The Year I Was the Other Woman To Myself novel Chapter 138

When she answered, she could see he was fresh from a shower, his hair still damp. The steam had flushed his face, making him look even more striking. But before she could get a good look, the camera’s view shifted, and he tossed the phone onto a desk.

“I signed the contract with Harvey this afternoon,” he said, his tone all business. “Their headquarters will be moving into the commercial district, and per their request, your mall project will need some adjustments. I’ve already passed the details to my team; they’ll contact your company to discuss the specifics. I’m telling you now mainly so you understand the changes aren’t major. Just manage your team’s expectations so there’s no unnecessary resistance.”

Hearing this, Penelope shifted into professional mode. Even a small change on paper could have a significant ripple effect, so she needed to understand the scope.

Theodore outlined the key points, and she felt a sense of relief. The modifications were indeed minor, well within their capacity to handle.

“There’s a small crack in your ceiling,” she said, now that the business talk was over.

The camera moved again, this time centering on Theodore’s face. He was sitting in front of his laptop, his expression neutral as he focused on his work.

“Uh…” That wasn’t exactly what she meant, but she had to admit that looking at his handsome face was far more pleasant than staring at his ceiling. “Still busy?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you get that cut on your arm looked at? Oh, and you didn't get it wet in the shower, did you?”

“It’s treated. Kept it dry.”

His answers were clipped and to the point, not a wasted word.

“When are you coming back?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Is it cold there? It’s getting cool enough for a blanket here at night.”

“It’s fine.”

This conversation was going nowhere. Maybe she should just hang up? But the thought of ending the call without getting a single smile out of Mr. Moneybags felt like a professional failure.

“Michael sent me a video of you earlier,” she tried.

He grunted in response.

“He called you ‘honey’.”

At that, Theodore finally turned his gaze to the camera, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Penelope settled into her bed, propping the phone up so it was aimed at her face, and watched him work. There was something undeniably captivating about a man focused on his tasks. She watched his long, articulate fingers fly across the keyboard, the way he would occasionally lower his gaze in thought before focusing back on the screen.

On a whim, she took a screenshot. The angle was terrible, but he was still incredibly handsome.

Initially, she’d felt like she was getting the short end of the stick in this deal, having mistaken Harold for Mr. Johnson’s son. But now, she felt like she’d won the lottery. Because it was Theodore.

How could one man be so good-looking? Such a potent mix of raw and regal, and so damn sexy…

Penelope was more than satisfied; she was content. And somewhere in that contentment, she drifted off to sleep.

When she woke the next morning, she remembered with a jolt that she’d fallen asleep mid-video call. She grabbed her phone. He had, of course, hung up, but not before sending her a screenshot of their call.

In the picture, she was sound asleep, her face smushed and distorted by her hand, a little trail of drool escaping the corner of her mouth.

Below it, a message from Theodore read: “Thanks to you, I was wide awake all night.”

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