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“She’s in her element,” Mrs. Cooper boasts. “Last year, the foundation had record donations. People were generous the year my husband died, but since Paisley and Gavin have increased their involvement, it’s exceeded expectations.”
“Are you more afraid that I wouldn’t let her come, or that I’d stop her from interacting with donors?”
“I’m more afraid that your mere presence ruins an event that Paisley loves.”
“That I will further corrupt her reputation.”
“Correct.”
“And in doing so, the contributions to the cardiac department dry up.”
“This gala connects her to her father, Mr. Ballantine. They were extremely close. Paisley doesn’t deserve to feel like she failed my husband if the foundation’s goals aren’t met.”
Fingers pinch the shoulder of my suit. I glance up to see Carver standing behind me. I tell him I’m glad they made it, going as far as complimenting Sloan and offering her the seat next to mine. Then I return my attention to Mrs. Cooper and make polite introductions before conceding.
“I agree and can see how memorializing your husband is difficult, no matter the circumstances. Except what I’ve heard is it appears Mrs. Galloway has quite the positive influence on your daughter’s business. And although it’s poor form to point out, Mr. Galloway, who decided to attend because Paisley and I would be, has as deep pockets as anyone else.”
“My wife has already instructed me about how many zeros we’re parting with.” Carver chuckles. “Sloan is quite the philanthropist with causes she has a connection to.”
“I misspoke, and it was offensive,” Paisley’s mother blanches.
Wanting the higher road for myself, I latch onto Mrs. Cooper’s apology, though it isn’t directed at me. She’s eating crow in front of Sloan and Carver.
“You got off your chest what you needed to, but I hope that by the time the evening ends, you’ll give me the benefit of the doubt.”
Mrs. Cooper nods. Distracted, her eyelids stretch wide. “Perhaps the rest of this discussion is best held for later on. Cary Cass is here.”
“Lovely. I’m so glad we didn’t have to wait long for them.” Sloan sips some bubbly.
“This is the first time the board sent an invitation to Cary. Now that he’s the face of the automotive dealership and married, it seemed appropriate to include him on the list. Paisley mentioned we’d be sitting at the same table,” Mrs. Cooper mentions, tamping down the excitement that would make her daughter squeal.
Ah, so that’s where Paisley gets the idiosyncrasy from. Now, I wish I knew what Paisley inherited from her father. Maybe it’s the animated way she speaks with her hands?
My ears remain on Sloan and Mrs. Cooper’s conversation, but I return to watching Paisley. What Mrs. Cooper said is true, Paisley is in her element. She’ll convince this guy to become a benefactor and has the charisma to do the same with whomever else she speaks with. The foundation’s endowments don’t need my friends to cover lost contributions.
“Cary’s wife is a good friend of ours, Mrs. Cooper. Holly managed Jake’s club.” Sloan links her arm in mine. I shift my stance, shocked when Sloan pats my forearm. “Personally, I always thought he’d act exactly the way the rumors about Jake Ballantine describe him. But Jake is full of surprises. He’s been supportive of Holly’s new nursery since he found out Cary had purchased it for her as a wedding gift. You’ve even gotten Paisley flowers from there, haven’t you, Jake?”
“From the former owner, yes. He lives next door, and Holly knew he had coral roses.” My mouth, agape from my best friend’s wife touching me, clamps shut.
Sloan walked into a situation where she could tear me limb from limb and is sticking up for me instead. Hell has frozen over.
“Aren’t those her favorite?” Sloan asks Mrs. Cooper.
“They are.”
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23
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Stealing looks at Jake while I spoke to Mr. Crowder became addictive when I caught Jake’s eye. Each time we’ve glanced at one another since, my heart has done this silly little flutter. Because he’s always looking back at me. Not with a scowl or his jaw set sharp, demanding that I shower him with attention and be a doting girlfriend. His expression is something warmer. He’s actually blushed when our gaze has lingered too long.
Yet, for as much as I feel the pull to Jake’s side, the way your fingertips itch to touch something expensive and decadent—or sinister and off-limits—after I’ve spoken to Mr. Crowder, I schmooze other potential donors.
Whatever is happening between Jake and me tonight is a game with no losers. His often lopsided grin when he’s laughing at whatever is happening with his friends at our table reassures me he’s doing fine. Swift donations to the foundation pour in over the next hour passes. And our separation, though it’s only across the ballroom, emboldens me.
The months of problems while fighting the negative social media posts that tore me down and the fear I’ll lose my business have flown away. It’s as if struggling has helped me bloom. I have the confidence to ask for what the hospital’s patients need. Even more so than in previous years when I’ve encouraged donations above and beyond the hefty per plate fee we’ve all paid to be here. In the past, I pleaded for everyone to empathize with a situation they’ll never endure. When all they needed to hear was a personal thank you for the good they were doing.
