between fans who love and admire him and the press who just want something from him.”

  When had Lorelei developed such insights—and the need to share them? “Maybe. But the two go hand in hand. He can’t have one without the other, so…”

  Lorelei patted her on the shoulder. “You just keep clinging to that if it makes you feel better.” Grabbing an empty trash bag, she started to walk away. Over her shoulder, though, she tossed one last grenade. “But remember it the next time you wonder why everyone always thought you were so sanctimonious.”

  Lorelei was too far away for Vivi to rebut the accusation, and her words hung in the air like a rebuke. A very unfair rebuke. She wasn’t sanctimonious, darn it; she just had a strong inner compass. That wasn’t a character flaw; it was practically a virtue. More people needed that kind of inner knowledge; otherwis
e they ended up in the tabloids like Connor.

  But…Connor was rather struggling over there, and with the press in the way nothing was going to get done, and that was what was really important. He’d mentioned his loyalty to his fans, but nothing about the press. She could throw him a rope.

  Taking a deep breath, she crossed to the middle of the street. Hands on her hips in what she hoped looked like annoyance, she shouted as loud as she could, “Hey, Connor!” Cameras turned in her direction, but she brazened it out. “You gonna stand around all day like a pretty boy or are you gonna work?”

  Silence fell. She raised an eyebrow and all the heads swiveled back to Connor for his response. Connor met her eyes and she swore she saw the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile before he caught it.

  “It’s not that my team doesn’t relish kicking your butt,” she said, and a cheer went up behind her from her team, “but it just doesn’t seem sporting if you’re not even trying.”

  “We’re just warming up, Vivi, so don’t start celebrating too soon.” He turned to the press. “Y’all have enough to run with. You’re welcome to stay, but if you do I’m going to expect you to work. I’ve got some catching up to do.”

  There were grumbles, both from the media and Connor’s team, but the reminder seemed to do the trick. Work gloves were pulled back on, trash bags picked back up and cameras loaded into vans. Connor joined her on the street—neutral territory between the two teams now working in earnest.

  Quietly he said, “Thanks. I owe you.”

  “That’s twice now, and I do intend to collect.”

  “I always pay my debts.”

  “Good to know. But I should warn you my favors don’t come cheap.”

  “I should certainly hope not.” He looked her up and down in a way he never had before, and something fluttery came to life in her stomach. Damn it, damn it, damn it. She should be past this kind of juvenile response. But there was just something so raw and sexy about Connor in his black Sinner shirt, jeans and work boots. She’d have to have been dead for a week not to feel the effect. Even with the cameras following him around he’d managed to work up a sweat, and the beads of moisture at his temples only added to that purely masculine vibe.

  Focus. “And you won’t be getting off quick and easy, either.”

  “Excellent.” Connor obviously found something amusing in this—more amusing than it actually was—and Vivi felt like she was tripping over a current running through the conversation without knowing how or why. “Quick and easy aren’t really my style, you know.”

  What on earth…? Lord, she needed a map to navigate this conversation. “Well, I didn’t break that circus up to stand around and chitchat with you, so I think we should both get back to work.”

  There was that smirk again. “On you go, then.”

  Vivi stepped back to do just that and immediately tripped over a piece of asphalt knocked loose by the flooding. She landed with a thud, and a sharp pain shot through her left butt cheek. Her eyes watered as she reached under herself and removed another, smaller piece of asphalt. “Ouch.”

  Connor squatted, amusement and concern written equally on his face. “You okay?”

  “Yes.” It was embarrassing, but at least the cameras had already been put away. Small favors.

  “That whole ‘grace and poise’ thing doesn’t actually count as much in the pageant system as we’re led to believe, does it?”

  “Hush.”

  There was that grin again. “You’re not the first woman to be knocked off-kilter by my presence…”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  Conner chuckled and stood. “Should I offer assistance?”

  “It would be nice,” she snapped.

  He extended a hand and hauled her to her feet. Vivi rubbed a hand over the spot where the sharp debris had dug in. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”

  “Want me to rub it for you?”

  Shock rocketed through her. “Why don’t you just kiss it,” she snapped.

  His voice dropped a notch as he leaned in. “Calling in one of your favors already?”

  Vivi’s throat closed. She hadn’t meant it like that. Heat rushed over her body at the thought of Connor…Of Connor’s lips…His hands…

  She took a big step back and tried to blot out the image, to shake off the feeling…“You wish.” Ugh. She’d meant that to sound snappy and flip, but it came out weak and shaky.

  Connor’s response was another low chuckle that did nothing to help the situation. Then he was heading back to his side of the street without a backward glance, and his casual whistling floated back to her ears. The heat on her skin found a new source. Damn him.

  This is ridiculous. She was just oversensitive after yesterday, and Connor’s attempt to fluster her in the wake of that was adolescent. As was her response, she admitted.

  Her butt still hurt, but she couldn’t rub the ache away without thinking of Connor’s offer. She went to the cooler and grabbed a water bottle and drank deeply, trying to look casual. Her brain began to function normally once she had some distance from him, and she froze in horror as the conversation replayed in her head. Dear Lord, had she really implied that…? And he’d said…And then…Oh, my God.

  How could her face feel hot while cold chills of horror crawled over her skin? Maybe she was sick. That would truly be excellent: she could claim the earlier conversation was simply feverish ramblings and she could spend the rest of Saints and Sinners locked up in her house.

  I should be so lucky.

  This was what came of trying to be nice to Connor. At least when he was insulting or irritating her he didn’t throw little double entendres into the conversation to trip her up and mess with her mind.

  That explains it. Relief washed over her. She wasn’t insane; she just wasn’t used to Connor acting like that. He’d taken advantage of her politeness and gotten flirty as if she was just another simpering fan. That was what had thrown her off her game. Her world didn’t seem quite so off-kilter now. She straightened her shoulders and got ahold of herself. No more Miss Nice-Vivi. It was dangerous.

  And how dare he talk to her like she was one of his slobbering, sex-starved groupies? Anger flashed through her. There was a time and a place for that kind of banter and here and now were neither. And she certainly wasn’t the right audience. Anger at Connor gave way to anger at herself when a little voice piped up to remind her how quickly she’d jumped to a full-color visual of Connor…

  Ugh. Do you have no self-respect at all?

  Okay, note to self: no more tossing Connor a rope.

  It might end up tied around her neck next time.

  Connor had hoped that the physical labor would occupy his mind—or at least focus his thoughts someplace other than south of Vivi’s belt. It wasn’t working.

  What had possessed him to flirt like that with Vivi? After yesterday’s awkwardness he shouldn’t have said anything even remotely risqué, but neither the words nor Vivi’s reaction should have affected him so strongly. A few stupid little remarks, and now all he could think about was Vivi: those long legs, the shapely curve of her butt covered by faded denim clinging to it like a second skin, the way her hands-on-hips stance had called attention to her breasts and the gentle flare of her hips. He’d had a handful of those curves just yesterday, and he was insanely curious to know what they felt like without the fabric separating them from his hands.

  Which was totally wrong and crazy because this was Vivi, for God’s sake. Who didn’t even like him. More important, he didn’t like her.

  But, honestly, that was getting harder to justify as well. Vivi hadn’t just helped him shoo off the press—who’d spent more time this morning asking about his next album instead of about the news they were actually supposed to be covering—she’d done so in a way guaranteed to make the biggest splash. The image of Vivi in the middle of the street calling him a pretty boy had done more than save him. She’d provided the press with a money shot and the lead to
the story.

  That could backfire on her and make her look foolish, but it had solved a problem and ensured they’d make the local news tonight. They’d probably make several blogs as well.

  Vivi was too media-savvy not to know that, so it had to have been her intent. If nothing else, he had to give her props for caring about the cause.

  His muscles protested as he hauled an old tire to the refuse pile. This was backbreakingly hard work, especially for someone who’d spent six of the last eight months on the road. Sweat rolled down his spine, and he was glad he’d agreed to do this in January rather than August.

  The pain in his wrists and hands reminded him that he probably shouldn’t have agreed to this activity at all. He went to the cooler full of water bottles, leaving his hands submerged in the icy water for a few seconds longer than necessary in order to get a little relief.

  If he couldn’t get his thoughts under control he’d need to be sitting in that ice water soon. And he’d have no one to blame but himself. One thing he was very sure of: Vivi hadn’t intended for her words to come across with a double meaning. He’d looked back briefly once safely on his side of the street, just in time to watch all the color drain from her face before she turned bright red. At least the conversation had shaken her, too—if for different reasons.

  And that knowledge only made his situation worse.

  Vivi ignored him for the next few hours, and he returned the favor, refusing to pay any attention to what was going on in her camp until a couple of the Bon Argent board members showed up and waved them both over to inform them of some schedule changes. Vivi was polite and perky until the board members left and they were alone. Then her smile disappeared and she turned abruptly away.

  “Vivi—”

  She spun and cut him off. “I think it’s best if we don’t talk. Ever.”

  “What?”

  “Since you can’t carry on a civilized and mature conversation on appropriate topics, I’d prefer you not speak to me at all,” she said primly.

  Vivi was back up on her high horse. “Oh, really?”

  “Really.”

  “Are you this condescending to everyone or just to me?”