PENELOPE
The sound of the door shutting behind us was like the final note in a song—soft and satisfying.
Christian tugged at his tie, loosening it with a sigh as we got into the penthouse. I kicked off my heels with a groan of relief.
“Well,” I said, turning to him, “you definitely made headlines tonight.”
He smirked. “Was it the kiss on the carpet, or the one on stage?”
“Both. You’re greedy,” I laughed, shaking my head. “You had the media in a chokehold. Literally.”
We collapsed onto the couch for a minute, Christian ran a hand through his hair, the other resting lazily on the back of the couch behind me.
“I still can’t believe you went up there,” he said, looking at me like I’d grown wings.
“I still can’t believe you left. Why do I have this feeling that you did it on purpose.”
