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CHAPTER ELEVEN
PENELOPE
I DID IT! AT LEASTten million people will watch the show that just aired and will replay over the days and weeks to follow.
That kind of brand exposure is impossible to pay for when you’re a charity, and it’s far more powerful than advertising.
It’s influential.
That’s the magic.
I’m so giddy I don’t even stop to remove all the makeup they layered me with before I go to my next meeting.
Or rather, my appointment.
I also don’t have time. I knew it was close, but both were important, so after chatting to all the crew behind the cameras and thanking them for the opportunity, I hightailed it out of there.
As I walk across the large lobby of the studio building, I wonder if showing up with all the bright makeup will give the wrong impression. If it even matters.
I remind myself to explain.
My heels tap on the floor as I hitch my large tote bag onto my shoulder, then stop dead.
My heart skips a beat.
What is he doing here?
Dressed in a navy suit—jacket unbuttoned—a crisp white shirt, and hands casually slid into the pockets, Ward Montgomery stands several feet in front of me.
Owning the space around him.
And staring at me.
His ocean blue eyes swirl with unsaid things. I’m unsure if I want to run into his arms, cry, or slap him.
I’m an emotional mess.
I can’t move.
But he does.
Step by step, as I shake, Ward closes the distance, and I tell myself he’s just some guy I slept with and means nothing.
Liar.
“You were incredible.” He stops a foot away. Close enough for me to breathe in his expensive cologne and read the time on his Rolex watch.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Breathe,” he says, running a finger down my arm.
Christ.
Then he takes my hand and my eyes snap down to them.
“What is happening?”
“Can we talk?” Those blue globes are so intense, and it reminds me of when he’s inside me.