Chapter 8
8
HONOR
PRESENT
“ A lright everyone, let's get started. We’ve got some big news.”
There’s a low murmur of interest from my coworkers as we file into the conference room. My boss, Heidi, is standing at the head of the long table and watches us with ill-contained glee as we pull out chairs, setting down phones, notebooks, and water bottles.
I’m barely paying attention.
When I was hired at The Healthy Hearts Foundation over a year ago, it was a dream come true. Working for a nonprofit was always the plan, and for the first few months, it was okay. I worked hard, went to every after-work happy hour, and brought in cupcakes for every office party. I really cared, and I still do, but somewhere along the way, my passion turned to resentment.
It didn’t matter where I looked, I saw room for improvement. Why would we use donor’s money to upgrade two-year-old technology when that money could be put toward countless other things? Why wouldn’t anyone listen when I presented well thought out, progressive ideas? I wanted to make a difference, and instead, I’ve become one more tired, depressed office drone, doing a job I hate. If I found another job, would it even matter? Probably not.
Granted, the state of my personal life probably isn’t doing anything to boost morale about my career.
As the last IT specialist drops into a vacant seat beneath the windows, Heidi beams around at all of us. “Good morning everyone, let’s dive right in. I’m sure all of you have heard of Julian Ballard?”
The shock is so intense it’s as though someone just threw a bucket of ice water over my head, and before I’ve recovered or begun to make sense of what just came out of her mouth, Heidi continues.
“If there are any here who haven’t, Mr. Julian Ballard is the founder of several large tech companies. He has recently started a foundation with the intention of partnering with existing nonprofits to donate funds and bring awareness to their causes. I found out this morning that Healthy Hearts will be the very first beneficiary of The Ballard Fund, and they have pledged fifteen million dollars .”
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 to not look 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 like anyone 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.
Except, there must be, because Julian Ballard is standing in the open doorway, silhouetted by the brightly-lit corridor beyond.
Just the sight of him knocks the wind out of me, and for a moment, all I can do is stare. He’s dressed for the weather in a thick knit sweater and jeans, a departure from the T-shirt and shorts he wore when we said goodbye at the airport six weeks ago. His dark hair is a little longer, the shadows beneath his eyes a bit more pronounced, and his stubble darker.
He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as my heart flutters against my ribcage like a trapped bird.
“I came for you,” Julian replies simply as he moves farther into the room, allowing the door to close heavily behind him.
The muscles below my belly button twist, and I stand stock-still, watching him walk toward me, his eyes on my face.
“But why ?” I ask, my breathing uneven as he stops an arm’s length away from me.
Julian frowns, like he’s actually confused. “Because you wanted me to.”
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “I never said that.”
“Should I go home, then, Valentine?” Julian asks, his lips curving in one of his shy smiles, the ones that have made my heart twist since day one.
God, he’s so cute. I’m so freaking screwed.
Letting out a frustrated huff, I gesture around at the magnificent ballroom we’re standing in. “You’re kind of locked in now. This wasn’t for me, right? You didn’t pick Healthy Hearts because I work there?” I feel even more ridiculous suggesting it than I did thinking it, but Julian doesn’t look taken aback.
“Of course I did.”
My mouth falls open. “Julian! That’s... I mean… Why? ”
His smile slips, and my breath catches as he moves another step closer. It stops altogether when he reaches across the space between us to take my hand. The moment his skin touches mine, it sends warmth straight up my arm, spreading through my chest.
“Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left California. A first for me, Honor, I promise you.”
I can’t process what he’s saying, can’t make sense of the contradictory information coming at me from all sides, because I’d resigned myself to this never happening. And yet, Julian is here . He flew across the country, because he thought I wanted him to, and now he’s saying things that just aren’t compatible with pretending there’s nothing between us.
My tongue darts out to wet my lips, and Julian’s dark eyes track the motion. A warm weight settles in my pelvis. “I just… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
With a quiet hum of acknowledgement, Julian’s thumb smooths over the skin of my inner wrist, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from whimpering. Never in my life have I been so absorbed in someone that the rest of the world faded away, and yet that’s exactly what happens whenever this man puts his hands on me.
As naturally as breathing, my free hand comes up to rest on his chest, and Julian’s heartbeat stutters beneath my palm. When did we move closer together? “You look tired,” I tell him quietly, worry temporarily distracting me from the shock of his appearance.
The corners of his lips twitch. “You’re more concerned about my lack of sleep than my showing up here and spending fifteen million dollars to impress you?” He releases my hand to touch my waist.
This is so surreal. Half of me is expecting I’ll wake up at any moment, because things like this do not happen to me. I’m the girl who gets cheated on and eats her weight in cookies and cream ice cream, not the girl who catches the attention of a handsome billionaire. In the weeks I’ve spent wanting this man, I never dared to hope anything would come of it. Never. Getting hit by lightning felt more probable.
“You didn’t need to spend any money to impress me.” It’s the truth, too. The things I like best about Julian Ballard have nothing to do with his net worth. “You could have just come to see me.”
His expression softens. “If anyone else said that to me, I wouldn’t believe them.”
My answering laugh echoes off the high, dark ceiling above us. “I just can’t believe you’re here.”
The hand on my waist tightens, just a little, and Julian’s throat bobs. Electricity crackles in the air between us, and, as if he can see how much I want him to, Julian lowers his lips to mine.
Our kiss is reverent and slow, but my panties are still wet within seconds. All I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears, our ragged breathing, and the sound of his clothing brushing against mine.
Only last night, I wanted to throw out all my pants with buttons and lean into the sad, single-girl life. Now, it feels like my heart is going to burst, because this is happening . He came all this way, showed up here like this, all for me.
I rock forward, clinging to him as our kiss deepens, and heat floods my lower belly when I feel the hard length of his cock pressing insistently against my stomach.
We break apart, panting, and in the darkened room, Julian’s eyes look black as he stares down at me, that unmistakable bulge still pressed against my body. “Look at you.” His thumbs trace my jaw, and there’s something like awe in his expression. “You’re coming alive right in front of me.”
I am, aren’t I? It’s ironic we’re standing in the dark, when it feels like someone just threw Technicolor paint all over my gray, ordinary existence. How did I forget that he has this effect on me? How does a relationship that should be bad make me feel this good?
Julian’s hips cant forward as he lowers his lips to mine again, his hands on my ass, and my pussy clenches, agonizingly empty. I whimper, my hands clutching his shoulders in an effort to tether myself to reality. It doesn’t work. We’re so wrapped up in this, totally out of control, and now, there’s only one possible way it can end.
We’ve barely talked. I don’t know what we’re doing here, or if he’s spoken to Riley, or any of it. None of that feels particularly important at the moment, however, because if he doesn’t fuck me, I might actually die.
“Fuck.” Julian’s rough curse when we break apart makes heat curl up my spine. He casts a wary look over his shoulder toward the doors lining one side of the ballroom, as if just now remembering where we are. “We need to get out of here.”