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“What advice?” He stared at her frowning. “I didn't give you any advice. I merely explained why we weren't giving you any money.”
“You also said you were sorry.”
He began to look frustrated as well as impatient. “I'm not following, Laura, and quite frankly I don't have the time to sit here and go all over again why we are not loaning you any money. If you’ve got a point to make, get to it. I’ve got a full day ahead of me.”
She handed him a pink sheet of paper from a bundle stacked in the envelope tucked under her arm. “I'm holding a fund-raising event.”
He took the flyer she handed him and read out loud, “Charity Bingo Night?”
She nodded proudly. “I hoped you would post it somewhere in the building.”
Shaking his head, he tossed the paper back at her. “We don't make it a practice to advertise for other organizations.”
“But it's for charity.”
Again, he shook his head.
“I thought you wanted to help.”
“No,” he purposefully stated, “I never said that.”
“But you said you were sorry.”
“Yes, because we weren't able to engage in a business transaction.” He sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair before getting to his feet. “Listen, you're on the right track but simply not thinking big enough. The only thing you'll accomplish through this bingo night is perhaps raising enough money to pay your latest utility bill.”
Laura felt despaired. What had she expected? That Dexter would smile and give his support and approval? With a dejected inward sigh, she foolishly faced up to the truth she had been looking for his admiration and perhaps his moral support.
“It's a beginning, and it’s one night. More nights like this and I should be able to cover some of my debts.”
“It's going to take a great number of nights, and you'll soon discover the dollar doesn't stretch as far as you expected. Those special events will eventually become never ending. They simply won't accomplish what you're searching for as an ongoing financial funding source.”
Stubbornly, she balked, “Forgive me, I suppose I'm stupid where it comes to business. I'm no genius but I'm doing the only thing I know how.”
Wearily, he closed his eyes. “You're not stupid. You simply don't understand the field of business.”
“Then what do you suggest I do?”
He lifted his head and pierced her with a penetrating gaze. “What I suggest is you close the shelter. I think it was foolish of you from the beginning to get involved in something way over your head. You're trying to take the world and all its problems into your own solitary hands. You've wasted your father's well intended inheritance, you've raised the hopes of these young girls, where in fact they'll more than likely be back out on the streets in less than a few months because you've finally had to declare bankruptcy. If you quit now you may actually be able to salvage some of your inheritance, make the repairs required on the home, and still be able to live comfortably.”
/> Her beautiful amber-green eyes turned stony. Snatching up the flyer from his desk she turned hotly on her heel. “I should have known.”
“Do you honestly believe you're making a difference in those girls’ lives?” It was snarly asked, causing Laura to come to an abrupt halt, the hair on the back of her neck becoming prickly as she felt her spine go stiff.
“Yes, I do, but that's not the point. Even if I didn't have the slightest influence, I could never be accused for not giving all my heart. I try, Dexter O'Reilly, and you can never falt me for not trying.”
She opened the door and sailed out of his office, unaware he had followed her. “Stop trying to save the world, Laura, and try saving yourself instead. Because, believe me, you're going under, and fast.”
“I'm not trying to save the world! Just my shelter!”
“Ah.” He became sarcastic as he raised his arms, saying, “The patron saint for runaway girls.”
They had progressed into the outer office, facing each other with angry daggers flaring between them, oblivious to a silent Cara Henderson observing.
“At least you can call me a saint, that's a word far from describing you!”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do amuse me, Miss Witherow, what word are you thinking?”
Easily, she responded, “Serpent.” He most definitely was a coldblooded snake.
