by Misty Evans
Now she watched from the third floor conference room window, staring down at the sidewalk out front where dozens of paparazzi blocked the street and fought each other to get close to the star as he emerged from the building. His blond hair, flowing around his shoulders, glinted in the sunlight. Like a Viking, Jenna thought. Throughout the meeting all she’d wanted was to reach down and touch that hair, pull it back from his rugged face and watch him sleep.
She twirled her braid as she watched him, his bodyguards, and his publicist fight through the crowd and climb into a limo. What if he’d been in the conference room alone with her? What if he’d woken, looked deep into her eyes, and told her how impressed he was with the foundation, how much he admired her and her work?
“Can we discuss dinner now, Red?” a deep voice asked from behind her, interrupting her Hawke fantasy. The voice had a slight British accent, and there was only one person who ever called her Red.
Jacob.
Shutting her eyes for a second, Jenna fought the urge to growl. Why wouldn’t he leave her be for one minute so she could actually catch her breath and stare at Hawke like the teenage girl inside her wanted to? “Just leave the information with Wanda,” she said without turning.
“We need to discuss the venue change.” Jacob’s imposing presence sidled up next to her. Heat from his body invaded her personal space and carried the scent of expensive cologne. “And we need to do it by eight a.m. tomorrow to lock in the Wynn banquet hall. That is, if you can be bothered to act your age and pull your gaze away from that idiot. You do remember the Swinton is unavailable because of renovations, right?”
Idiot? Jenna seethed, watching Hawke slide into the limo’s backseat. He rolled down his window and blew a kiss at the paparazzi. She pretended he was blowing it to her.
“That ‘idiot,’” she said, “is going to be Donor of the Year, and the only reason you don’t like him is because you think you deserve the title.”
“Is that so?” Jacob chuckled, and the annoyance she felt only deepened. “I’ve been Donor three years running, and I hardly need another plaque, but that loser was late to the meeting and hung over. You really think he deserves Donor of the Year? That he’s a good role model to the kids? Or the person you want representing your foundation?”
Yes. Yes, he was. Hawke Thorn had given her hope back in the day. His music touched her soul and millions of others. He’d grown up poor and rose to stardom with hard work and determination. He was a good person.
Jenna ignored Swinton, smiling as one of the earlier gaping interns called out to Hawke, waving her phone. Hawke got back out of the limo and posed for a picture.
Stars like Hawke lived in an entirely different world. They didn’t understand business meetings and he’d probably been out performing last night at some club after the manager recognized him and begged him to do a song or two. It happened all the time according to TMZ. Hawke was just that kind of guy.
“Red.”
Jenna bit her bottom lip. “Don’t call me that.”
“We need to get down to business. The Wynn is the only spot in Vegas that isn’t booked and will hold the two hundred people attending the party. The board has put me in charge of this, and I will make sure it exceeds their expectations.”
For half a second Jenna wished she’d snuck into Hawke’s limo and was driving away from her real life. She loved it at 3 Wishes, but sometimes a girl needed some flash and fantasy.
“Jenna.” Jacob grabbed her by the arm and whirled her around to face him. “What is your bloody problem?”
His voice, so condescending, and the fact he was touching her, did funny things to her stomach. He might not consider her his equal, but by God he didn’t run 3 Wishes. She did.
She didn’t need to channel Van this time, giving him a glare she hoped he would feel all the way to his toes, she replied, “Take your hand off me, Mr. Swinton, and do whatever the hell you want for the dinner convention venue. But make sure it’ll hold an extra hundred people or so.”
He lifted his hand and gave her a mocking grin, as if upsetting her was the most fun he’d had all day. Probably was, the bastard.
“And why is that, Red?”
“Because I’m inviting the press and all of those paparazzi down there. They’re going to want to be there when Hawke Thorn accepts his award and takes my foundation to the next level.”
2
What the hell was that? Jacob Swinton glared at his hand, then down at Jenna, the vibrating pulse of electricity still flowed up his arm. As irritating as she was, a tiny masochistic voice at the back of his mind prompted him—dared him even—to do it again. The hell he would. Touching Jenna was not on the agenda...ever.
Jacob had been on the wrong end of a woman's death glare more times than he cared to count. He knew what she was doing. Except instead of making him feel small, it made him feel big...in all the wrong places.
He shifted slightly to make room for his thickening erection. Not the appropriate reaction, Swinton.
This woman was barely better than a street urchin, yet every time he was around her his skin itched. And he spent an inordinate amount of time staring at her lips.
Which made no sense whatsoever because he barely even liked her.
Not to mention she was all wrong. He liked his women refined. Cultured. Educated.
Not that Jenna wasn't smart. She was. After talking to her for more than five minutes, that was apparent. She had a master’s degree, for the love of God. The only problem was getting her to focus. And getting himself to focus around her.
Any time he was in her presence, his emotions oscillated between annoyance, anger, exasperation, and the odd tingling through his body that could only be identified as an acute awareness. Which was just silly. Stupid really. At least that's what he told himself when the occasional inappropriate thought about her floated into his consciousness at...inopportune times.
It was just that one...okay, maybe two, times…when he'd been on a date and they'd been getting close, his stupid brain had ruined the moment by interjecting thoughts of kissing Jenna. And it made no sense; those women were exactly what he wanted. And Jenna was...not.
He took a calming breath and blocked out the tingly feeling, keeping his gaze impassive. She was so busy focusing on that drunken pop star she wasn't hearing a word he said.
This was important. Children would benefit from what he was trying to discuss with her. “Jenna, I recognize that your concentration is fractured, but I need your focus.”
She rubbed her fingers over her arm where he'd touched her before sliding him an exasperated glance as she packed up her things. “Jacob, I don’t have time for this right now.” Her braid whipped from side to side as she moved and he had the overwhelming urge to tug on it. “Do you see the media out there right now? It's crazy. That's huge exposure for 3 Wishes. I need to get down to PR to make sure they capitalize on this. Can we talk about whatever it is later?”
He ground his teeth together. Instead of focusing on the important stuff, she was all lip service. For weeks, she’d gone on and on about the integrity of the program and what they were trying to do here. Meeting every child where they were in their recovery and providing services beyond their wishes.
She discussed the children like they were her own. Down to the concern and worry they felt that they might not see their next birthday. But he guessed that was simply what she thought sounded good, because now that it mattered, now that they were talking about real ways to help, she was distracted by drunk and disorderly down there.
The desire to rip off Hawke-with-an-E Thorn’s head tackled him with the force of a rugby player. He frowned. What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn't usually prone to violence. It was one thing to get twice weekly Muy Thai lessons, but it was another thing entirely to picture taking the guy’s head off.
Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose. This would all be so much easier if he was dealing with Alex. Jenna's brother understood the importance of the detai
ls. Every time Jacob tried to pin Jenna down she prattled on and evaded his questions.
But he couldn't let that happen now. They were nearly out of time.
The Swinton Endowment helped 3 Wishes put on their annual awards ceremony. Hell, they gave so much money, he'd been elected to the board.
Of course, if he'd been on the board when 3 Wishes fired Alex he would have voted against it. But that was before.
All year the SE gave money, selected the recipients of their donor funds, and made sure to support the major events. And every year he dealt with Alex. But now he was gone. So that left him with Jenna.
She looked like a teenaged skater punk with her slouchy jeans and hoodie and her Chuck Taylors. Her curly red hair was always swept into a haphazard ponytail or a braid, and she never wore a stitch of makeup. Not that she needed makeup exactly, but she always looked like she’d just rolled out of bed. She was more adorable teenager than someone to whom he wanted to give his money.
Shit, where had that come from? Jacob cleared his throat. “Jenna, I understand you would rather be out there in the limelight taking some of the spotlight for 3 Wishes, but we have to discuss this. I have the papers ready and we need to go through the contract line by line.”
She tugged on the end of her braid. “Look, I'm swamped, and I don't want the limelight. But if they're already here I might as well capitalize on it. Some of us don’t have access to billions of dollars to blow. The rest of us have to work at it. If you really need the paperwork signed now, give it to me and I’ll do it.”
Billions to blow? Is that what she thought? That he was some bored billionaire with nothing better to do with his money? He clenched his jaw. He cared about every single child his family’s endowment helped. Every. Damn. One.
And the ones that the SE couldn't help, he helped. Personally. Who the hell did she think she was?
“Just because you’re some bored millennial whose parents attempted to give a sense of direction by putting you in charge doesn’t mean you have any idea what I do. You don't know me.” He meant to step away from her, but instead he found himself directly in front of her—her cucumber and mint shampoo wafting into his nostrils.
Eyes narrowed, she glared at him. “'Bored millennial?' You don't know me either. I told you to leave the paperwork and I’d sign it.”
“You're not even going to bloody read it first? You realize as the president of 3 Wishes you have to be knowledgeable about all of this. You can't go through your whole life all flighty and warm and fuzzy. Hard work has to be done at some point.”
A pink flush crept up her neck and her pupils dilated, but she didn't back away.
She pursed her lips and his gaze drifted to them, like pink petals making him want to…what? Kiss them? No. He did not want to kiss her. What then? The images floating in his head were not appropriate.
He shook his head and took a very deliberate step back before the thickening of his erection made it difficult to talk to her.
What the hell was wrong with him? Since when was he no better than a teenager? Good thing he could employ mind over matter; this was not happening.
You know how to do this. You know how to bring people around to what you want.
All he had to do was talk to her like any other tight-pursed potential donor. Make her feel appreciated. He inhaled deeply. This would take some effort, as right about now he felt like strangling her.
“Jenna, you can’t just sign the document without reading it. You need to understand each point front and back. If anything goes wrong any member of the board could ask you about it and you need to be able to answer the questions.”
She turned her attention away from the hoard surrounding “Hawke with an E” to glare at him again.
So sorry to tear you away from your fan girl dreams, your ladyship, but I need your bloody focus.
“Let's be honest,” she said. “The only member of the board who will give me any shit is you. Can’t you just give me the damn highlights? Why are you being so difficult?”
Difficult? She thought he was being difficult for difficulty's sake. Just like that, he forgot about cajoling and went straight to pushing. “How about, for starters, it's at a different venue this year. The ballroom at the Swinton Hotel isn't available, so we've had to move it due to renovations. Second, I need specifics from you, like how many plus-one guests to accommodate for the VIP dinner tables because that will influence the setup of the space. And now you’re adding a hundred more guests? That again is a game changer. Moreover, I need your input on whether you'll be hiring a planner, or if, like in past years, 3 Wishes will be planning yourself, because the contracts and paperwork are different. I need to know contacts for the caterer and florist. I need to know numbers. I need specifics. I don’t need you to just sign on the dotted line. When I dealt with Alex I could tell he cared about the details.”
She tilted her chin up. “Well he's not here, and you’re stuck with me. Fine. I'll look at it okay? Does that make you happy.”
“This isn’t about making me happy, Red. This is about you doing your job instead of chasing after pretty boy downstairs like some teenager with a crush.”
“I am doing my job,” she blurted.
“Then prove it. Act like a goddamn president.” He pointed at her attire. “Might also help if you looked the part.”
“What the hell is wrong with how I look?”
“You look like Avril Lavigne when she was cool, and that's hardly representative of the president of a foundation.” Her eyes narrowed into slits, glowering at him once more. “Where do you get off?”
Anywhere with you.
Damnit. He stood ramrod straight. He rarely got angry. And if he did, he managed his anger. No big bursts of emotions. Always in control. He shook his head to clear it. The thing about their exchange that alarmed him more than his loss of control was that her fury made his skin prickle with heat.
“It's the truth, get over it. You don't look the part. You certainly don’t act the part. If you did, Hawke with an E down there wouldn’t have barged into your meeting. Hell, he would have been on time. And he wouldn’t have interrupted it to leave.” He pointed at Hawke who was now, finally, driving off. “He also wouldn't be taking valuable man hours away from the foundation snapping selfies.”
“Do you have any idea how much money he raised for us? The kind of exposure he could bring?”
He tried to keep from rolling his eyes. He really did, but he couldn't help it. “Oh please, what you see is the shiny, sparkling piece of gold. But 'all that glitters' and so on. That guy wouldn’t know a fundraiser if it crawled out of his arse. You’re suckered by the PR machine. He’s a spoiled, entitled player, and you’re a wanna-be fan girl.”
“And you're an asshole.”
He shrugged. “I've been called worse while 'throwing my billions around.'” He took the envelope with the papers out of his briefcase. “Look these over or don't. I don’t care. While you’re busy playing groupie, some of us have real work to do. Real people to help.”
He closed his briefcase quietly and stalked out. He didn't need this shit. If Jenna wanted to waste 3 Wishes’ time and money to chase after someone like Hawke, so be it. As he took the back entrance he lamented how much easier his life was before Jenna.
3
Jenna juggled a carrier of coffees and her backpack through 3 Wishes’ back door, bopping to the beat of an old Triple Threat song she’d listened to a hundred times before the second surgery to fix her left knee. While kids her age had been looking for prom dresses and seeing the latest Harry Potter movie, she’d been in pain—serious pain—and wanted to die.
The injury and heavy painkiller cocktail had sent her spiraling into depression. TT’s upbeat song about facing the future and leaving the past behind had kept her from doing something stupid. Hawke had written it and was the lead singer.
Ten years later here she was helping kids and teenagers deal with the pain, fear, and depression over their injuries and
disabilities. In some ways Triple Threat and Hawke Thorn had saved her life so she could improve the lives of others.
Wanda was on the phone, so Jenna plopped an extra large salted caramel latte on the woman’s desk and boogied to her office. She was unpacking her lunch and some case files she’d taken home the night before when Wanda came bustling in.
“I’m supposed to bring you coffee,” she said, handing Jenna a stack of pink message slips. “Not the other way around.”
Jenna tossed the messages on her desk. Why were there so many? “We worked late last night on that volunteer schedule and I appreciated your help. Thought you could use something stronger than Folgers this morning.”
“I need something stronger than Folgers for sure, but not because of last night. Because of this morning.”
Wanda’s tone made Jenna stop her unpacking. “Why? What’s going on? Did Dan plug up the men’s room stall again?”
“Read your messages. Phone’s been ringing off the hook.”
“About what?”
“Hawke with an E is riding this 3 Wishes Donor of the Year thing like a Kentucky Derby thoroughbred. The media is everywhere; calling, hanging around out front. Someone has linked you and him romantically, saying he blew you a kiss from his limo yesterday. They have photos of you all over the People Magazine web page this morning, calling you “Hawke’s Humble Heroine.” He’s getting almost as much media attention for this as for his stint in the slammer.”
Jenna felt gobsmacked. She and Hawke romantically involved? Only if her fantasies were becoming reality. “But…I didn’t even get to shake his hand.”
“Neither did I and you don’t see my beautiful Sophia Loren face gracing the People web page, do you?” Wanda guided Jenna to her chair behind Alex’s big, old desk and stuck Jenna’s coffee in her hand. “Since Vanessa isn’t here, I’m going to give you your options in a nutshell, sweetie. A, you play the card you’ve been dealt and capitalize on this sudden fame by giving a statement this morning to the press on the front lawn, or, B, you hide in your office and the staff and I will shut down the reality TV show madness outside our lobby.”
