“Your heart? Do you have one, brother?” Griffin sits back. “Not for Neve Donnelly.” Griffin furrows his eyebrows and speaks so low, it’s barely a whisper. “You know Lennox is engaged to someone else, right?” My jaw tightens so hard it might crack. I grip the whiskey tumbler and stand up, throwing it into the fireplace. “Fuck. Who?” How did I not know that? “Rafael Marchant.” “Marchant?” I scoff. “The wine dynasty? When?” Christ, no. She’s mine! “When he gets his inheritance next year.” “That’s why old man Donnelly didn’t suggest Lennox.”
