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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 didn’t imagine that was something you ever got over.
    She’d looked him up on Google when Emma first called to tell her he was the third board member. After carefully tucking all her girlish fantasies back away, she’d realized that she knew very little about what he’d been doing in life since he’d disappeared from the public eye.
    The web had enough details about Cara’s death to satisfy themost morbidly curious, up to and including Ward’s last words to her.
    She’d been so disgusted by the invasion of his privacy that she’d immediately closed the window, feeling a bit unsavory for reading even as much as she had. Losing a loved one was hard enough, but to have your grief splattered all over the tabloids for public consumption, that was…well, just unimaginable.
    “It must have been extremely hard to lose her,” she said now.
    He nodded, his expression patient, somehow accepting of her awkward, fumbling condolences. “If I could start CMF,” he continued, “then so can you. That’s why I’m here to help.”
    But she shook her head. “It’s enough that you’re on the board, that you’re being the face of Hannah’s Hope. I’m certainly not going to ask you to do my job on top of that.”
    “I’m not doing your job,” he argued. “I’m doing my job.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    He smiled at her obvious confusion. “You don’t know what CMF does, do you?”
    “It provides healthcare for impoverished children.”
    “That’s half of what the Cara Miller Foundation does.” His grin lit with mischief. Like he was about to share a secret. She felt herself leaning toward him. “When I started CMF, that was my intent. But along the way I realized how hard it was to start a nonprofit. I quickly realized that without the financial and personal resources I had, I never would have gotten anywhere. That’s why I started the other branch of CMF.”
    She frowned. “The other branch?”
    “Yes. Helping kids was Cara’s thing. But that’s not what really excites me.”
    “What is?” Heat flooded her cheeks as she realized the double meaning behind her question. But she quickly forced her embarrassment aside. Yes, there seemed to be an attraction simmering between them, but he seemed determined to ignore it. And if he could, then she certainly could, too.
    She forced her attention to the topic at hand. She’d thought she knew exactly what the Cara Miller Foundation did. She’d thoughtshe knew exactly why he was here. Just to provide a glamorous face to promote Hannah’s Hope. Had she been wrong?
    “I’ve lost you, haven’t I?”
    “A little