I snorted. “No. Lily.”
He chuckled. “When is it?”
“In a few weeks’ time.”
“What happens at that one?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to invite him, but I just smiled at the server when she dropped off my drink and told him, “There’s a charity auction. It’s the biggest fundraiser I organize.”
“More than the ticket price?”
“Yeah. We get good donations.”
“Let me guess, that’s where you come in?”
I smirked at my chai. “Knowing the rich and powerful’s dirty secrets comes in handy when you want a favor.”
“A favor… Is that what you’re calling it?”
“Yep.”
“What’s the main lot this year?”
“A purse.”
“A purse? How can that be the main lot?”
I grinned to myself at his bewilderment. “It’s very rare and very unique.”
Not my style, but who was I to argue with what rich people wasted their cash on?
“It’d have to be. What’s its value?”
“About forty grand, but I have a feeling it’ll go for over a hundred.”
“Jesus Christ. Rach, I’m a fucking millionaire, but I wouldn’t waste a hundred grand on a purse.”
“That’s why you’re not invited,” I teased, which had the added benefit of making him laugh.
“Oh, that’s why, huh? Not because it’s black tie and I’d show up in my cut?”
“Well, that might have something to do with it.”
It didn’t. But we were joking around, and I enjoyed it.
Most of our interactions were fractious to say the least.
This was easy.
God, I needed easy right about now after that scolding from the doctor.
“I’ll bet,” he mocked. “What else are you auctioning off?”
“Everything from stays in private chalets in Switzerland to jewelry. We get a variety of lots.”
“Who attends?”
“Do you want the honest answer?”
“Of course.”
“Mostly my clients and their associates.”
He was quiet a second, then he chuckled. “You and your goddamn loopholes.”
From the second contract I’d signed with his company, I quoted, “‘You, Rachel Laker, whose firm is retained by Dark & Dirty Sinners LLC as a sole client, do hereby confirm that you will undertake work only for your chosen charities and no one else.’”
“Queen of Loopholes. So, they, what? Pay you through donations?”
“Yep. For the most part, anyway. I get arrangement fees.”
“Goddammit.” But he was laughing. “I should be pissed.”
“Nah. You get perks.”
“What kind of perks? Those guys probably pay through their teeth for you.”
“They do and it all funnels to my charities.”
“More than the four-hundred-K we pay, I’d assume.”
“You assume right. Your perk is that you don’t have to attend my fundraisers. They do.”
“I’m surprised you don’t make us go. Why don’t you?”
“The rote answer is because the MC helped make me who I am and that’s donation enough.” I took a sip of my chai, bracing myself for his next question.
“What’s the real answer?”
Two weeks ago, I’d never have told him, but we had declared an impasse, and that was more important than anything else.
“That I’m terrified you’ll end up in jail, so I’ll do whatever I have to to make sure that never happens.”
More silence boomed down the line, louder than a foghorn. “You look after me in your own way, huh?” he eventually muttered.
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Rach.”
“You’re welcome.”
It might not seem like a nurturing move, but the MC got into a lot of hot water. It was a good thing that ice flowed through my veins.
“If I find out Maverick knew about your loopholes, I’ll beat the shit out of him.”
“Exactly what he doesn’t need with his CTE,” I drawled.
“Fucker,” he grumbled. “He probably does know. My fucking friends but they’ve always been protective as hell about you, even when it bites me in the ass.”
My lips curved slightly. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
He sniffed. “Wanna bet? Anyway, who’s your biggest client?”
I didn’t mind him changing the subject. “Not gonna tell you that,” I taunted. “Ever heard of NDAs?”
“I’m curious!”
“Well, tough. If someone asked me if you were a client, I’d throw the same answer back at them.” A moment passed, and I demanded, “Are you pouting?!”
“Maybe.”
A chortle escaped me. “You’re nuts.”
“Just for you.”
Those three words settled deep in my being, warming me from the inside out.
“I thought our calls today would be awkward.”
“The idea is for us to open up to each other,” he answered gently. “That won’t happen if we shut each other out.”
He was right, but I’d still expected him to give me attitude.
“I’m not complaining.”
“Good.”
The server appeared again, this time with my salad. As I started to eat, I asked, “How did it go with Wynter?”
“What are you eating?”
“It went bad, huh?”
“Nope. But I want to know what you’re eating.”
“An avocado salad.”
“Sounds disgusting.”
“I like it. Go on then, tell me what happened.”
“She opened up to me after I told her why we had her adopted.”
My stomach started churning and I placed the fork down. “She must hate me.”
“No. She might have before. Or, well, to be honest, I think hate’s too strong a word. I think it was more like she was angry and resentful. When I explained, she looked sad. Like she could understand.”
I released a shaky breath. “Does she want to meet with you again?”
“She agreed. I took her to school on my bike and asked if she wanted me to pick her up—she said yes.”
His excitement was clear.
I smiled and picked up my fork again. “I’m so glad. What are you going to do?”
“Mostly feed her. I found out that her mom co-signed on the lease for her. But I don’t know why, and I don’t think she’ll tell me. I offered to help out with the rent, but that might be too soon to get her to agree.”
“The place she’s living in is that bad?”
“It’s a shithole.”
I bit my lip. “Maybe you could arrange with her to pick her up for breakfast and to drop her off after school?”
“Do you think she’d be okay with that? It’s a lot, isn’t it?”
“Suggest it gradually. She’s hungry?”
“Yeah. She ate an omelet, a breakfast muffin, and two pastries.”
My brows lifted. “Is she underweight?”