Chapter 2 #3
My shoulders tense, and I push up to my feet, forcing him to do the same. But he still towers over me by at least a foot—all muscle and tightly coiled ire that makes this man look every bit as intimidating as his reputation.
I open my mouth to argue that point with him, to explain why I published that story about him. I almost try to give him my side of things. Almost. But my eyes catch those of all the people in the bakery now watching us like we’re primetime television.
Jenny Bellman and her kids gape at us with large, curious gazes, and the Wilsons at the counter with Claire shift closer to the door as if they want to be near the escape route they might need to get away from the explosion about to happen in the back corner of the small space.
Claire offers a glare that tells me if this goes any further, I won’t be allowed to work at this table anymore.
It’s my “office,” for all intents and purposes, and I can’t lose it. Ever since the paper closed, this has been the only place I’ve been able to get anything done, where I’ve been able to get into my zone and put words on paper. If I get excommunicated from the bakery, I don’t know where I’d go.
And this is the worst possible time to be messing with my mojo. When the story that could change my career and life is literally at my fingertips.
Shit.
I’m not about to let Connor fucking McBride and his holier-than-thou attitude fuck it up for me. Not today or ever. I won’t let him mess with my emotions—something he seems to be an expert at without even trying.
Remaining cool and calm around this man is damn near impossible, but I take a long, deep inhalation, holding the scent of the fresh baked goods in my lungs for a moment and trying to ignore his scent before I slowly release it, along with some of the anger permeating every fiber of my being right now.
As much as I may hate Connor McBride, he’s clearly still on edge—even if he’s returned to civilization—and I won’t be the one to push him over it. That would only give him more ammunition in his war against me, and he has a stockpile big enough to wage it for decades.
Squaring my shoulders, I stare him down, refusing to look away for even a millisecond because showing any weakness around Connor is like a deer limping in front of a bobcat. The predator sees the vulnerability and is more than ready to strike. “You should go.”
He recoils slightly. “What?”
I point toward the door. “You should go before you make even more of a scene and prove to everyone in town that what I wrote is one hundred percent true.”
Connor flinches, his hands fisting at his sides. He glances around us, at everyone watching, everyone waiting. His gaze locks with Claire’s, and his shoulders slump, as if all the fight is melting away with one look from her.
His almost onyx eyes flash over to mine, and his jaw hardens again. But there isn’t any chance of the explosion that was going to happen only a few moments ago.
Some sense of the reality that surrounds us has seeped into his gaze. Some rationality has returned to the man who has been acting anything but rational for months.
He draws in a sharp breath and lets it out slowly, flexing his hands at his sides before he points to my computer. “Just keep my fucking name out of your stories.”
I try not to react, knowing full well his name appears numerous times merely on the single page I had started typing this morning, let alone the number it will have to by the time I’m done. But there isn’t any other way to tell this story without Connor being at the center of it.
Which is why I am dreading reaching that point when I need to talk to him, when I need to approach him and push him hard.
That’s why I’ve been doing literally everything else for this story before I have to go there.
If he knew what I was writing…
If he knew what was coming…
A shiver runs down my spine, the sense of impending doom I rarely experience in this quiet, sleepy mountain town. And it’s because of this man.
He stares at me for far too long, until it starts to become uncomfortable to remain locked in his dark gaze.
Claire approaches and clears her throat, and it seems to snap him out of whatever trance he was in.
Connor shakes his head, then abruptly turns and gives me his back to stalk out of the bakery, sucking all the air out of it with his retreat.
Holy hell.
I release a shaky breath, forcing a smile at Claire so she won’t see how much Connor just shook me because I don’t want to even admit it to myself.
Over the years, I’ve seen Connor McBride angry.
And lately, I’ve seen him balancing on that precarious edge.
I’ve seen him covered in blood and trembling at the hospital while Liam’s life hung in the balance.
But the way he looked at me today is the first time I actually physically reacted to him.
The first time my body warned me of what my mind refuses to accept—that Connor is a very real threat.
Because I know what my current story is going to do to him.
What it will cost him.
What it will cost me.
What it might cost all of us.
But I still have to write it.