Page 22 of Kissed and Missed

It’s a challenge not to latch on to the best sex ever comment. “I understand,” I tell her gently, grateful the tears seem to have stopped for the moment. “I’m guessing we’re going to be here for a few days. I think it would be wise to stay out of public until the gala. Hopefully my team will have sorted out the worst of things by then.”

She nods slowly, taking this in. “You really think they’ll be able to make us not look like the worst people on the planet?”

Fuck, that anyone could think that about Honor, who is nothing short of an angel, makes my blood boil.

“I do.” Tucking her hair behind her ear with my free hand, I press a kiss to her temple, and my chest expands as she leans into me, like she wants my touch as badly as I want hers. “When I walk into that gala on Friday, I want you next to me, and when I announce the director of The Ballard Fund, I want it to be you.”

13

HONOR

We’re given orders to stay where we are.

Julian’s PR team—which seems to be comprised of well-dressed, blood-thirsty jackals—arrives late at night, just a few hours after I walked out of the hotel and got the shock of a lifetime. They sit us down at the suite’s long dining table and explain the current state of things. Basically, the two of us look like monsters, and Riley—who sent Julian’s four earlier calls to voicemail—looks like the victim.

The easiest, most straightforward path would be to correct that misconception. There were suggestions of leaking the screenshots of her cheating on me, or paying the woman who sent them to speak about the affair publicly.

I knew without Julian saying a single word that he wouldn’t throw his daughter under the bus to save either of us. Sure enough, they’d barely finished explaining this potential course of action before he was telling them, firmly, it wasn’t going to happen.

“Thankfully, Honor, you are a dream PR client,” the head of the team informs me cheerfully, not the least bit perturbed bythe fact that half the internet is calling me a slut, and the other is calling me a revenge queen.

I went online to check my sparsely used social media accounts and immediately regretted it. My DMs were chock-full of nasty or crude messages from strangers, and even the comments on a picture I’d posted of me and Sophie’s brunch waffles from a few weeks ago were full of people telling me how disgusting a person I am. After only thirty seconds of scrolling through the virtual dumpster fire, Julian snatched the phone out of my hand and told me, more firmly than he ever had before, to not touch it again.

No freaking problem.

“We ran a background check on you as soon as we got Mr. Ballard’s call and nothing concerning came up. You work at a nonprofit, volunteer, and come from a good family. Nobody is disputing that your relationship with Riley ended long before your relationship with Julian began, and the two of you haven’t been spotted together since August. I don’t think we’ll have much trouble spinning this into a case of:right person, wrong circumstances.”

The final “plan of attack” is fairly simple. We will release a joint statement, acknowledging we are in a relationship, that we never meant it to happen, but grew close as Julian leaned on my expertise in nonprofit management. The founding of The Ballard Fund, which still isn’t public information, will be hinted at but not confirmed.

Putting me in place as the head of the brand-new family foundation will reinforce me as a decent, respectable person, a long-term fixture in his life rather than a dirty little secret, and hopefully the media will forget about us. The goal is that in three days’ time, Julian and I will be written off as a slightly weird but unproblematic couple.

This was the point where Julian asked them to step out.

“You don’t have to do this,” he told me in a low, urgent rush. “If you don’t want the job, or don’t want to continue this relationship at any point”—his expression flickers—“I don’t want to trap you, Honor.”

I open my mouth to tell him he’s being ridiculous, that I want both of those things so much it’s faintly ridiculous, and yet no sound comes out. What if this is all a huge mistake? My entire life, I’ve done the responsible, pragmatic thing. If a year ago, someone would have told me that one of the Vogel sisters would be in this situation, I would have pointed the finger at Leni so fast.

Then there’s the reality that Julian and I come from two completely different worlds. I’m a normal person with a mediocre job, whereas he built an actual empire. I get excited when I have enough punches on my coffee card to get a free latte, and he owns a beach house in one of the most expensive zip codes in the world. He’s eighteen years older than me. If I take the overly romantic, overly invested organ in my chest out of account, diving headfirst into this relationship sounds insane. I need to be smart about this.

“Well,” says Julian, pushing past my silence. “Since we’re going to be spending another three days together, maybe we use this time to just enjoy each other’s company. No pressure.”

A choked laugh bubbles from between my lips. “No pressure?”

Julian squeezes my hand, and his expression is so soft and hopeful, it dispels some of the cold that has been present since I stumbled back into the hotel hours ago. “No pressure,” he confirms. “I know it’s easier said than done. Let me show you this is going to work, though, and that you don’t need to be afraid with me. If you still can’t say you’re certain by the time the gala rolls around, I will find a way to get you out of this. You have my word.”

Emotion crowds my throat as I let my gaze linger on his handsome face. “If itdoesn’twork out between us, though?—”

“Honor,” Julian interrupts, and there is nothing but truth in his warm gaze. “You’re not hearing me, Valentine. I’m telling you, I will make it work.”

Holy shit.

Regaining the ability to speak is still a work in progress when he leans forward, kissing me gently. I don’t think he means to take it further, am totally confident he meant to pull back and continue on his mission to make me melt with the force of his unrepentant adoration. Julian is respectful like that. He knows I had the very shittiest of all shitty nights, and he’s probably prepared to draw me a bubble bath and give me a back rub or something.

I appreciate the sentiment and all, but right now, I’m feeling pretty helpless. The only thing that helps me when I feel like this—as if the world is spinning out of control around me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it—is to do something I can control.

Luckily for me, the best distraction I’ve ever had is right next to me, looking all concerned about our future, aboutme.

“Come on.” Julian stands, oblivious to the direction of my thoughts, and holds out a hand to me. “There’s nothing else to be done tonight.”

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