Page 210 of Savage Suit
At Nicholas’ groan, I stiffened and growled like a rabid dog.
I jumped to my feet. Angelo and Lumley rushed to block my way.
“You and Megan Buford not only fucked over me, but Ryan.”
“He’s unconscious, sir,” Angelo said with trepidation.
Lumley tried to take a firmer stance coupled with a dose of hope. “Calm down, Mr. Keegan. Miss Ryan will return.”
“Ryan hates me,” I snarled. “Because of that motherfucker.” I attempted to bulldoze my way past the two men. “He fucked over me and Ryan, as well as Reid and Quinn. Nicholas is the father of Megan’s baby, not Reid.”
“What?” Quinn whispered, though I was too livid to address her.
Nicholas groaned again and started moving. Apparently, Lumley thought I wouldn’t seize an opportunity to get my hands on that motherfucker. When the butler started toward Nicholas, I skirted around Angelo.
“I can’t throw you out the fucking window, Nicholas? Fine with me. Stomping you to death will be more gratifying.”
I landed one kick before hands grabbed me and I roared with fury, trying to break free of Angelo and Lumley.
“Noah, please,” Quinn cried. “Please, calm down. Don’t do this.”
“I’ll do the word a fucking service. Get the fuck away from me,” I ordered to my cook and butler, though they didn’t comply.
“Logan, give me your cell phone,” Quinn demanded, sounding somewhat like her old self.
Her brother complied immediately, and she began to dial.
“Hello?” Reid answered a moment later.
“Hi Reid,” Quinn said softly.
“Quinn?” Reid responded, his shock evident. “Baby.” He cleared his throat. “Whose number is this? Are you alright?”
“W-we can talk later. This is my brother’s phone. You need to get to Noah’s place.”
“Why—”
“Nicholas is here,” she announced.
“Fuck. Am I on speaker?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Noah, you’ll lose Ryan forever if you’re in jail.”
I didn’t answer.
“Fuck,” Reid repeated. “I’m on my way.”
Morgan Financial Holdings was on the twentieth floor of a high-rise in FiDi, an area of Lower Manhattan home to Wall Street, the world’s principal economic center. Once I exited the elevator, a black sign with the company’s name in gold lettering hung on two clear glass doors.
I drew in a deep breath, then pushed through one of the heavy doors. I walked to the receptionist and returned her smile. “I have an appointment with Graham Morgan.”
She nodded. “May I have your name?”
“Ryan,” I answered, then opened my mouth to add my last name.
“Have a seat, Ms. Hagen,” she interrupted. “Mr. Morgan will be right with you.”
