Page 58 of Look, Don't Touch

“What exactly did you two talk about?” I sharpen my already pointed stare.

“I can’t remember all of it.” I whittle the point again. “It was a year ago…but he was impressed with the party and that it was actually raising a good chunk of money for a worthwhile cause. Not the arts.”

“What’s wrong with the arts?” Astor balks.

“That’s what I asked. He said nothing, but making sure people have safe places to land is a hell of a lot more important than making sure they have advanced pottery classes in school.” Nat shrugs. “That’s when I told him that my niece would love him.”

“You what?” I squeak.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” She waves me off. “We talked about your love of the cause and how you two should meet. Then he told me that he wasn’t what you were looking for, that he had issues, and I told him you’d like him even better then because helping people was your main passion in life.”

The more she talked, the more I hid behind my hands. “You didn’t think mentioning this was at all important, especially when he came to see me as a patient?”

“Why would it matter?” Nat stuffs an envelope. “He was just a beautiful man I spoke with, who was taken with you and your causes.”

“So off the list?” Astor asks.

“He and his table raised more than a million dollars that night.” My aunt tosses the ready envelope into a pile with a flourish.

Astor and I lock eyes immediately, me through the spaces between my fingers.

Another million dollars?

I blink and blink some more.

“He’s staying on the list, along with all of his friends,” Astor announces.

There’s nothing I can say. It’s more money for a good cause, no matter my stupid feelings about the man. Besides, he probably won’t even attend.

“Subject change,” I beg again. “And this time, it better be a good one.”

“I think your cat is plotting my murder.” Astor looks into the far corner of the room.

A much safer topic.

Two windows join to form the most spectacular view of Central Park. Plinko sits on his custom-made window perch between them. That way, he gets morning and afternoon sun. His grizzled little ears are cockeyed on his head, and he does have a die-stupid-bitch-die stare going.

“He has resting murderer face.” I begin adding floral arrangements to tables. “Also, it’s your fault.”

“That he has RMF?” Astor chokes.

“That he’s here, contemplating all the ways he could take you out.” Damn, there are a lot of tables. My hand starts to cramp.

“You love that mangy thing.” Nat puckers and blows him a big kiss.

He meows, and I have to bank the urge to grab him up and smother him to my chest. I smile at him, though. That damn cat has proven to be the grounding force in my life over the past few weeks. Four, to be exact.

The night I came home, deleted my Crave app, called and froze my membership, and cried myself to sleep, Plinko wedged himself between my boobs and didn’t move until I had to pee the next morning.

I’m pretty sure he’s thrilled that I have the gala planning to toss myself into. He’s swatted me a time or two for smothering him.

“I can’t believe you already have all the silent auction items in storage,” Nat marvels. “And you received almost double what you’ve had every other year.”

Astor jerks her head in my direction as though she wants to say something, but I don’t look at her. I perfect my petals and leaves on another table’s arrangement.

“And you’re still looking for more?” My aunt adds another envelope to the packed pile, and then relaxes back as though she’s the one who’s been scouring the city every evening over the past few weeks looking for auction items.

“Just one.” I straighten and crack my back. “I want a wow piece. Some kind of art. Sculpture, maybe, or a large oil painting.”

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