Page 13 of Kissed and Missed

Am I breathing? I don’t think so, because the room is spinning, and my chest is burning. All around me, people are whooping, crying, hugging, and I’m just sitting here, frozen with shock. This kind of money is a game changer, it’s a massive deal, and I’m not thinking about it at all.

I’m thinking about the man who donated it.

It can’t be a coincidence that I had that conversation with Julian, and not even twenty-four hours later, he makes a fifteen-million-dollar pledge to the nonprofit where I work. Is this some kind of consolation prize?“Sorry, you can’t have me, but here’s a pile of cash to help prevent heart disease.”

“Settle down, everyone. We have work to do.” Heidi laughs, holding up her hands to stem the onslaught of excitement. “The Ballard Fund has decided to throw a Valentine's Day gala to make the formal announcement. There will be press, high profile donors, and Mr. Ballard himself will speak. This is obviously fairly last minute, and they’ve requested a representative from Healthy Hearts to assist with planning. Honor, you’ll be taking point on that.”

Oh, god.

Everyone is staring at me, and my boss frowns, obviously confused as to why I haven’t started squealing and jumping up and down at being bestowed such an honor. I clear my throat, my cheeks burning, and manage to squeak, “Um. Are you sure?”

Heidi’s look of displeasure deepens. “Yes. I’m sure. You’re our event coordinator, Honor. This is an event that needs coordinating. Will that be a problem?”

A few nervous laughs come from behind me, and I shake my head. “Of course not. I’d be happy to.”

“Well, now that we know Honor is happy to do her job—” She moves on, leaving me to stare at the wall behind her, my ears ringing.

Maybe it’s just a coincidence.Maybe Julian has planned to partner with Healthy Hearts for months, before he even met me. Or, our talk yesterday reminded him about all the heart disease in this country and how it could benefit from a big pile of money.

Yeah. That has to be it.

Definitely.

At the end of the meeting, Heidi held me back for a passive-aggressive talk in the vein of,“Are you alright? Yes? Oh perfect, next time I say jump, be sure to ask how high.”Once we’d gotten through that with some dignity intact and I apologized, she sends me off to meet The Ballard Fund’s team.

The hotel where the gala will be held, The Witt, is not the kind of place we rent with Healthy Heart’s limited events budget. Typically, we book public parks, libraries, and the occasional conference center. A five-star hotel is a whole other ballgame, and now more than ever, I need to be focused on work. It isn’t happening though, not with the sudden influx of Julian Ballard related questions.

Heidi said that he would be speaking, right? That means he’ll be there. Will he talk to me with dozens of reporters within hearing distance? If he does, will I be able tonotlook at him like he’s the hottest man on the planet?

Oh god, he’s probably going to wear a tux. I’m so screwed.

Like he can sense I’m an imposter, the man at the front desk frowns over his glasses at me as soon as I shoulder open the lobby door of The Witt. It’s a beautiful room, filled with stiff, expensive-looking sofas and polished marble floors.

It’s an effort to plaster a polite smile on my face as I approach him, pulling off my gloves. “Hello. I work for The Healthy Hearts Foundation? I’m supposed to be here for a meeting with The Ballard Fund about the gala?”

The frown deepens. “Your name?”

“Honor Vogel?” It comes out like a question.

Front desk man picks up a phone and lifts it to his ear, peering suspiciously at me all the while, as if he suspects I’m going to make a run for it and steal all the silverware. “Hello, sir. I have an Honor Vogel here for a meeting? Yes? Of course. I’ll send her through.”

The phone clicks back into the receiver, and the man gestures to a long hall leading off the lobby, still looking put out. “The ballroom is just through the doors at the end. Please let me know if you need any assistance, Miss Vogel.”

Eager to get this over with, I turn on my heel, striding off down the corridor he indicated. This place looks exactly likeanyone would expect a super fancy, rich-person hotel to look. Paintings that are probably worth more than my annual salary line the walls, all of them seeming to depict a boat, a horse, or a stern old white man, and my footsteps are muffled by a deep-red carpet, adorned with intricate, gold patterns.

With any luck, this won’t take long. They’ll hit me with a list of tasks, and I can retreat to my office to work and stew in peace. There’s no way I won’t see Julian at this thing, at least from a distance. Should I call him again? What would I even say? It seems pretty presumptive to assume his donation of fifteen million dollars has anything at all to do with me. For god’s sake, Riley couldn’t even remember my birthday.

I pause outside the double doors, sucking in a long, steadying breath. Helping to coordinate an event like this is a massive opportunity for me, and there’s no way I’m going to make myself look like an idiot because I’m too busy imagining Julian Ballard in a tux. I can do this. Everything is fine.

When I get it together enough to push open the doors, however, the massive space is empty.

The thud of the door closing behind me echoes off the high ceilings, and as I move farther into the room, my eyes are drawn to the ghostly shape of darkened chandeliers above my head. The room is so quiet and still, the only thing I can hear is the echo of my footsteps on the marble floor, and my blood rushing in my ears. Hundreds of chairs are stacked against the far wall, beside a dark stage, and the large round tables have been broken down and placed on rollers. A lone janitor’s cart sits next to the door I just entered.

It’s not difficult to imagine the space filled with women in gowns and men in tuxedos, the swell of classical music, polite laughter, and the tinkling of silverware against china. It’s beautiful, and there’s no pretending I’m not wildly out of my comfort zone here.

“Honor.”

The man’s voice comes from behind me, and I gasp, whipping around to face the newcomer. In the fraction of a second before I see him, it registers that I know the voice. Just as quickly, though, I dismiss it. Because there’s no way, absolutely no possible way.

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