Page 52 of A Million Times, Yes

Two men came through the door and walked down the red carpet. Although their backs were facing me, I could see that one was holding an oversize check, the kind that lottery winners always posed with.

“Brothers Gavin and Jordan Worthington will be presenting the ECC with the one-point-five-million-dollar donation this evening.”

Jordan,I thought.Now that’s an interesting coincidence. I can’t get this man out of my head, and I can’t stop hearing his name.

The check was handed to the three people at the end of the carpet, and the Worthington family seemed to be shaking their hands. A photographer was nearby to capture the moment, and a cameraman was there as well to project the live feed onto all the screens in the arena.

But the more I stared, the more I realized I couldn’t look away from what was happening. There was something achingly familiar about one of the brothers. Maybe it was his posture. His broadness. The way his butt looked in the pants that hugged both sides of his ass. Or maybe it was the ash-brown hair, cut in a way I recognized.

Or maybe it was all in my head and there was nothing familiar about him at all.

I was still unable to see their faces when the dark-haired brother was given a microphone and said, “On behalf of my father, Jordan, and myself, we hope this amount will help end childhood cancer. Thank you for all your hard work and dedication to this cause.”

The two brothers turned toward the camera so the group could take a photo together, and that was when the air got stuck in my throat.

When I could no longer inhale or exhale.

When I grabbed Emily’s arm and slid to the end of the seat to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.

It couldn’t be him.

There was no way.

I didn’t believe it.

I didn’t want to believe it.

Butdamn it, it was.

And he wasn’t just Jordan.

He was Jordan Worthington.

An owner of this arena. Of the Bears. Of half of Boston—maybe more.

Notthatboring. It’s more of a ... corporate position.

How could he say that to me?

How could he hide who he was?

How could he hold back something like this?

“Why do you look like you’re watching a psychological thriller and the twist is about to unfold in front of you?” Emily asked.

“Because I am.”

“Huh?”

I slowly looked at her. “Do you see the tall, muscular guy on the right with ashy-brown hair?”

“Mm-hmm.He’s delicious.”

I took a painfully deep breath. “That’s Jordan.”

“What?” she gasped.

“Yep.”