Down and Out(63)

Jamie scoffs and frowns, looking at her friends like she misheard him. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve been harassing my guests,” he says, turning and gesturing to Declan and I. “So I suggest you leave, before I have security escort you out.”
She drops the towel and yells, “Are you serious? She hit me! I have a room full of witnesses.”
Jamie and I both look around the quiet room at the stunned faces.
The MC—Jimmy, I guess—turns and addresses the room. “Did anybody see Miss Beckett get hit?”
Everyone looks around at each other, slowly shaking their heads. What the hell? Are we in the Twilight Zone, or something? Why is everybody lying?
Jamie’s mouth snaps shut as security begins to usher her out. “Wait until my father hears about this,” she huffs, jerking out of their grip and storming off.
Security follows her, probably to make sure she actually leaves, and Jimmy casually trails behind them, calling out, “Your father works for people like me, Miss Beckett. So please, by all means, tell him I said hi.”
Declan releases me as everyone eventually goes back to what they were doing, but the whole mood of the room has shifted. I still feel people’s eyes on me even though the show’s over, and I don’t like it. Their whispers and judgmental looks are stifling, and I suddenly feel like I can’t breathe.
I have to get out of here.
Grabbing my heels off the lounge chair I’d set them on, I hightail it out of the sunroom, ignoring Declan’s pleas for me to stop. My body’s shaking as a million different feelings race through me. Raw, undiluted anger. Confusion. But most of all, hurt.
I can’t believe he actually slept with her.
Her, of all people.
It’s making me sick the longer it sinks in, and I can’t stop picturing him touching her and kissing her. I’m jealous and disgusted. It feels like a betrayal, and that’s illogical and unfair to him, I know. But that’s what it feels like. It’s ugly, and painful, and suffocating.
He catches up to me on the loft overlooking the first floor, placing himself in front of me and blocking my path. “Savannah, what’s—”
“Just take me home, okay?” I finally give up trying to get past him and cross my arms, keeping my eyes on the crowd of dancing bodies on the floor below. At least the party wasn’t ruined for everyone. Just me and about twenty other people.
“Hey.” Declan’s voice is soft as he reaches out and tries to touch me, but I violently shake him off.
“Don’t.”
He nods and looks down, appearing crushed. “I’ll bring the car around.”
A sharp ache slices through me as I watch him descend the grand staircase, and then it’s just me, alone on the loft while the music drifts up and envelops me. I feel myself begin to shut down, and I focus on the beat, letting it wipe out my thoughts as I turn comfortably numb.
Why does this hurt? People aren’t supposed to be able to hurt me.

I don’t know how long I stay zoned out on that loft before I make my way downstairs. And now, as I wait in the foyer of the penthouse for the stupid elevator to reach the top floor, I still don’t feel ready to face him.
“That’s one helluva right hook you’ve got.”
My heart jumps to my throat as I look over and see Jimmy standing beside me, with a bemused expression. I’ve been so in my head that I didn’t realize I’m not alone.
“Where’d you learn to hit like that?”
Wait, he saw me hit her?
I blink and glance around the otherwise empty foyer, wondering what the hell his angle is. He’s clearly not just an MC, based on that display of power earlier. If I had to guess, I’d say this is the guy running the show.
Shrugging, I look back at the gold elevator doors, keeping an eye on his distorted reflection. “I’m sorry I ruined your party.”
He scoffs. “Ruined? Please. I’ve been wanting to kick her scrawny, entitled ass out for weeks. You did me a favor. Well, I guess technically Declan did me a favor by coming to his senses and ditching that train wreck, but it was still fun to watch.”
I look over at him and force a smile. He’s trying to be nice, but it’s still a fresh wound and I don’t particularly want to talk about it. Especially with someone I don’t know.
He holds out his hand. “I’m Jimmy, by the way.”
Let me rephrase that: I don’t want to talk about it with Jimmy.
I glance at his outstretched hand and reluctantly shake it. “Savannah.”
He tilts his head, and instead of being offended by my cool reception to his small talk, he seems . . . amused. “Do you know who I am, Savannah?”
My eyes narrow on him. “I have an idea.” Where he’s going with it, though, I have no freaking clue.
He chuckles and folds his hands in front of him. “I can tell you’re a smart girl, Savannah. I like that in my employees.”
“Your employees?” Since when do I work for this yahoo?
There’s a beat of silence as he studies me, smiling politely, before he says, “I’m starting a female chapter of the The Pit, and I’d like you to consider coming onboard.”
Whoa, what? “You want me to fight?” I splutter, torn between laughing and staring at him in shock.
His reserved smile never falters. “I do. You’ve got great form, and you’re pretty to boot. With the proper training, you could be a fan favorite, easy.” He says it so casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered.