The Downfall of a Good Girl Read online

  But she couldn’t shake the sick feeling. It niggled at her, playing on insecurities she hadn’t known she still had. By the time Max got everyone’s attention for the official announcement, she felt green around the gills.

  Vivi made her way to the float, where Connor met her at the makeshift stairs. It was similar to their pageantry on the night of the ball. They climbed slowly to the top and took their places behind the velvet pillow holding the Saint’s halo and the Sinner’s horns.

  Max started his speech—a rundown of how much they’d accomplished with their various community projects and the amount of money raised. Even through her unease, Vivi felt a moment of pride at the amount. A huge cheer went through the crowd and Vivi tried to enjoy it.

  “Team Sinner!”

  There was another roar of approval, and Vivi shot an apologetic look at her team of Cherubim. Connor noticed and leaned down.

  “Don’t worry about them. Both courts get excellent seats at my next concert, but the losing team gets backstage passes as well.”

  The forethought and kindness of the gesture lightened the rock. Connor wasn’t in this for just selfish reasons.

  Max signaled her, and Vivi picked up her halo and presented it to Connor, who hoisted it above the float like a pirate flag. He then placed his horns back on his head. Vivi curtseyed, and Connor climbed to the top tier of the float, his Imps right behind him, and took his place on the enormous throne with the Saints and Sinners crest above him. She and her Cherubim would man the lower tier.

  The float began to inch forward. She looked up at Connor’s throne and found him staring at her. Once he’d caught her eye, he gave her a wink and a small wave. Then, a huge grin on his face, he leaned back, propped his feet on the railing, and stacked his hands behind his head. He seemed to be genuinely enjoying the moment.

  Whatever Angie’s problem was, Vivi wasn’t going to convict Connor of anything on hearsay alone. And if Angie was wrong on one front, she was probably wrong on the other, too.

  The drumline of the marching band began their beat, and they were officially under way. The sun came out from behind a cloud, and the excitement of the kids around her was palpable.

  Today was a day to celebrate—even if she was celebrating a loss. And for now she had beads to throw.

  Connor dropped his and Vivi’s wings by the door with a mental sigh of relief. Cool-looking or not, twelve hours in them was more than enough for any man. The chafing…

  As if she’d read his mind, Vivi chuckled as she kicked off her shoes and dug a pair of sweatpants out of her overnight bag. “I told you to wear something underneath the harness. I learned my lesson after the last time.”

  Connor carried the three-foot Saints and Sinners trophy they’d presented to him at the end of the parade to the coffee table and set it down. “Think it’s big enough?”

  “No need to brag about it,” Vivi grumbled.

  He shook his head at her. “You are a poor loser.”

  “I am not. I just like trophies.”

  He shot her a disbelieving look.

  “It’s true. I do like trophies. Because you get them when you win.”

  “And you like to win,” he added.

  “I am a serious competitor,” she corrected.

  “And a poor loser.”

  Vivi shook her head at him. “Whatever. I will not lie and say I didn’t want that trophy. Unhook me, please?”

  She turned her back to him as she asked and looked out the French doors at the street below. The crowds in the French Quarter had reached their peak tonight, and even through the thick window glass he could hear the noise of the party a block over on Bourbon. Even Royal Street—with its lack of bars—was busy. If he could muster the energy, he might go out on the balcony and toss some beads to folks in the street, but right now even that seemed beyond his capability. In two hours, at midnight, the police would begin to clear the streets and Mardi Gras would be over.

  The hooks of Vivi’s dress opened under his fingers, but unlike the last time he’d done this, he found the soft cotton of an undershirt instead of soft skin. She was probably still sore from the harness, and it would have solved the chafing problem nicely. “You’re lucky your dress covers you enough to wear something under the harness. How could I possibly wear a shirt under this getup?”

  Vivi pulled her arms out of the dress and let it drop to the floor. Clad in only the undershirt and a tiny pair of lacy panties, she stretched and groaned in relief. It was a lovely, erotic view he was almost too tired to fully appreciate, but he was still disappointed when Vivi’s legs disappeared into the purple sweats. Then she dropped to the couch and let her head rest against the arm.

  “I’ll call Ms. Rene in the morning and offer some advice for the next time she wants to put someone in wings. But not right now. I’m just too exhausted to move anymore. I just want a glass of wine, a seat that doesn’t move under me and a little quiet.”

  Connor peeled the leather vest off and started unwinding the leather straps from around his arms. “Amen to that. I was almost afraid you’d want to head out for the last couple of hours.”

  “No way. It was a fun day but, mercy, it’s been a long one.” She sighed. “I don’t want to see or talk to another human being for several days.”

  “Including me?”

  “You may stay—but only if you bring the wine over here,” she conceded. “I’m not moving from this spot until tomorrow. Call me a party pooper if you wish, but stick a fork in me ‘cause I’m done.”

  He grabbed the wine and two glasses and set them on the table next to Vivi. The leather pants were off next, and he felt much better immediately. Tossing them into the pile with Vivi’s dress, he went to the bedroom and grabbed a pair of jeans.

  As he returned, Vivi shot him a sly look. “However, please don’t let me stop you from enjoying yourself out there.”

  “I may not leave this apartment for at least a week.” He joined her on the couch, lifting her feet out of the way to sit before placing them in his lap. “But if anyone asks, it was your idea to stay in for the rest of the night. Connor Mansfield should be out there partying hard, not safe on his couch and contemplating sleep at ten o’clock.”

  She frowned at him, a little crinkle forming between her eyes. “That makes me sound like a drag on your social life.”

  He poured, and handed a glass to Vivi. “One of the greatest things about dating a saint, I’ve discovered, is that everyone expects you to rein me in, reform my wicked ways and get me accepted back into polite society.”

  Vivi stiffened, and the wineglass paused halfway to her mouth. “Really? Is that what I’m doing?”

  The clipped words came from left field. “Huh?”

  “I’m reforming you?” She removed her legs from his lap and pushed up to a seated position. “Bringing you back into the ‘right’ social circles because you’re a good boy now?”

  “You don’t actually have to do anything, you know. It’s the appearance that counts.”

  “I see.” She swung her feet to the floor and put her glass back on the table. “Are you saying that getting involved with me was part of some larger PR stunt?”

  For someone claiming exhaustion a few minutes ago, she certainly seemed to have energy to spare now. “What? No.”

  “But you do admit that being with me has cleaned up your image some?”

  What did it matter? “Yes, but I’d already decided to try to make peace with you before we became anything at all.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ve been through this, Vivi.”

  “No, I think we skipped this. When, exactly, did you decide you wanted a cease-fire?”

  He thought. “I don’t know. That first weekend, maybe? Why?”

  “Actually, that’s my next question for you.”

  “Why would I try to get past the ridiculous antagonism of our youth?” To his surprise, she nodded. “Because we’re adults.”

  Vivi scrubbed a hand across her fac
e. “And what brought you home this time, after so many years?”

  Okay, new topic. He was too tired to keep up. “I was asked to do Saints and Sinners. Same as you. Vivi, what are you talking about?”

  “I just want to know why you agreed to be the Sinner. For someone fresh off a paternity and sex scandal, proclaiming yourself a sinner seems a bit counterintuitive PR-wise.”

  “What better way to get past it all? It showed I had a good sense of humor and—”

  “Made you look good, too?”

  “Yes. Is that a problem, Vivi?”

  “It kinda is, yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s not what this is supposed to be about.”

  “I’m sorry that my motives aren’t as pure as you’d like them to be, but that doesn’t make them evil either. Bon Argent wanted to make money and increase their profile. Mission accomplished. Big round of applause. Everybody wins, right?”

  Vivi was biting her bottom lip so hard the skin was turning white. She’d be drawing blood soon. “So was I…was this… part of your not entirely evil plan, too?”

  “You’re not making sense, Vivi.”

  “Actually, it’s making perfect sense now. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. Saint Vivienne was just the icing on your redemption cake. After all, if sweet Saint Vivi is on your side, you must be just a misunderstood and unfairly vilified sinner. It’s so obvious now. I can’t believe I fell for that ‘bygones’ and ‘let’s be adults’ crap, much less slept with you. Lord, I am such a fool.”

  “Have you lost your mind? Where is all this coming from?”

  “You used me.”

  “I didn’t use you.”

  Vivi rolled her eyes. “It’s Marie Lester all over again.”

  “Really? We’re going back there?”

  “You haven’t changed at all.”

  “Only you seem to see it that way. I just wanted the war to end. I want to live in this town in peace, and I can’t do that when we’re always sniping at each other. I get enough hassle elsewhere, thanks. I never claimed otherwise.”

  “And sleeping with me?”

  “I thought that was a mutual attraction. I didn’t know I’d have to prove my intentions after the fact.”

  Vivi’s eyes narrowed. That wary, distrustful and disapproving look he knew so well was back. It cut him to the quick and angered him at the same time.

  “You don’t believe me. Wow. That’s just…” Even after everything, Vivi so easily thought the worst of him. Shaking his head, he walked over to Gabe’s bar in search of something stronger than wine. “Have you been stewing on this the whole time, Vivi?”

  “No.”

  The relief that rushed in at her denial was short-lived.

  “Maybe at first, but I got swept up in you and everything else and didn’t bother to think about anything. You know, I could’ve handled just being a fling. But a pawn in your overall career plan? That’s just wrong. Maybe I might have been willing to play along if you’d just been honest with me from the start. It didn’t have to be like this.”

  Her words hit him like a slap. “Until right now, I thought ‘this’ was pretty damn good.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Oh, get off your high horse, Vivi. You showed up at my door in the middle of the night. And you’re the one who keeps coming back.”

  If looks could kill, he’d be dead on the floor in a puddle of blood right now.

  “You don’t see me hurling accusations about your motives simply because it worked out so well for you.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What?”

  “I’m not the only one who’s benefitted from this. Being Connor Mansfield’s flavor of the month seems to be much more beneficial than first runner-up in Miss America. Just when you thought your glory days were behind you…”

  “Shut up! You know, I kinda felt bad about all that attention, but now…not so much. It’s only fair that I get something out of this, too.”

  “Wow, it seems I should be the one fluttering about my wounded virtue and being used, not you.”

  “You have no one to blame but yourself, then. I was willing to just hope for civility during Saints and Sinners. You, though, started spouting all that garbage about the inherent foibles of teenage boys and asking for forgiveness—”

  “Forgiveness? Honestly, sanctimonious doesn’t even begin to describe your attitude. Your superiority complex is unbelievable. Either you’re fooling yourself, or you’re working hard to fool everybody else, because you’re nothing but a fraud.”

  Vivi was one of those rare women for whom anger was a good look. Pieces of her hair had come down from its ponytail, curling perfectly around the curve of her cheeks—which were flushed pink and brought out the blue in her eyes. Anger snapped in the air around them, and her chest heaved with it. But her eyes were clear—no false tears there.

  Those eyes raked over him in cold disdain before her lip curled into a snarl. “Screw you, Connor.”

  Lips pressed together like she was dying to say more, Vivi pulled her sneakers out of her bag and shoved her feet inside. Then she began gathering up the few things of hers scattered around the apartment and tossing them in on top.

  “Oh, that’s mature,” he said, mostly to her back as she stomped around.

  She made a rude hand gesture in return.

  “And, oh, so ladylike. If people knew the real you they’d think twice before relying so heavily on your opinions and judgments of other people.”

  She grabbed her coat, shoved her arms inside, and then spun around to level a steely look at him. “At least people can rely on me. They can trust me. I’m honest, and I care. That’s a lot more than I can say about you.” Vivi looked him up and down, then shook her head. “You’re a great musician, Connor, but you’re a lousy human being.”

  Hitching her bag over her shoulder, Vivi grabbed her wings and slammed out the door. A moment later he heard the security door at the bottom of the stairs slam shut as well.

  Connor couldn’t remember a time when he’d been this angry at another person. Oh, he could remember plenty of times being this angry with Vivi, but this level couldn’t be reached with anyone else. He splashed another two fingers of Gabe’s excellent and expensive Scotch into a glass and tossed it back in one swallow.

  So much for that. To think that Vivi could harbor that much distrust and old grudges after everything that had happened recently. And to automatically believe the absolute worst about him. It was insulting. Infuriating.

  And it hurt, too.

  If anyone had been played for a fool it was him. He’d thought…Well, he’d thought this was more than it had actually turned out to be, and that just rubbed salt in the wound.

  He’d brought it on himself, though. He should have known getting involved with Vivi would be a disaster. And, hey, he’d have been right. In less than forty-five minutes they’d gone from lovers to enemies. And now he was beginning to think she’d always been his enemy, and this was just a grand plot on her part to inflict some new misery into his life.

  And when she’d stormed out the door…

  Damn it, Vivi had just stormed out into the biggest street party in the country in the middle of the night—alone. Between the drunks and the type of people who preyed on the drunks it simply wasn’t safe.

  He wasn’t that big of a jerk.

  He stepped out onto the balcony, searching for her in the crowd below, but she was already gone.

  Vivi locked the gallery door behind her and reset the alarm. She dropped the stupid wings to the floor in disgust. There was no way on earth she was fighting her way through that mess out there to get home.

  Of course she hadn’t planned to go home tonight at all. But somehow she’d managed to end up in a shouting match, saying really horrible things, and she had no idea how she’d got there.

  The details were a bit fuzzy—the result of letting temper and pride rule the day instead of her brain.

  That
had been ugly, but those were things that had needed to be said. Connor hadn’t changed a bit, and she’d been foolish to pretend otherwise. Angie, whatever her catty reasons for doing so, had been honest with her. Her own willingness to dismiss that information only made the foolishness worse.

  There was a bottle of champagne in the fridge in her office, a Christmas gift that she’d never taken home, and that knowledge drew her to her office like a magnet. She didn’t feel much like celebrating, but alcohol would dull the current pain. Connor’s words had sliced her, but the realization that he just might be right about her deepened the cuts and poured salt in the wound.

  She had no one to blame but herself. She’d fallen for Connor’s line. The shame came from how easily she’d done it simply because it was so attractive. She’d thought she was breaking new personal ground—growing as a person, trying new things—but that just seemed like a weak excuse now.

  She hated feeling weak. And she hated Connor a little more for being the one to ferret out that weakness and exploit it.

  The cork popped out with ease, and Vivi didn’t bother looking for a glass. Drinking straight from the bottle—even if it was champagne instead of something harder—seemed to fit her mood. She hugged the bottle to her chest as she curled into the corner of the couch in her office to berate herself and mope. From the depths of her bag she heard her phone chime as a text came in.

  Whatever it is, I’m not interested.

  Then, with a sigh, she dug the phone out anyway—only to stop short when she saw Connor’s name. The message was brief: At least let me know you made it home.

  What had she expected? An apology? Of course not. And she couldn’t—wouldn’t—read anything into the message. No matter how much she tried to convince him otherwise, he just wouldn’t believe she could handle herself on the bad streets of their hometown. Obviously he thought she was weak, too, and it fueled both her anger and her self-flagellation.

  Ignore it. She certainly didn’t owe Connor anything. Even as she thought it, though, her thumbs were moving over the screen: I am safely indoors. There was no need to offer the information that she’d only gone as far as the gallery—just in case Connor decided he wasn’t finished with the conversation.