Third Person's POV.
Penelope arrived at the Biltmore bar precisely at 8:00 PM. Harlow Langford was already there, seated at a discreet corner table. He stood up when he saw her, and Penelope instantly felt a visceral lurch of annoyance and awareness.
He was leaning into the light, his photographer's eye for angles making the tailored shirt and artfully undone tie look criminally sexy. He was exactly her type: charming, intense, and utterly bad for her carefully constructed life.
"Penelope," he greeted, his voice a low, warm rumble that completely ignored the setting's formality.
"Harlow," she returned, her voice sharp and brittle. She didn't sit. "I have exactly five minutes. State your piece."
He gestured to the glass of Cabernet waiting for her. "I ordered your favorite. It's eight o'clock. Relax."
"I don't relax when I'm dealing with complications," Penelope said, crossing her arms. "Let's be clear. That night was a moment of mutual poor judgment fuelled by jet lag and alcohol. It means nothing. It was a mistake."
Harlow leaned back, his eyes narrowing. "Was it, though? Because the way you kissed me goodbye that morning didn't feel like a mistake."
Penelope felt the heat rising in her chest. "It was a mistake because I don't mix business and pleasure. I don't do relationships, Harlow, and for a good reason. They are messy, they distract from my goals, and they give people leverage."
"Ah, leverage," Harlow mused, taking a slow sip of his drink. "So, I'm leverage? Is that all I am? Or are you just terrified that I might actually be something you can't control?"
He had hit a nerve. She hated the idea of losing control. Before she could craft a scathing rebuttal, he stood up, closing the distance between them.
"You can call it an encounter, a mistake, or poor judgment. But for forty-five minutes, Penelope, you weren't an executive at Moore Holdings. You were just Penelope, who laughed when I kissed her neck and couldn't stop touching my stupid beard."
He reached out and gently brushed a stray hair from her cheek, his touch sending a ridiculous jolt through her. She was furious at the effect he had.
"Stop it," she commanded, stepping back, her voice shaking slightly. "This is not going to happen again. We are colleagues now, nothing more. You focus on the campaign. I focus on my job. End of discussion."
Penelope finally came to her senses. The risk was too high, the timing too terrible with her mother breathing down her neck. She had to end this.
"I mean it," she said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "It was one night. It is over. Don't call me, don't text me, and maintain professional distance at work. Do you understand?"
Harlow stood perfectly still, his intense gaze fixed on her. A slow, utterly infuriating smirk spread across his face. He didn't argue. He didn't beg.
"I understand," he said, the amusement thick in his voice. "But I don't believe everything you just said."
He simply watched her, his expression utterly confident, like he knew a secret she hadn't realized yet.
Penelope wanted to hit him. Instead, she spun on her heel and marched out of the Biltmore, leaving her untouched drink and her resolve shaken.
Penelope drove immediately to her own apartment, a loft in the heart of the city that served as her own sanctuary, far from the suffocating grandeur of the Moore mansion. It felt infinitely freer than the mansion's silence and scrutiny.
She didn't even bother to change out of the dress before dialing Ohio who wasn't home.
Ohio answered on the second ring, sounding sleepy. "Pen? What's wrong? I haven't from you all day. Is it your mother?"
"Worse," Penelope groaned, collapsing onto her sofa and dragging a pillow over her face. "I just had a five-minute meeting with Harlow."
"Wait, the hot photographer who won't stop texting you?" Ohio asked, instantly alert. "Did you manage to cut things off? Did you wear your sexy dress?"
Penelope pulled the pillow off her face. "I wore my sexy dress and it worked, but not in a way I wanted. Ohio, I went in there, I delivered a whole speech about being professional, and he just... looked at me like he knew something I didn't."
"And?"
"And he basically told me I was lying about wanting to cut things off," Penelope admitted, burying her face in the pillow again. "He said, and I quote, 'I don't believe everything you just said' And he was right, Ohio! I wanted to throw everything away and kiss him right there! The chemistry is ridiculous, and I hate it. I hate that he sees through me. What am I going to do, Ohio?"
Ohio was silent for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Oh, honey. You are a hot mess. You went in there for a breakup, and he basically confessed to you."
"I can't believe I got myself involved in this," Penelope sighed, rolling onto her back. "I'm supposed to be running things while Percy is gone, you know? Keeping our mother out of trouble and stuff, and now I have an annoyingly hot photographer who thinks he can dismantle my emotional boundaries with a few sweet words. I don't do relationships, Ohio. You know why."
"I know why," Ohio said softly, the amusement was gone, replaced by genuine concern. "But Penelope, maybe this isn't such a bad thing. Maybe it's about time you finally let yourself feel something messy and real, instead of something calculated and strategic."
"But I can't afford messy! I'm a Moore!"
"You're a human being," Ohio countered gently. "Take a breath. You shut him down for now. You have two weeks before you see him again. Focus on work and other fun things. And hey, at least you have something to distract you from your mother's inevitable plotting."
Penelope managed a weak chuckle. "You always find the silver lining. But I swear, if he sends me another text, I'm blocking his number and flying out of the country."