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“I do know,” Cal said, “but that’s not what Gideon—or Lyssa and myself—are about.”
Dane nodded. “I understand that, after listening to the two of you. You both believe wholeheartedly in what you’re doing. And you believe in Gideon Jones.”
“If you met Gideon and his fiancée, Rosie, and her son, Jorge, there wouldn’t be a doubt in your mind,” Lyssa told him with the same passion that had infused her words down in the parlor. “He’s one of the most selfless men I know.”
“I’d like to be a part of this in whatever way I can,” Dane informed them. “You need more funding. I have contacts. I even have a few contributors in mind. I can pave the way. And together, the two of you can bring in the money you need. You make a great team.”
“Thank you,” Lyssa said, “but I’m just the accountant.”
Why was she downplaying herself? Cal wondered. Didn’t she realize that it had been her impassioned tale, every word straight from her heart, that had won over Harrington?
“And don’t worry, I’m still giving you the additional donation. Like I said, I wish to God my grandfather had received the kind of help you’re offering. My brothers and sisters feel the same way.”
The information Lyssa had found on the Harringtons showed a close-knit family, three brothers and two sisters, all highly successful. Dane was the eldest.
“I’ll be back in the States in a couple of weeks. I’d like to meet Gideon and his family then, if possible.”
“I’m sure Gideon will be thrilled to meet the man who made all this possible,” Cal said. “And I can say without reservation that your offer of help and contacts is beyond our wildest dreams. With you on board, I have no doubt that we will accomplish everything Gideon envisions.”
They returned to the parlor and discussed logistics. Then Harrington said, “Fernsby will be offended if you don’t try at least one of his Bakewell tarts. He truly is an amazing baker.”
“I would know if he’d appeared on The Great British Bake Off,” Lyssa said, “because I’ve binge-watched every season.” She put two of the treats on a plate and handed it to Cal.
Harrington chuckled. “It’s not for want of trying. I have a feeling he’ll get on the show one day soon.”
“Mmmm,” she said, her eyes closing with pleasure after she took a bite. “This is amazing.”
“Fernsby will be very happy to know you feel that way.”
While Lyssa and Dane shared a smile over Fernsby’s dreams of baking on TV, Cal felt the unwarranted bite of jealousy. Dane was a good-looking guy, late thirties and closer to Lyssa’s age. The two of them would be a perfect fit.
Cal knew he had no right to be jealous. Even getting to hold Lyssa in his arms for an hour of dancing was far more of her than he should ever have. And it didn’t bear thinking about any longer, damn it.
When the meeting came to a conclusion, Fernsby packed up the remaining tarts in a box for Lyssa. Her smile was like a sun shower. “Thank you so much. These are the best tarts I’ve ever tasted.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Fernsby said in an elongated British drawl.
Once they’d said their good-byes, Cal asked, “Do you mind walking a bit? Or will it be difficult in heels?”
“No problem at all.” At the end of the block, once they were out of sight of Dane’s home, she did an impromptu little dance on the sidewalk. “That was the best pitch meeting ever!”
“I agree,” he said, even while steeling his body not to react to the way her curves moved beneath her clothes as she danced in place. “Gideon is going to be thrilled.” He hoped his voice didn’t sound strained; he was having a hell of a time breathing naturally at the moment.
The homes in Dane’s neighborhood were magnificent structures, most taking up at least half a block, with grand entrances and long, perfectly manicured hedges. The sun was out, a pretty fall day, a little cool but no rain.
They had turned a corner and headed out to the main road to find a taxi when Cal realized something. “We have the foundation set up wrong.”
She shot him a startled glance. “Wrong how?”
“You were the one who sold Dane Harrington, Lyssa. You made him believe in the foundation.” He paused to look into her eyes. “You shouldn’t be working for me—we should be partners. Dane Harrington saw that right away, and I should have realized it earlier.”
Wonder and disbelief and gratitude shone in her eyes. “Do you really mean that?”
“Wholeheartedly.” He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, a lady walking a Pekingese forced to skirt around them as he held out his hand. “Are we in agreement, partner?”
Chapter Five
Lyssa stared at his outstretched hand. Partners?
