Page 73 of Rush
He didn’t have to say it. I saw the hatred written all over his face. On today of all days, I had to burden him with this memory. He’d won his first professional fight in spectacular style, and now it was tainted with another of poor little Jade Forsyth’s selfish cries for help.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my throat burning as I fought back a torrent of tears. “I’ve just ruined your thing…” I waved my hand uselessly. “I thought… I tried… I’m…I’m mortified.”
Stepping around him, I practically ran toward the door. I’d burned brightly just like a meteor ignited as it hit the Earth’s atmosphere, and like that hunk of rock, I’d broken up on re-entry, and now I was nothing more than a steaming pile of ash littered across a barren wasteland.
He didn’t want me, and now I’d ruined it forever.
Before I could wrench the door open and flee, a big hand curled around my forearm, and I was tugged backward. Turning, I gasped as Ryan’s mouth collided with mine. A rush of emotions overcame me as his lips moved against mine in a blistering kiss, and my tears began to fall.
“Don’t cry,” he murmured. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, sobbing. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh,” he murmured, pulling me into a tight embrace. “I see you, Jade. I always have. Kinda like the way I always knew I was in love with you.”
“You do?”
I buried my hands in his damp hair, my gaze drinking in his. I was too afraid to say anything else in case I spooked him away like a wild animal. Then his palms found my face, and he caressed my skin, his gaze lowering to my lips.
“I believe you,” he whispered before kissing me again. “I believe you.”
29
Jade
“This place is goingto be amazing.”
Standing beside Juliette, I looked around the office space I’d rented in the trendy inner-city suburb of Fitzroy.
It wasn’t much to look at, just four white walls with a separate kitchen and toilet, but it would suit us just fine. It sat above a hairdressing salon just off Brunswick Street, and outside, we could hear and smell the hustle and bustle of the hipster mecca of Melbourne.
Flicking on the lights, I glanced at Juliette and grinned. “How are you with flat-pack furniture?”
“Are you kidding me?” she replied. “I’m a boss with an Allen key.”
She practically skipped across the chaos that was our attempt at setting up Melbourne’s newest small publisher, Rush, and began enthusiastically tearing into the boxes I had Ryan lift upstairs last night. We had a lot of work to do before we could start looking for the next big thing, but we were off to a good start. Multimillion-dollar companies weren’t built overnight.
Shaking my head as Juliette became tangled in a mess of sticky tape, I set down my bag and began opening the box that contained our fancy new modem. Calling my one-time assistant and begging her to take a risk on me was the best thing I’d ever done. She was a total gun—seriously, her enthusiasm levels were off the charts—and would be a kick-ass editor.
Bucket list item number five was coming to life—therealnumber five—and fuck it felt good.
Start my own business in dream field.Check!
After theHerald Sunhad come out with my story in their weekend magazine, things had gone a little crazy. Job offers began flowing in, and interview requests from radio stations and television networks and invites to fancy parties all dropped into my lap. The truth and the subsequent owning up to my mistakes never tasted so sweet. Growing as a human being and taking ownership? It was the most difficult thing I’d ever done, but if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.
Anyway, none of this meant a single thing unless Ryan was by my side…and he was. Every step of the way.
“There you fucking are!”
I glanced up at the sound of a familiar voice and almost dropped the box I was carrying on my foot.
A tall, willowy woman with long brown hair was standing in the doorway, a black handbag slung over her forearm, looking casual yet completely ready to grace an editorial spread inVogue. Her blue denim shirt was knotted at her waist, her back leggings hugged her slender figure like a glove…and her boots were to die for. It could only be one person.
“Alexis?” My mouth fell open. “What…”
“Alexis Storm?” Juliette cried, appearing from behind a mountain of Styrofoam. “Oh, my God. Oh. My.God.”
“The one and only,” the million-dollar author declared, picking her way through the chaos.
