Page 17 of Ravaged
No, Levi and Zora just assigned each other days to babysit me in the office.
Not that I’m bitter or anything. At least, I try not to be.
“Sure.” I lower my legs and scoot my chair closer, clasping my hands together next to my tablet and smiling serenely up at him “This time of year, we’re heading into three major US holidays—Halloween, Thanksgiving, and soon Christmas. Parties, big dinners, the perfect gifts, families—most promotional ads running right now would have consumers believe those are the things on most people’s minds. But we’re forgetting one. And I’m not talking about love and romance. I’m referring to those people who are trying to figure out how to extricate themselves from their relationships in order to be free for the holidays for a variety of reasons. To party single with friends. So they don’t have to bring home the other person to meet their family when they’re just not that serious. Or maybe that person is just a selfish, cheap asshole and plans to break up with them for the holiday so they don’t have to buy a gift. Which, I repeat, cheap asshole move, but still, business for us. All business for us.”
I lean forward, pinning my still, silent brother with an unwavering stare.
“I, for one, hate to nitpick, but I didn’t approve that marketing budget. Nor was I present at that last meeting. You and Zora rolledthe numbers for the marketing and promotions over from the previous months, which were fine for August and September but not for the last three of the year. October, November, and December are markedly different consumer months, and that includes us. So yes, I did increase the spending because the numbers were too low if we want to compete with not just online matchmaking companies but holiday movies, music, as well as the romance industry.”
And despite the blood pumping through my veins and the drum of my heart echoing in my throat, I grin and hold out my arms, dipping my head.
“And that, my friend, is how a grown woman with a BA in graphic design, a double minor in marketing and contemporary women’s rights, as well as a master’s in graphic illustration and digital media who possesses the mentality of a grounded fourteen-year-old handles her business. I hope you were taking notes. There will be an exam at the end of the week.”
He stares at me for a long moment, then reaches out and picks up his tablet.
“Thank you for explaining the increase to me. I’ll make sure Zora is clear on it as well.” Instead of turning toward the door and leaving, he remains standing in front of my desk, continuing to study me in that manner of his that has me sympathizing with a dissected frog. “You’re brilliant, Miriam. I don’t understand why you try to hide it behind outrageous clothes and an even more outrageous mouth.”
He’s not being mean; Levi honestly believes I’m a teenager in a woman’s body, rebelling against who I am—what I am—and hiding behind sarcasm, wit, and nonconformity. And maybe there’s a grain of truth in that. For so long, I existed in a small box of expectations and restrictions people placed on me. I allowed them—my parents—to dictate my education, my career path, even down to what time I ate and slept and rose in the morning. I was in a jail with glass bars. So yes,maybe a small part of me is still pounding against those bars, screaming for my freedom.
But ...
But the other side that Levi or Zora, for that matter, can’t see—refuse to comprehend—is that thisismy liberation. Being able to live my truth out loud, with my voice, my choice ... that’s not hiding.
Liar.
The word spasms in my chest, and I catch myself just before I rub the spot where that phantom accusation reverberates.
Grinning wider to cover my discomfort, I shrug again. “Same reason you hide behind your cyborg persona to conceal your humanity. Wait.” I scrunch up my face. “Thatisa persona, right?”
Before he can reply—and this is Levi, so there will be a reply—another knock vibrates on my door.
“Come in!” I call out. Then I say to Levi, “See how that works?”
“I’ve heard rumors. Nice to see it in action.”
I snort as my office door opens and Jordan strolls in. All glorious six-plus-plus feet of him. Damn. I could really hate him for inciting a rebellion in my reproductive organs if not for the fact that I’ve decided not to act on that revolution.
Yep. That’s what I keep telling myself.
My will is stronger than my vagina.
One of these days, I’m going to believe it.
As it stands, my gaze trails him as he spots my brother, and a huge, genuinely delighted smile stretches his mobile, wide mouth. It lights up his face, lifting those carved-from-marble cheekbones and brightening his vivid blue eyes. Jordan goes in for a hug and pat on the back that would most likely knock a smaller man on his ass. Levi, a frown creasing his forehead, doesn’t return the hug, but he does awkwardly return the pat on the shoulder.
Something I refuse to label seizes my chest and squeezes so hard I remain sitting in my chair, half afraid if I stand, I might stumble backfrom lack of proper oxygen. So I look away from him—or, more specifically, away from Jordan showing open and authentic affection to this man whom I love with all my heart despite him being difficult, prickly, and closed off.
Jordan already possesses too much real estate in my thoughts and life. And I can’t afford to offer him more.
That’s what I have Ravaged Lands for. To purge this totally inconvenient preoccupation and fascination.
Clearing my throat, I snatch up my tablet, open up my desk drawer, and tuck it safely inside.
“If you’d like me to leave my office and grant you two some privacy, I would ... well, actually, I wouldn’t. So either break it up or take it outside,” I mutter.
“Aww.” Jordan cocks his head, turning his mouth down at the corners and poking his lower lip out. It should look ridiculous, like a big man-baby. Idefinitelyshouldn’t want to bite it and flick that silver hoop with my tongue.God. Ihaveto stop this. “Is someone hangry? It’s a good thing I’m here to take you to dinner before anyone gets hurt.” He gives my brother one of those chin lifts that I swear they must take all boys aside in middle school and teach them to do in the boys’ bathroom. “You want to come with us, Levi? We’re getting sushi, and I know how you adore it.”
Jordan grins, and I snort, because my brother abhors sushi. Claims if he was meant to eat raw fish, he’d wade into Chatfield Reservoir, catch one, and eat it there. Which to him made more sense than paying someone to serve it up on a plate.
