Page 77 of The Wrong Proposal

“I’ll be there.”

No point in letting anyone down yet.

* * *

The New Yorkpenthouse on Broadway is a luxurious space with the best technology—criteria I won’t negotiate. Tonight, it feels empty. Lifeless. I imagine Penny here with me, waiting for me to come home from the office, spending our nights together—an unattainable dream.

I step out on the balcony and gaze over the endless skyscrapers and blinding lights. I’m surrounded by eight million people, yet I’ve never felt more alone.

I call her.

It rings and rings.

I listen to her voice asking me to leave a message.

I almost sayI love you, but it’s the wrong time to say it and in the wrong way.

I tap out a short message.

I’m lonely here without you.

Delete.

I miss you.

Delete.

Jesus, it’s been a matter of hours.

Hi Penny. Please think about the condo. It’s yours to move into or rent out. We can discuss it more when you are ready.

I never send emojis, but maybe I should add a heart. Fuck knows what I should do. I’d rather send an email, or a voice message might have been a better option, only I couldn’t trust myself not to say something irrational. I hit send and go to bed. I need a good night’s rest to gather my thoughts and focus on the bigger problem.

* * *

The following morning,I head to the gym at four o’clock after barely sleeping. All night, I fixated on the lawsuit and everything that could go wrong. I checked my messages every hour for something from Penny.

I can’t control how she feels.

I scroll through my emails and then toss my cell on the table.

How the fuck am I going to fix this?

22

PENELOPE

On Friday afternoon,I pack up my desk hurriedly to get out of the office and have a glass of wine somewhere. I haven’t spoken to Franklin since he blindsided me with the condominium, except for the text asking him to give me space.

Hugh waltzes into the office with a huge grin, clearly as happy about it being Friday as I am. “Are you ready?”

“Absolutely. I’m ready for a drink before heading to Franklin’s Malibu house.”

“He’s away, right?” Hugh carries my computer bag while I stuff a few things into my handbag.

“He is. For a month, his brother said.”

“And he didn’t tell you this himself?”

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