Emma’s recommendation.”
While she’d been busy taking out her frustration on the whiteboard, Ward had stood and crossed to her side. She glanced up to find him standing far too close. Close enough for her to see the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes. How had he moved so silently?
She sucked in a deep breath and was once again struck by the scent of him. So clean and crisp. When she spoke, her words came out almost as a whisper. “He barely knows Emma.”
She cleared her throat, annoyed with herself for being distracted. Ward’s gold-flecked eyes were the least of her worries. But … what were her worries again?
Right. The fact that Rafe didn’t know Emma well enough to trust her opinion. And he knew Ana even less well. Given her scanty qualifications, how could she view Rafe’s trust as anything other than negligence?
“But he’s known Chase for years. If his brother trusts Emma, then Rafe does, too.” Ward reached out a hand to her arm.
Obviously, he meant it to comfort her, but instead it sent tiny fissures of awareness coursing through her. And then she looked down at it. His hand was large. Strong and powerful. His fingertips rough against her skin. And just so … capable.
Her breath rushed out of her lungs. It hit her then. This wasn’t just the strong and masculine hand of an attractive man. This was Ward Miller’s hand. The hand he used to do all that fret work for which his songs were so famous.
Something giddy and girlish stirred within her. Something deeply feminine. She felt her breath coming in short bursts as warmth flowed over her.
She forced her gaze from that spot on her arm where his skin touched hers, only to find herself looking up into his eyes, again. Dang it. Those were some dangerous eyes. They were eyes she could lose herself in.
Which was so not good, seeing as how lost she already felt.
She shook her head to clear it and tried to remember what she’d been saying. Hannah’s Hope. Right. How overwhelmed she felt. “I just … could use a little guidance. More involvement. More hands-on.”
“Well, then. You’re going to love me,” he murmured.
Then her gaze darted once again to where his hand still rested on her arm. Why hadn’t he moved it yet? Why hadn’t she simply stepped away? She felt heat flood her cheeks and she jerked her arm away.
She forced a stern note into her voice. “This isn’t a joke. Hannah’s Hope is important. It’s not just a charity, it’s an opportunity to bring together the whole community.”
“I knew that already,” he said, his own tone devoid of charm or humor. “Rafe convinced me of that before I even came out here. You’re right about one thing.” He gently pried the eraser from her hand and began cleaning the second whiteboard. “You can’t depend on Rafe.”
She forced her attention away from the smooth confident movement of his hands, surprised at his bluntness. “But—”
“He’ll do right by Hannah’s Hope. I guarantee that. But it would be shortsighted of you to rely solely on him for financing. You need to get more money flowing in and you need to get the word out about what you’re doing. That’s what I’m here to help with.”
His voice had that low seductive quality again that beckoned to her. Made her all too aware of how vulnerable she felt. And made her wish she had more crumbs to clean up.
Thankfully, he seemed unaware of it as he continued, “The Cara Miller Foundation has a lot of good people working for it. If you don’t trust me or Rafe, then at least trust them to do their job.”
She clenched and unclenched her hands in front of her, hating how nauseated she felt at hearing her own concerns voiced aloud. “So you think bringing someone in from CMF to do my job would be better for Hannah’s Hope?”
“Whoa—” He held up his hands in the universal sign of surrender. “That’s not even close to what I said.”
“But you do think someone else could do a better job?” Resentment spiked through her. Who was he to criticize the way they were doing things? He was a musician. It’s not like he had any hands-on experience running a nonprofit … okay, so he did have hands-on experience. “I’m sure that when you started the Cara Miller Foundation, you hired all the best people in the industry and were able to get things up and running in nothing flat.”
She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice. The Cara Miller Foundation was known all over the world for its work in early childhood healthcare. But she had no doubt that part of what had made the Cara Miller Foundation so successful was Ward. He’d brought the full force of his personality—not to mention his considerable wealth—to bear in the charity.
She released a deep breath, determined not to take out her frustration on Ward. Even if he was friends with Rafe, it wasn’t his fault that Hannah’s Hope was little more than an afterthought to Cameron Enterprises’ purchase of Worth Industries.
She paced to the far side of the conference room, but even that far away from him, she felt like his nearness was smothering her.
“You have to see where I’m coming from. The Cara Miller Foundation is a study in efficiency and effectiveness. The work you’ve done is …” She shrugged, looking for the perfect word. “Legendary.”
His lips curved in a faint smile, graciously acknowledging her compliment. “Thanks. CMF has a lot of great people working for it.”
“Exactly,” she agreed grimly. “And Hannah’s Hope has me.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He shook his head ruefully.
“I’m not one to pull my punches. Especially not when I’m dealing with my own failings.” She sighed, scraping her hair off her face, even though only a few locks had escaped. “I desperately wanted this job. And I desperately wanted to be great at it. And I’m just …” She floundered, finding it harder than she imagined it would be to put her own shortcomings into words. “I’m not as good at this as I expected. I thought the volunteer work I’d done in L.A. would be a solid groundwork for this. Plus, I’m smart. I’m hardworking, I’ve never failed at anything in my life. I thought that would be enough. But so far, it’s not. The sheer minutia associated with setting up a nonprofit is completely overwhelming me.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she snapped her mouth closed, wishing she could take them back. Jeez, of all the people to gripe to … Why’d she pick one of the two people who could summarily fire her? The board held her job in their hands. Emma would never vote to fire her, but if Ward persuaded Rafe, they’d have the majority.
But when she met his gaze, there was more understanding there than censure. His lips were twisted in a wry smile. His eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not afraid of hard work. I’m not even afraid of failing. I just don’t want to disappoint others. In the four years I worked in Hollywood, I dealt with some of the most difficult personalities in the industry. After that, I was so sure I could handle anything.” Now she did laugh as she admitted, “God, I hate being wrong.”
He walked to where she was, then gently turned her to face him. “You weren’t wrong. You can do this.”
The fervor in his eyes, the sheer conviction nearly took her breath away. She was struck all over again by how handsome he was. By the fact that Ward Miller—Ward Freakin’ Miller—was here, mere inches away from her. Talking to her like a colleague. She shook it off. This was so not the time to wallow in his intense sexual appeal.
Abruptly, he dropped his hands and shoved them into his back pockets. “I remember all too well how hard it was to get CMF started. Sure, I had staff. I had hired the best people in the business, but I wanted to do most of it myself. I needed something to keep me busy.”
She found herself practically holding her breath. It had been three years since his wife had died. Still, she