Page 11 of Sack

“Have you heard of Colt’s Kids?”

She had. It was one of the things she’d run across during her search. But seeing as she hadn’t known of his existence until the day before and not wanting him to know she’d been stalking him, she played the ignorance card. “Colt’s Kids?”

“It’s a non-profit I founded a few years ago, focusing on child abuse awareness and providing resources for victims.”

“Noble cause.” And she believed that. After doing some research, she’d been appalled by the number of children who were abused or neglected in the United States.

“I feel like we’ve hit a plateau this past year. I was hoping with a wider reach, we could get donations up, and I think a stronger social media presence is the way to go.”

“And that’s where I come in.”

“Yes.”

She’d seen the charity’s website. It was sparse and had the personality of a gray, brick wall. Not that she could tell him that. Yet. “I’ll need to do a little research to see what’s already out there before I can tell you what you need and where I can help.”

“Sounds fair. I have practice all day tomorrow. Will that give you enough time to do that? I can take you to dinner tomorrow night to discuss options.” Another pause, this one longer than the one previous. “That is, if your boyfriend doesn’t mind.”

“Boyfriend?”

“The guy you were with yesterday.”

She couldn’t stop the laugh that burst forth if she tried. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said once she was able to catch her breath.

“Oh.”

Was that disappointment she detected in his tone? Weird. “I think I can have something together by then. Where do you want to meet?”

“I’ll pick you up. Does six work for you?”

That surprised her. It wasn’t a date. One usually didn’t get picked up for a business dinner. Even with her reclusive, cyber lifestyle she still knew that. But maybe it was something hot-shot celebrities did.

She mentally shrugged, rolling with it. “Six is fine. But really, you don’t need to bother coming to get me. I can easily meet you somewhere.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for both our cars to be in the same parking lot at the same time.”

Not good at reading people who she didn’t know, she couldn’t tell if that was a joke. She decided to chuckle to be on the safe side not wanting to offend a prospective client if he were, in fact, trying to be funny.

She discovered she’d made the right call when she heard him chuckle, too.

So, Mr. Grumpydidhave a sense of humor.

Ivy rattled off her address, and they exchanged pleasantries. After hanging up, she went right to work investigating the online presence of his organization, not once getting sidetracked from that goal by reading news clips about his career and personal life.

And there’s some oceanfront property in Arizona for sale, too.

At precisely five-oh-five the next night, Ivy stood in front of her open closet, trying to decide what to wear.

She should have asked Colt where they were going. He was a celebrity athlete, he could be taking her anywhere.

She didn’t have much business attire, but she figured that would be the safest bet. She owned one pair of black slacks that she could pair with a navy blouse. She flipped through the hangers, finding the slacks still wrapped in the dry cleaner’s cling from the last time she wore them about a year ago to her Great Aunt Ruth’s funeral.

Tossing the clothes on the bed, she went to the bathroom to do something with her hair. She untwisted it from the towel and shook the wet, clumpy strands from her face. She usually let it air dry before pulling it up in either a bun or a ponytail, but to go with her professional attire, she wanted a more styled look, so blow drying was on the agenda.

There wasn’t much she could do to the pin-straight locks that fell to the middle of her back. They wouldn’t even hold a curl for more than an hour unless she used enough hairspray to poke someone’s eye out. She opted for the sleek look, trying in vain to curl the ends under with a paddle brush.

She’d thought about cutting it all off into a cute pixie or a short, layered shag, but had never bit the bullet. She was worried she’d hate it and then be stuck with ugly hair until it grew back. Also, if it was short, it would be impossible to throw it into a ponytail if she were having a bad hair day.

She was ready and downstairs waiting by five forty-five. Early as usual. She couldn’t stand to be late. Not a bad trait, but it often left time on her hands to dwell. Like at that moment, waiting for Colt to arrive, second-guessing what she’d chosen to wear, why she’d decided to let him pick her up, and, most importantly, if he would like the proposal she’d drawn up.

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