Passion Play. Regina HartЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Not to you because you’re a confident person.” Rose leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees and linking her fingers together. “I used to be confident, too. Ben took that from me.”
“Then take it back.” Lily ran her fingers through her wavy, shoulder-length hair. Her movements were graceful. “I know Ben shook your self-confidence. Do you think it’s easy for me to see you like this?”
“I’d feel better if I could get even.”
“You’re giving Ben too much power.”
Rose expelled an impatient breath. She rubbed the knotted muscles in her right shoulder. “Lil, are you going to help me or not?”
Lily frowned her confusion. “What can I do?”
Rose hesitated. “Do you know any eligible men who might be willing to be my date for the reunion?”
Lily seemed to consider the question. Rose appreciated that. At least she didn’t dismiss Rose’s request immediately.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.” Lily offered a smile. “The men I know are either in relationships or you don’t have to ask why they aren’t.”
“It sounds like we know a lot of the same men.” Rose’s tone was wry.
“Have you asked Iris?”
“She doesn’t know anyone suitable.” Donovan’s image taunted Rose.
Lily nodded. “You and I disagree on this fake date idea, but in the end I just want you to be happy. I want you to be Rosie again.”
Rose wanted the same thing. She wanted to get rid of this bitterness, anger and jealousy, and move on with her life. But how could she do that? What was the first step back to herself?
* * *
Donovan didn’t want to have this conversation again. However, it seemed that Cecil Lowell, the newest member of the Hope Homeless Shelter’s board of directors and the most junior member of the five-person legal subcommittee, didn’t have anything better to do.
“We already voted on this motion last week.” Donovan regarded the young banker. He drew a deep breath to hold on to his patience. The conference room in the shelter’s offices smelled as old and musty as the rest of the building.
The subcommittee had voted during its previous meeting, and presented their decision and reasoning to the entire board of directors. Now with the board’s support, they were preparing to move forward with their challenge to allowing a pawnshop to move into Hope Homeless Shelter’s neighborhood. Why did Cecil want to revisit that near-unanimous decision? Was it because he had been the only nay vote?
Donovan sat at the head of the honey-wood conference table. The other four subcommittee members—two women and two men—were on either side of the small, rectangular table. Cecil was on his immediate right.
“I know.” The flush on Cecil’s round cheeks almost matched his curly red hair. “But I’ve thought of some other things that we need to consider.”
“Like what?” Kim Lee, seated across from Cecil, had served on the board longer than Donovan. The retired university professor glanced at her silver watch. It was the only sign of her impatience.
“The reason we need a lawyer pro bono is because the shelter’s low on dollars.” Cecil glanced around the table as he spoke.
“That’s one of the reasons.” Salma Vargas propped her elbow on the table and balanced her pointed chin in the palm of her hand. The certified public accountant eyed Cecil with vague curiosity.
Cecil continued as though Salma hadn’t spoken. “If the city allows Public Pawn to open in our neighborhood, the owners could be persuaded to become regular donors. They could increase our fund-raising base.”
“You said you had something new to add,” Kim said, crossing her arms over her dark green blouse. “You said basically the same thing last week.”
Cecil shook his head. “I hadn’t suggested how we could use the extra money.”
“Your new proposal is that we ask the pawnshop owners to make regular contributions to the homeless shelters. Is that correct?” Medgar Lawrence’s brown eyes focused on Cecil seated beside him.
“Exactly.” Cecil seemed excited that someone understood his plan.
“I don’t think supporting homeless shelters is Public Pawn’s primary mission.” A few more creases lined Medgar’s dark, weathered brow as his frown deepened.
“We could at least ask them. There’s no harm in asking.” Cecil leaned forward on his seat.
“Medgar is right.” Donovan nodded his understanding of Medgar’s point. “Cecil, these are two separate issues. If Public Pawn’s owners wanted to support the shelter, they would already be donors. The other issue is that this committee has already voted to oppose the pawnshop locating here.”
Cecil glanced between Donovan and Medgar. “You don’t understand—”
“No, Cecil, you’re the one who’s confused.” Donovan turned to the younger man. “The subcommittee voted on this matter last Wednesday and presented our position to the board, who approved our decision. Now we’re moving forward.”
“All right.” Cecil threw up his hands. “I thought you’d want to hear different ideas.”
“We heard different ideas last Wednesday.” Donovan spoke slowly and clearly. “Now it’s time to act.”
“I agree. What’s our next step?”
Donovan inclined his head toward the accountant, acknowledging her support. “We need to find a lawyer who’ll take the case pro bono. I can’t stress that enough. The shelter doesn’t have the money for legal representation.”
Kim glanced around the table. “But we need someone who’s experienced with filing statements with the city.”
“I’ve already checked with a couple.” Medgar shook his head. “Neither one was interested. They said it was too many hours not to get paid. And a lot of those hours are spent following up with the city.”
“Can we offer some nominal fee?” Salma asked. “Maybe we could at least get a deep discount.”
Donovan looked around the table. “If it comes to that, we’ll see if someone will take the case for a modest fee.”
“A very modest fee.” Medgar held Donovan’s gaze. “If we sneeze in the wrong direction, our budget will end up in the red.”
Donovan pushed away from the conference table. “And remember, everyone, the clock’s still ticking. We need to find help fast.”
* * *
Donovan winced after his first sip of coffee Friday morning. He turned to Tyler, seated beside him in front of Xavier’s desk. “You call this coffee? Why bother?”
Tyler cradled his twenty-ounce, silver-and-black coffee mug between his palms like a day-old baby. “This is actually the way most humans drink coffee. We don’t usually use it to peel off the soles of our shoes.”
Donovan scowled into his coffee mug. He really could have used something stronger this morning. Worry about the shelter had kept him from sleeping, but unfortunately, he hadn’t gotten to the office early enough to make the first pot of java.
Xavier gave him a considering look. “How was your conversation with Whitley last night?”
Donovan drank more of the warm water masquerading as coffee. What were the chances it would taste better if he just added more grounds? “She’s not interested in the project.”
Although she had made it quite clear that she was interested in a physical relationship with him. If he’d been eighteen, he might have accepted