Page 89 of Match Penalty

For better or worse, tomorrow is the end of something.

I just wish my heart would agree with my head that JP losing is the outcome I want.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Cammy

The arena banquet room shimmers like a winter wonderland, transformed from its usual rugged charm into an elegant gala space. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light across white-draped tables while fairy lights twinkle overhead. I grip my clipboard tighter, using the endless auction details as armor against the emptiness in my chest.

Juliet did an amazing job. This place is stunning. It's my turn to make sure that we raise enough to build the condos.

"Final sound check is done," Juliet confirms, appearing at my elbow. "And the silent auction displays are getting lots of attention."

I nod, scanning the growing crowd of Seattle's elite in their finest evening wear. "Perfect. Has the catering team set up the—"

The words die in my throat as JP walks in.

He walks in, a striking figure in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, the black fabric emphasizing his broad shoulders and athletic build, his hair gelled but only brushed back casually with his fingers. His bow tie sits slightly askew—just enough to make my fingers itch to straighten it. To touch him one last time. To have those mesmerizing blue eyes back on me again.

Our eyes meet across the room and everything else fades away. The noise of the crowd, the sparkle of the lights, the weight of my clipboard—nothing else exists except for us. For a moment, I see a flicker of something like longing in his expression before he quickly diverts his attention from me again.

But not for long.

Like a magnet, his gaze snaps back, as if he physically can’t stop himself. I force myself to look away first, but not before I catch the way his fingers tighten around his whiskey glass, his knuckles going white. His eyes travel slowly—too slowly—making their way from my perfectly manicured toes, peeking out from the high slit of my emerald dress, to the curve of my hips, the dip of my waist, the corseted bust that lifts just enough to remind him exactly what he lost.

And judging by the way his jaw tenses, the way his throat bobs as he swallows, it’s working.

Then someone steps in—Coach Evans from the Seattle football team—shaking JP’s hand, momentarily pulling his attention away. The moment between us snaps, but the lingering tension is still there, simmering beneath the surface.

I inhale sharply and grab my phone, my pulse thrumming as I fire off a text before I can talk myself out of it.

Me:Stop staring.

I don’t expect a response. But my phone buzzes almost instantly.

JP:I can’t.

I look up from my phone to see his eyes are back on me. And then another text hits.

JP:You look beautiful tonight.

I read the text over and over again, wishing there was more context to it. Wishing he'd offer an explanation for his actions.

"Cammy?" Brynn touches my arm. "Aria is laying out some additional items on the tables but wants your approval."

"Of course. I'm happy to take a look," I manage, turning towards her to follow her across the room. I feel JP's eyes on me as I walk away.

I throw myself into work, using each task as a shield against JP’s presence. Every checklist, every conversation, every auction detail becomes a distraction, a desperate attempt to keep my mind off the fact that he’s here.

But no matter how hard I try, my eyes betray me.

JP moves through the room effortlessly, his French charm a well-oiled machine as he shakes hands with donors, leans in just enough to make each conversation feel intimate, and throws out that devastating smile that could melt ice. He’s good at this—at making everyone feel special. Like they’re the only person in the world when he’s looking at them.

I would know.

Because once upon a time, he made me feel that way too.

Right up until he didn’t.

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