Page 2 of What You Own
“Adam,” I said, shocked my voice was steadier than my insides. “It’s been a while.”
“Has it?”
Ouch. My heart flinched, but my expression managed to stay open, neutral. “You look good.” Now that was a damned fool thing to say.
One slim, black eyebrow quirked. “Thank you.” He angled toward Ellie, effectively dismissing me, the horse’s ass. “The schedule said two representatives from the Emmett Paige Community Center.”
“We both volunteer regularly,” Ellie said, maintaining her affable smile. She could do that—stay calm and reasonable in any situation. Even when her current best friend was getting dissed by his ex-best friend.
“I see. Well, his earlier meeting is running over, so I’m covering the meeting for Joe Quartermaine this morning. Why don’t we go into a conference room?”
Adam didn’t wait, just turned and started walking. We followed him past the elevators to a long hallway with identical wood doors. Many stood open, some closed. He stepped into one, flipped on the lights, then plunked down on one side of a six-person table. I went in last and shut the door, then sat next to Ellie, opposite Adam. He rustled a legal pad and pen from a small pile in the middle of the table.
“So what can we do for you here at Langley-Quartermaine?” Adam said after a few seconds of awkward silence.
Ellie answered, since he was looking at her and ignoring me. She slid a packet of prepared papers across the table to him. “The Emmett Paige Community Center is a privately funded rec center for children between the ages of five and seventeen. We provide before and after school activities for children at risk, as well as offering a variety of classes at little to no cost to the participants. We try to involve the community through performances of theater and dance”—Adam’s eyebrows twitched—“and our productions are generally well-attended. We’ve seen a lot of lives turned around through the center.”
“I’ve heard of it,” Adam said, his eyebrows now lowered as he looked at Ellie. “It sounds as though you provide a wonderful service to our town.”
“I like to think so. The kids are safe from bullying. We don’t allow any sort of racial or sexual discrimination there.”
“That can’t be easy.” His face was flat, but his eyes were burning with blue fire. He was mad, and I couldn’t quite figure out why. Maybe he thought this speech was some kind of personal ambush, but we thought we’d be talking to Joe Quartermaine today, not him.
“It’s not easy, but it’s worth it.”
“I see.” Adam started tapping his pen against the legal pad—nervous tic. He’d done it in school too. “Where does LQF fit in?”
“Last year, one of the major trusts than funded the center went bankrupt, and we’ve been struggling to keep the center open with very limited money and—”
“So you’re soliciting donations?”
My irritation swallowed my anxiety. “If you’d let her finish her sentence, she’d tell you why we’re here,” I snapped.
Adam stared at me for a long moment, and I waited for him to climb onto his high damn horse and kick us the hell out. Instead, he blinked hard, then shifted his cold blue stare onto Ellie. “My apologies,” he said. “Please, continue.”
Ellie cut her eyes at me, then did. “We would never say no to a donation, of course, but we’re more interested in raising funds through a benefit and using that to potentially attract new benefactors for the center. If they could see our passion, see what the kids do there, I think we stand a better chance than going door to door.”
“So if you don’t want a donation…?”
“We’re looking for local business owners who are interested in underwriting the cost of the benefit, as well as donating prizes for a silent auction during intermission. Your corporate name will be in the playbill, as well as on posters advertising the benefit.”
“Playbill.” Adam glanced at me, then back to Ellie. “What kind of benefit are you planning?”
I held my breath for this one.
“A Broadway revue,” Ellie said. “Different songs from different shows that will appeal to all different age groups. Many of our adult volunteers are doing numbers, along with the kids.”
“Are you singing?”
“I hope to.”
Ellie was a fantastic singer. She’d performed with me inRent, and for three nights she lit up the high school theater as Maureen Johnson. She taught singing and dancing classes at the center, but never had the confidence to make a career of the stage.
She nudged me in the side, and I startled, unaware I’d been spoken to. Adam was giving me his full attention, and I had no idea what I’d missed.
“What?” I said.
“I asked if you were singing,” Adam said. His voice was funny, a little hitched.
