Page 21 of Lessons in Heartbreak

Lauren clutched my arm. “Is that ... isthatthe Griffin from when you were younger?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes widened. “And you didn’t know he was Griffin King?”

I held my hands up helplessly. “I don’t watch TV. I hate social media.”

My explanations must not have impressed her, because she continued to stare at me like I’d personally injured her. “That’swho you saw before the hooker showed up?”

Kenny’s eyes widened. “The what?”

I pinched Lauren’s side, and she winced. “There were no hookers,” I said firmly. “Ignore her, please.”

Based on the look on Kenny’s face, he was fairly unconvinced he could manage that. “Eh, what do you want me to tell him?”

I ran a hand through my hair, sighing heavily. “I’ll handle him.”

“Oh, please do,” Lauren breathed. “I’d handle him so hard if he were here for me.”

Crossing my arms, I turned and pinned her with a thoroughly unamused look. “Don’t you have something to do, Lo?”

“Not that’s more important than this.”

“Go. Shoo,” I told her, pushing her down the hallway. “There’s a cart of books that need to be shelved.”

As she walked away, she muttered underneath her breath about how I was the worst boss in the world. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I took a moment to try to steady my breathing.

Impossible, but worth a try at least.

My pulse was racing, and I wondered if it would echo through the quiet space when I joined him. Griffin had his hands tucked into his pockets, studying one of the displays in the middle of the room. I’d worked on it a few days earlier, highlighting some spicy summer reads.

And now he was standing in front of them, reaching to pick up the one on the top of a pile. His lips hooked up in a smirk as he read the back cover. That book was about a priest and his very forbidden love affair with a young woman, and I had to tear my eyes away before I lost the nerve to walk up to him.

From everything I’d found, Griffin was an actual, legitimate celebrity. Famous for his feud with his brother, for his talent on the field, and even more than that, for his string of casual relationships off the field.

He’d dated models and actresses, a couple of singers. All stunningly beautiful, none of them around for very long.

With a tight jaw, I looked down at the blouse that buttoned up to the bottom of my throat, with a lace collar that I’d always liked. The pencil skirt was probably half a size too big, but that never really bothered me too much.

I wasn’t curvy, and I wasn’t beautiful. I was just me. And even if I was okay with that, it was still hard to wrap my mind around someone like him showing up for someone like me. Maybe I was on the small side of a B cup and I didn’t have the kind of curves that men tripped over, but I was smart and kind and friendly.

Sort of. Once you got to know me.

It felt insane to have any type of interaction with him—didn’t matter if it was casual or friendly. There was a hierarchy of people in the world, whether we wanted to admit it or not. Like Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, except that three-sided figure represented the mental structure of how each person viewed the world.

That ranking system looked different to every person. Some placed tech giants and billionaires at the top; others, esteemed politicians or activists. Some worshipped people like Griffin—uniquely talented in something physical, a sport that gathered millions around a field or a television every week to cheer for something larger than themselves.

My own pyramid was a little different. I revered the thinkers and the doers, the people who made a direct impact on their world, even if it was done quietly, with a spine of steel. But no matter whose hierarchy we were looking at, my own place likely came well beneath his, and we both knew it.

My hand toyed with the button under the lace, and I felt myself tug all that heavy armor into place. When I was a teenager, my dad always used to say I was like a feral cat, swiping at anyone who tried to help but melting when the right person came along.

There’d be no melting for Griffin, so I blew out a harsh breath, notched my chin up, and marched toward him.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He took his sweet-ass time setting the book down, and when he did, there was a teasing glint in his eye that made me instantly wary.

“Good morning, Ruby.” His gaze tracked down the front of my body and settled back on my face a moment later. “You look lovely in that color.”

---