Page 37

And for the first time in a long time, I felt inferior in the company of a man.
I knew Griffen Industries was doing good work in the world of business, but Ford had inspired me. I wanted to do more as Mia Baird, not just as a CEO.
The gala wound down around ten, and Ford took me aside as the caterers began cleaning up. “I know it’s getting late—you don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to. I just want to stay and make sure they don’t need anything.”
Again, he was surprising me. Most people wouldn’t bother—would let their team handle it. I shook my head. “I’m happy to stay here with you.”
“In that case...” He went to a tray setting on a table and retrieved a couple extra glasses of champagne, handing one to me.
I raised my eyebrows. “You’re drinking.”
“Just one—to celebrate the night.”
“You raised a lot of money,” I commented.
“And spent the evening with a hell of a woman,” he added, holding out his glass for a toast.
My cheeks warmed as I clinked my glass to his, then took a sip of the fizzy liquid. “I’m impressed by you, Ford Madigan.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really? That means a lot coming from you. You’re so successful, Mia.”
I had to smile as I shook my head. “You’re too modest, Ford. You saw this problem in the world, and when most people are enjoying their fame and fortune, you’re working hard to help other people. Not just tossing money at it and looking the other way.”
He took a sip and gazed out over the emptying tables. “What would you do, if you could?”
I studied him. No one had ever asked me what I could do to give back. Sure, people wanted to know what I could do to make them more money or position the company in a better light. Not anything like this. “I’d help other women like me,” I answered instantly.
“So, beautiful and successful?” he teased.
I laughed at that, trying not to pay too much attention to the compliment. “There aren’t many women at the top of companies like Griffen Industries. Especially not plus-sized women. Even less women of color. I’d coach them—the ones who are really hungry for it—and show them that it is possible to be this size and do a damn good job.”
He pinned me under his thoughtful blue gaze and said, “So why don’t you?”
I didn’t have an answer. “I’m not sure.”
We were quiet for a beat before I plucked up the courage to ask him a question that had been bothering me for weeks. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you so against dating?”
His shoulders stiffened a bit as he set down his drink. “I want to win the Super Bowl.”
“I don’t know much about football,” I countered, “but I do know the last quarterback to win the Super Bowl has a wife and two kids. And he’s just a year older than you.”
Ford lowered his eyes, waiting while the cleanup crew pulled the trays from the table where we sat. Then he looked up at me, his gaze tortured. “My mom wasn’t all that much older than me when she passed.”
I nodded slowly, taking in his statement. “You’re afraid to die.”
He pressed his lips together, shook his head. “I’m afraid to die without doing all I could while I lived.”
The words were powerful, hanging in the air for a moment. But I still didn’t fully understand. Couldn’t he have it all? “Wouldn’t you be missing out on love, romance? For so many people, that’s the meaning of life.”
“You’ve dated before,” he said.
I nodded.
“How many times were you asked to play small, take a back seat so the relationship could be front and center?”
I pressed my lips together. Far too often. He read my answer in my expression.
“Any old fool can fall in love. Not everyone can change the world.”