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Andrea gave a small, sad smile. “I know it’s hard to hear. And trust me, this isn’t the first time this has happened. We’ll get through it eventually. Unless we can come up with the funds, we’re going to have to close some programs including the drop-in.”
Honey clenched her jaw and looked away. Why did the ones in danger always have to be the ones to suffer? The ones on the fringe? Those with mental health issues, drug problems, or unstable homes. Why was everything about money? Anger rolled over her, and she clenched her hands, her nails digging into the soft skin of her palms.
She didn’t know anyone with that kind of money to burn.
Yes, you do.
Honey’s heart sped up as her mind raced ahead, considering the possibilities. She jerked out of her chair and jumped to her feet. “Don’t cancel anything yet.”
Andrea looked up at her in surprise. “We’re having a board meeting tomorrow night, Honey. It’s going to happen.”
“Just promise me you won’t do anything until you hear from me.” Honey didn’t wait to hear Andrea’s reply. She ran out
of the office, past Molly and the big-ass plant, and headed for her Malibu. She hopped in, revved the motor, and gripped the steering wheel with cold, stiff fingers. Don’t think. Just go. She put the car in Drive and tore out of the parking lot.
Five minutes later, she parked in front of a red brick building that took up nearly an entire city block of downtown Crystal Lake. It was old, a heritage building for sure, but the brickwork and mortar had been recently sandblasted, and it looked pristine. There were large cedars planted on either side of the entrance, and Christmas lights were threaded throughout the branches. She switched off the engine and glanced up at the sign above the frosted glass double doors.
Blackwell Holdings.
Did she have enough balls to walk in there and ask them for money? Hadn’t that been the plan all along?
Honey blew out a long breath and looked in the mirror at the same eyes that had been staring back at her for the last twenty-five years. Large. Blue. Specks of green. She saw him, and anger sliced through her, fueling her actions. She got out of the car before she convinced herself not to, and strode up the front steps, her boots making impressions on the fresh-fallen snow—which she tracked across reception.
The foyer was a huge open space that made heavy use of the original woodwork and architecture from well over one hundred years ago. On either side of the room, large Greek revival columns spiraled to the ceiling, offsetting pale, eggshell-white wainscoting. Coupled with granite, light and dark gray, with splashes of crimson, the space was a beautiful blend of the old world and the new. An impressive Christmas tree was off to the right, and a young man dressed in black slacks and a purple dress shirt was busy decorating it.
“Excuse me,” Honey said, moving forward when she couldn’t find anyone else behind the front desk. “I need to see Mr. Blackwell.”
“Good morning,” the young man said with a smile, moving from behind the massive tree. It was real, and the fresh pine scent filled her nose. “Do you have an appointment?”
The kid looked barely eighteen. She eyed him closely.
“What’s your name?” she asked pleasantly, moving forward until she was so close, she could count the pimples on his chin. Maybe he was only sixteen.
“Kyle Robertson.”
“Kyle,” she replied with a lazy smile, falling back to old habits. “I don’t have an appointment, but it’s really important I see him.” She winked and tossed her hair. “I only need a few minutes. I promise.”
A blush stained his skin, and the poor kid nearly tripped over his shoes as he made his way back to the front desk. An elevator to the left opened, spilling out a few men deep in conversation. They wore suits and ties and didn’t glance her way as they exited the building, leaving just Kyle.
“Um, Mr. Blackwell isn’t here right now.”
Shit. Honey kept the disappointment off her face. “When will he be back?”
“Soon,” Kyle said, his composure somewhat regained with the reception desk between himself and Honey.
“I’ll wait in his office, then.” She moved toward the elevator. Four floors. Hudson would definitely be on the top floor.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. He already has a—”
But the elevator door slid shut, and Honey tapped her toe, nervous adrenaline making it hard for her to stay still. Her stomach turned over when the doors slid open, and before she lost her nerve, she stepped into a bright alcove. Soft greens and creams greeted her eyes, along with several paintings along the wall before her. They looked to be originals, mostly scenes from a Crystal Lake that existed many years before.
To her left, she spied large double oak doors and a brass plaque on the wall beside it. Boardroom. The only other door was to her right, and she headed for that, not bothering to knock. She stopped just inside the office, a large space with dark oak floors and a massive cherrywood desk. Behind it was a wall of windows that overlooked the river that ran through town. She could see the old mill in the distance. Snow had begun to fall, soft wisps of white fluff falling from the sky. Between two of the windows, a large portrait hung, and she found herself moving toward it, eyes glued to the family there. A handsome man, casually dressed, with his arms around a beautiful woman in a vibrant green dress. And three boys in white T-shirts and jeans and smiles that told the world everything was perfect.
“That was a few years before my Angel passed.”
Honey froze. Mouth dry, she turned and spied an older man sitting in a wingback chair tucked into a dark corner. She hadn’t seen him when she came in.
John Blackwell slowly got to his feet, wincing a bit as he took a few steps, but his color was good today—better than the week before. He came toward her and didn’t stop until he stood beside Honey. He was so close.
