Page 38 of Kissed and Missed

For someone who has organized way more bake sales and fun runs than black tie events, it’s overwhelming. With every step we take, each new hand I shake, every flash of a camera in my face, I half expect someone to frown at me and ask if I’m in the right place. They don’t, though. Nor does anyone comment on the scandal that ripped through the internet and media only a few days ago.

They treat me like I belong, like I’m a person worthy of their attention and respect, and within fifteen minutes, Julian and I have fallen into a rhythm.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Very Important, good to see you. I don’t believe you’ve met, Honor Vogel?”

“Oh, we certainly haven’t! Such a pleasure! We’ve heard such lovely things!”

“I’m so happy you were able to join us, Julian was telling me he hoped you would be able to make it. Be sure to write a big fat check in exchange for the ego polishing!”

Okay, I’m paraphrasing a bit, but we make a good team. The man also doesn’t leave my side for even a second, and is openly affectionate, kissing my hand, my cheek, telling me how beautiful I am, bragging to guests about how instrumental I was in making tonight happen.

It’s one hell of a Cinderella moment, and one that’s made even better when I catch sight of the very long series of numbers at the top of the heart shaped donation tracker beside the door.Holy shit.

My boss, Heidi, is manning the table beside a few of my coworkers, including Jason, who eats a cheeseburger from the vending machine every single day, and Lauren, who is always trying to get me to buy into her lip gloss side hustle.

It’s surreal that I was sitting in that conference room with them only a few days ago. So much has happened since then, and apart from a few emails, in which I promised Heidi I was assisting The Ballard Fund with anything they needed (not a lie), I’ve been totally disconnected from my pre-Julian life.

“Wow.” I let out an incredulous little laugh as I drift toward them, gazing up at the number, and leaving Julian to the very technical, computery conversation he’s having.

“Yeah,” agrees Heidi, eyeing me speculatively. “That’s not even including Ballard’s matching donations.”

Of course, he would forget to mention he was planning that.

My heart flutters. “He believes in what we’re doing. He wants to see Healthy Hearts succeed.”

“I’m guessing that’s down to you.” Heidi shifts uncomfortably, and it occurs to me that I was—technically stillam—her employee, and she’s probably remembering that she was kind of a hard ass with me. Now, I’m standing here in a gown that costs more than my rent, diamonds glittering on my neck, and I have the power. Is she worried I’m looking for revenge?

“It’s down to you,” I assure her. “It’s easy to be critical of how things are done when you’re not the one trying to keep the ship afloat. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t admire the work you’ve done for Healthy Hearts, because I do.”

I glance back around at Julian, who is still standing with a group of men a little ways away, a glass of whisky in his hand, listening with an aura of vague amusement to whatever the one nearest him is saying. A king holding court.

God, I don’t know if anyone has ever worn a tux as well as this man does.

Heidi’s voice interrupts my fantasy of how much fun it’s going to be to take it off him. “So, I’m guessing we’ll need to start looking for a new event coordinator.” I turn back to offer her an apologetic smile, justifications at the ready, but Heidi waves them away. “Yeah, nobody blames you, honey. If that man had looked twice at me, I would have been a done deal, ex’s father or not.”

A done dealpretty well sums up what I was for Julian Ballard from day one. Even as I tried to logic it away and convince myself I couldn’t possibly be feeling the things I thought I was, the deal was already done.

“Besides,” Heidi continues, “you’re a leader, Honor, and leaders aren’t happy coordinating events for someone else. At least, not for long. I wish you well.”

My chest is so full as I bid her goodnight, floating back over to Julian, just as the men he’s standing with clear away. And, as if he can sense my eyes on him, he turns, his face splitting in a huge smile at the sight of me.

Done. Done. Done. I’m so done.

“The announcement is scheduled to be made when the first course is served,” I tell him when I get close enough for him to hear above the music and rumble of voices, pushing back the sleeve of his tux and tilting my head so I can check the time. T-minus five minutes.

Julian hums in acknowledgement, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Are you nervous?”

“A bit,” I admit, enjoying this brief moment of peace and intimacy. I can feel dozens of sets of eyes on us, but none of them matter. This is Valentine’s Day, and life-changing night or not, I want to steal a few seconds to enjoy the brand-new certainty that someone loves me. “Honestly, I just want to get it over with.”

My statement isn’t long, but I still practiced it about ten times this morning, five to Julian and five to myself in the mirror. By now, I could probably say it by heart, but I still shoved the folded piece of computer paper in my clutch, and double checked it was still there half a dozen times since leaving the suite.

He chuckles, kissing my temple. A camera flash goes off nearby. “I don’t blame you. The dress is incredible, by the way. I’m not sure I managed to verbalize that sentiment earlier.”

“It was implied, don’t worry,” I assure him, just as a smooth male voice sounds from behind us.

“Well, well. Fancy seeing you here, Miss Vogel.”

Julian and I both turn to find a tall, blond man waiting for our attention, his lips curved in amusement and hands resting casually in the pockets of his tux. My eyes widen in recognition. “Holden! Wow, what are you doing here?”

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