Page 25 of Drop the Mitts

But then any fantasies evaporated because Grace pulled his shirt over her head. She moved slow. Relaxed. Not tense like she had been when he’d caught her at the window. She pulled her hair free and smoothed it, then tossed the shirt into his lap before picking up her own blouse.

She didn’t rush. Didn’t fumble. Grace held out one arm and pulled on the shirt, bowing her head as she pulled it across her back and slipped it over her other arm, then freed her hair caught in the collar before straightening it.

It sat open like a jacket, and the sight of that was somehow hotter than when it was all the way off. She started at the lowest button, working her way up. She took her time with the buttonhe’d just sewn on, fingering it before slipping it through the hole. He couldn’t hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears.

When she finished, she looked up. “That’s better.”

André forced his mouth to close. He frowned and pulled his own T-shirt on, the image of her still seared onto his retinas, playing like a movie teaser. He didn’t know what this meant. Was that her idea of a gift? A thank you for the button fix? If so, she was a sadist.

“We should probably get in there.” Grace nodded toward the building.

André dragged a hand over his face, tilted his head back against the headrest, and exhaled. “Yeah. I’m going to need a minute.”

Silence.

He glanced over just in time to see a small curl of Grace’s mouth before she turned and reached for the door handle. “See you inside, then.”

Chapter

Ten

Grace

The boardroomat Heads Up Alberta was functional, nothing flashy—grey carpeting, a long oak table, a TV mounted on the wall, and a few framed photos of past events hanging neatly in a row. They clearly weren’t some massive corporate operation. It was a small office with few staff. Grace read the mission statement on the wall.

“Provide emotional, physical, and monetary support for families dealing with the lifelong effects of traumatic brain injuries.”

The director, Michael Russo, stood and introduced himself as she entered—mid-fifties, solid build. She wouldn’t have staked her life savings on it, but she was betting he was a former hockey player. He looked the part. Well, all except the missing teeth.

“Hi.” Grace shook his hand, then stretched her arm to greet the woman sitting beside him. Michael introduced her as Lucy, their fundraising coordinator. She had sharp eyes, dark curls tied back in a bun, and a laptop already open in front of her.

“I’m Devin, the community outreach manager.” The second man stood and rounded the table to shake her hand. He looked young, maybe in his mid-twenties, and had round wire-rimmed glasses reminiscent of a character from Harry Potter.

“Did André ditch you?” Michael grinned as he sat back in his rolling chair.

Grace laughed. “No, he?—”

“Was just parking.” André swept into the room with a grin. He was fully dressed now, his jacket on over his T-shirt. Grace groaned internally.She hadn’t brought his winter coat.That was not an oversight, she just hadn’t planned on seeing him this morning.

Michael pressed his hands into the table top. “André, thanks for putting this together. And Grace, we appreciate you being here.” He sat and opened the folder in front of him, glancing around the table. “First off, I want to thank you all for making this happen. I know the logistics of something like this can get complicated, but if we do it right, it’s going to make a real impact.”

Lucy leaned in, her excitement obvious. “Have we talked funding goals?”

Michael shook his head. “Not formally.”

She turned to André. “I’m not sure if this is in the ballpark, but my goal would be to raise at least two hundred and fifty thousand, ideally more. That will make a big dent in our annual goals.”

André nodded. “I think it’s high but not unrealistic. We’ve got some big names. We’ll have player interviews, some media spots leading up to the game. We’ll also auction off jerseys,equipment, signed memorabilia—all of that goes straight to the foundation.”

Michael turned to him. “And you’re good with managing that?”

André nodded. “Yeah, I’ve already got contacts for it. We’ve already got verbal agreements for sponsorships, we’re in the process of getting local businesses involved. Ticket sales will be a major factor too, so we need to make it a real event—something people want to show up for.”

Grace steepled her fingers. “This is happening when?”

“End of March. Leading into playoffs. Take advantage of the hype.”

Grace sat back, arms crossed loosely as she observed. André wasn’t here as a representative, he was fully involved in the organization of this event. He was well-versed. Confident. A very different version of the flirty André she’d met at the hockey game and had seen in the truck that morning.

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