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“A shopping center is well within my pay grade.”
Her silence let him know his joke didn’t fly.
“I want to know where you are so I can show you our new house.”
“Zach.”
“We also need to talk about our plans and what we’re sharing when. I’m not going to dodge questions when they start rolling in, regardless of my brother’s political career or Ferguson Oil’s reputation. I’m not going to hide you or what we’re doing.”
“I agree. We need a plan.” Her voice was wooden, but he’d take the agreement. “I don’t want that, either.”
“All right, then. Where are you? I’ll take you to dinner.”
“I’m at your apartment. Throwing your clothes out the window.” Her voice was petulant, but he could guess she was kidding.
“I guess I have to buy that shopping center after all.”
More silence.
“Pen.”
“Come home. We’ll talk then.”
The way she said home, with ownership, and invited him to join her, snagged his chest.
“I was serious about dinner,” he said as he sat back in his seat and accelerated.
“You bet your sweet ass you are,” Pen snapped. “I’ll see you soon.”
Another grin. Damn, he liked her feisty.
He liked her, period.
At home he found Penelope dressed down in a tight pair of form-fitting pants and a baggy tee. Her hair was in a ponytail and she was on the floor, eyes closed, hands resting on her knees.
“Yoga?” he guessed, setting his cell phone and briefcase on the kitchen counter.
“I’m meditating so I don’t kill you,” she said without opening her eyes. Then she did, and pegged him with a pair of pale blues that never failed to make him smile. She had a pull on him—a physical one, sure, but there was a deeper connection there. Because of the baby? Yes, that was definitely part of it, but that wasn’t all. “How was your day, dear?”
“Hectic. I bought a house.”
“I heard.” Her mouth flattened. She reached behind her and lifted a sheet of paper, waving it in the air for him. “I lost mine.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
She stood from her mat and slapped the paper against his chest. “I was surprised.”
He palmed the paper and followed her into the kitchen. She swallowed a few drinks of water before gesturing to the paper he still held. “Flip it over.”
Her handwriting took up the entire backside of the page.
“‘PR Plan for Zachary Ferguson and Penelope Brand,’” he read.
“I drafted our plan.”
Under their names were dates and bulletpoints for items like “announce end of engagement” and “be seen shopping for baby” and “press release.”
“This is...interesting.” He couldn’t come up with another word for it.
