Page 41 of Ravaged
“I want to thank all of you for being here for our belated celebration of the opening of Hart Entertainment LLC. Tonight is about more than the firm, though. It’s about you. Because without each and every one of you here—whether as a client, staff, family, or friend—none ofit would’ve been possible. So thank you. And I’m looking forward to a long and prosperous future with all of you.”
He lifts a tumbler of golden-brown alcohol, toasting the room. A series of whistles, applause, and cheers erupt, including from me. Cyrus left a firm with an environment that contained an ozone layer of toxic masculinity, but it’d paid. Brilliantly. It’d cost Cyrus to walk away. But he had, and I’m proud of him.
“I would be completely remiss if I didn’t recognize the woman who inspired me to take this huge step. Zora ...” He turns to my sister and takes her hand. After setting his glass on the fireplace mantel behind him, he cups her cheek with the other hand. “You came into my life and upended every plan, and I’ve never been so grateful. Building something new that doesn’t look like only me, but us, has been not just my pleasure but my honor. You’ve changed me, Zora. You changed my world. And every morning I wake up excited about where our journey is going to lead us that day. So, baby ...”
He kneels before her, and though a small voice in my head had whispered this might be on the agenda, my heart still soars for the back of my throat. My hands rise of their own accord and clasp in front of my chest like some romance damsel, and I stare at my sister. At the shock that widens her eyes and parts her lips.
At the dawning joy on her face.
“Zora Neale Nelson, I want to continue on this adventure with you and begin it every morning waking up to you. I love you, Zora. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
“Yes.”
The word erupts from her mouth even before he finishes proposing the question. Cyrus’s grin is so “un-Cyrus” and absolutely beautiful. We all burst into deafening cheers, and tears burn my eyes. Well, shit. I unclasp my clutch, but wouldn’t you know it? Not a freakin’ tissue to be found. Because the last time I cried would’ve been my junior year of college.
Leave it to Zora to break my streak.
“Here you go.”
Daniel presses a handkerchief into my hand, and I accept it, dabbing at my eyes and attempting not to ruin my makeup.
“Thank you,” I mutter. “Allergies are hell this time of year.”
“Sure.” The corners of his mouth quirk.
The next hour passes in a blur of champagne, hugs, and laughter as I celebrate with Zora and Cyrus. Even Levi nearly cracks a smile. In all the revelry, I almost manage to forget that Jordan is there—with a date.
Almost.
Okay, no, I don’t.
But I do carry off the pretense that I’ve forgotten about him.
I mean, I do contain a flair for the dramatic. After all, I did play Dancer Number Three on theCorny Collins Showin my high school’s production ofHairspray. It was my one and only attempt at extracurricular activities, but hey, I slayed.
Because I’m more at home here than other guests, I harbor no discomfort in slinking away for a second into the kitchen for a breather. And because Cyrus’s amazing glass-encased wine closet stands in there. Oh, it’s a work of art. And the wine in there would have a sommelier weeping in joy.
Humming, I bypass the Lafite Rothschild 1900 and grab the Dom Pérignon Rosé Vintage champagne. I’m not an asshole. I’ll drown out this shameful, ugly stain of jealousy with the four-hundred-dollar bottle of alcohol rather than the ninety-five-hundred-dollar one.
Someone had the foresight to crack a window in the kitchen, and the slightly chilly October night air filters in, cooling my overheated skin. The heels of my stilettos click-clack over the tiled floor as I cross the room to the cabinets and grab a glass. Within moments, I have the pink liquid poured and lifted to my mouth.
“Does Cyrus know you’re in here raiding his wine closet?”
I pause, and since my back is to him, I indulge in the luxury of closing my eyes. It was only a matter of time, right? I couldn’t avoid him all night. And that wasn’t even my intention. My plan had been to stay in here just long enough to understandwhyI’m avoiding him.
Needless to say, I’m not ready.
But it doesn’t matter. Jordan is in my space. The low, sexy timbre of his voice reverberating through me, caressing me from the inside out. His earth-and-sky scent reaches out to me with nebulous fingers, teasing and taunting. All night, I’ve snacked on the delicious spread Cyrus spared no expense on for his guests, but in this moment, my stomach gurgles as if it hasn’t been fed a morsel in months.
Because one concentrated hit ofhim, and I’mstarving.
And I’m angry. And hurt.
And jealous.
Wine. Give me all the wine now.
I lift the glass to my mouth and down a large gulp, and somewhere a sommelier is swooning in horror over how I’m disrespecting this champagne. Inhaling a breath, I finally turn and face Jordan.
