Wrong for You (Before You #3)(7)
“I had some shit come up. I don’t know if I can make it back in time for the recording session in a month.”
“Hm…I talked to Rick this morning and I don’t think that’s going to fly.”
“Oh, come on. If you say you can’t make it back in time too, they’ll have no choice but to agree.”
“I don’t know.” Alec sat down on the low tan sofa, stretching his legs out diagonally in front of him to avoid the coffee table.
“Look, I never ask for favors and right now I need one. I’m living in a nightmare and I can’t walk away until I sort this shit out.” Marcus’ voice was low and pleading and deathly serious. Marcus was never serious and that alone persuaded Alec to agree.
“I’ll do my best.” Alec replied, pulling the purple pen out of his back pocket along with the hopelessly crumpled volunteer application. He didn’t really have much to put on his application except being a drummer in various bands over the last ten years, but somehow he suspected Little Violet wouldn’t care too much as long as his references checked out, and they would because Rick would make sure of it.
“Thanks, man. Call me if you hear anything.”
Alec hung up his phone and tossed it on the coffee table. After driving for two days straight and sleeping in his car, he could barely keep his eyes open. He’d call Rick in a couple days to discuss moving the studio time back a week or two, not that he wanted to stay in Montana any longer than a month, but because Marcus really needed the time.
***
Three hours later Alec strolled into the center with two bags of food. He hoped Violet liked burgers because he’d bought her one, too. He figured he owed it to her for hooking him up with her basement apartment. If he checked into a hotel, it would only be a matter of days before people put two and two together and realized he was Alec Reed of Chasing Ruin, and then he wouldn’t be able to do much of anything in town, including volunteering at the Foundation. That would really suck because he needed to do this more than anything. If he donated his time to the program that helped him when he was a seriously f*cked up teenager, it’d go a long way toward filling the void rotting inside of him, or at least that’s what he convinced himself before he fell asleep in the Foundation parking lot last night.
As he turned the corner to leave the gym in the direction of the offices, he stopped short. Little Violet stood at the top of a wobbly wooden ladder that must have been older than her in the middle of the hallway changing a light bulb. Shit, she was five seconds from falling on her ass. Didn’t the maintenance crew do that crap?
As much as he enjoyed the view of Violet barefoot with her skirt riding up her too-long-to-be-real legs, he didn’t want to watch her fall. He dropped two white paper bags of food on the floor and he stepped up behind her, wrapping his hands around the top of her thighs. “You’re going to fall on your face.”
“Huh?” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.
“I said you’re going to fall.”
“I’ll be fine. I do this all the time.”
He shook his head. “Well, you shouldn’t. You need to buy a new ladder or better yet, have the maintenance crew do it.” He practically growled.
She finished twisting the light bulb into the socket. “Mr. Reed,” Violet said, sounding unfazed by his sudden outburst. “The Foundation can barely pay its rent most months, much less afford a new ladder or a regular maintenance crew.”
“Alec. Call me Alec,” he demanded, not liking the formal tone of her voice.
“All right, Alec. Can you please stop digging your hands into my legs so I can step down now?”
“Sorry.” He loosened his grip around her thighs and smoothed his hands down her legs, letting his hands linger on her delicate ankles for a second too long before moving away. Legs were his thing, and not the long shapeless kind. He liked the toned kind with plenty of definition and a nice small ankle. Violet’s legs were nearly perfect in his opinion, and as much as he’d enjoy getting up close and personal with her legs, he wouldn’t do it. Girls like Violet were made to have a white picket fence and 2.5 kids with a suit and tie, nine to five husband. He’d never be that guy.
“Your references checked out. Did you bring your application back with you?” Violet walked toward an office at the end of the hall.
“Wait,” he said, slipping the wrinkled application out of his pocket.
“Yes,” she said without turning around.
“What did you mean when you said the Foundation doesn’t have any money?”
Sighing, she turned around. “It’s broke.”
“How broke?”
She tilted her head to the side. “Let me put it this way…if I don’t take a paycheck the rest of the summer, I might be able to keep the doors open through August.”
“What about the donors?”
“Our biggest donor died last year, and I haven’t been able to find a benefactor to replace him. He basically kept the Foundation doors open for the last two decades. He even owned the building, so the Foundation only paid a nominal amount of rent. When the lease came up for renewal six months ago, his kids changed the lease agreement to reflect the fair market value.” She shrugged. “The Foundation relied heavily upon him, to its detriment.” She started walking toward her office again.