Page 92 of Heated (Burned, Inc.)
No.
Hell no, you will not faint.
I lock my knees and fist my hands, the bite of nail into soft flesh grounding me.
And I need to be grounded, to be present, when facing the man who broke my heart.
“Hello, Zora,” Cyrus says, standing in my lobby, as if it’s an ordinary weekday and the last time he saw me, he hadn’t sent me home alone from a luxury resort.
At least he’d paid for first class on my trip back.
“Cyrus.” It’s a small thing, but I’m proud that my voice doesn’t tremble or, worse, break. “What’re you doing here?”
“We were in the neighborhood,” Jordan chimes in.
Wow. I’d been so absorbed with Cyrus that I hadn’t noticed the basketball player behind him. And that’s saying something since his head damn near grazes the ceiling.
“Hi, Jordan,” I greet him, and my confusion grows.
Why is Cyrus, much less his best friend, here? What is going on?
To my left, I catch a whispered, “Is that Jordan Ransom?”
Oh great. Miriam neglected to tell me we haverealclients in the lobby. I turn to Miriam to ask if she can show our clients to her office when Levi strolls into the lobby. Panic screams inside my head like a tornado siren.Oh shit.He can’t know Cyrus’s identity. I mean, he’d threatened the man. I have to get Cyrus out of here—
“It’s about time you got here. You’re an attorney. Isn’t it your job to be places on time?” Levi drawls.
Cyrus dips his head in Jordan’s direction. “His fault. He insisted on tagging along. And on me picking him up.”
Levi sighs. “If neediness is going to be part of this bromance, I might have to rethink—”
“What in. The actual.Hell.Is going on here?” I grind out.
I’ve entered the fucking twilight zone. It’s the only explanation for why Cyrus is in my place of business, clients are fangirling over Jordan, and Levi is apparently besties with the enemy.
Cyrus smiles at me. And it’s a full, honest-to-God smile, not just one of those lip quirks or smirks.
It doesn’t ease the dread eddying inside me at all. If anything, it sets it swirling and banging against my bones, rattling them.
“I received your email,” he says.
Oh. That explains his presence here. Certainly not everything else, but at least one thing. I inhale, my shoulders relaxing a fraction.
“So you read it.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Okay, I’m back towhat the actual hell.
“Cyrus.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What are you doing here?” I ask again, and this time, I don’t even try to keep the weariness from my voice.
After not seeing him for over a week, being with him for just these few minutes is almost too overwhelming. I want to run to him, throw my arms around his waist, and hold him. I want to be held by him. I want to kiss him, taste him. I just ... want. So much.
And I can’t have any of that. So yes, I’m tired and overwhelmed with the intensity and power of him.
It’d be a kindness if he’d say whatever it is he came here to get off his chest and go so I can start the process of getting over him.
Good luck with that, ma’am.
