The Reluctant Heiress: A Novella(12)

My throat squeezes. “Tell me.”

“The revised budget came back this morning. It’s ridiculous. The board at Franklin Theatre is going to hell. I’m so freaking pissed right now I can’t see straight. I broke my favorite pencil, Candace.”

“Okay, okay,” I say, as I think furiously. “What’s the bottom line?”

“Seventy-five thousand.”

“Son of a bitch,” I hiss. “That’s fifteen thousand over their initial quote.”

“I know.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“I think they know we’re desperate since our venue fell through. We have to book and send out address corrections by the end of the week. This is a fucking nightmare.”

My hand slams onto the table, rattling silverware. I want to do it again, but see Jonathon’s shocked face. Grimacing apologetically, I tell Bethany, “I think you hit the nail on the head. They’re going to squeeze us because they can. Vultures.”

I don’t say it aloud, but we both know they’re skyrocketing the venue costs because of me. Because of my family’s money. And they know that if all else fails, I’ll cough up the cash.

This gala has been in the works for two years, and has the potential to secure necessary capital for Charity House to not only update several older shelters, but hire medical professionals, therapists, onsite security staff, and open two new locations.

Bethany and the other committee members have poured their hearts and souls into it. As have I, slaving to secure the heavy hitting guest list of Los Angeles elite. I must have made a thousand badgering phone calls to personal assistants, secretaries, managers… to corporations, production companies, firms, and banks. The freaking governor is coming.

“What are we going to do?” whispers Bethany.

“Give me the afternoon. I’ll make some calls. And…” I take a deep breath. “Don’t worry. Nothing is going to derail this gala.”

She heaves a grateful sigh. “Thanks, Candace. I feel terrible. You’ve already given us so much.”

“I’d do it a thousand times over. I’ll call when I have news.” I hang up and look across the table. “Any chance you have fifteen thousand dollars in your back pocket?”

Jonathon snorts, knowing I’m not serious. “Why don’t you just cover it yourself?”

The question is a valid one, but the answer is complicated and almost impossible to articulate. It’s more than the practical difficulty of writing a check of that size. There are personal reasons, too.

I donate an ungodly amount of money each year—so much that my father annually lectures me about it. But the deepest reason for my hesitance is that philanthropy isn’t just about giving money away. It’s about encouraging and inspiring others to do the same.

“If it comes to that, I will,” I tell Jonathon. I glance at my half-eaten sandwich. “Mind if I take this to go?”

“Not at all,” he says gently.

I hail the server.





9





Vera meets me at Rhubarb for coffee at three. When she steps onto the patio, I wave but don’t stop yammering into my phone. By the time her cappuccino arrives, though, I’ve hung up and crossed another name off my list.

I sigh and slump back in my chair. “How was your day?”

“Better than yours, looks like. No luck?”

“I wrangled up a whopping two thousand.” I crumple the piece of paper with thirty names on it, all but one crossed out.

“Time to call your brother?” she asks softly.

I nod, dialing Alex before I can talk myself out of it. He answers on the third ring. “Little sis, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“How’s your donating this year?”

He pauses. “Pretty maxed out, actually. What do you need?”

“Fifteen.”

I hear a low, indistinct voice in the background. Alex says, “Hang on, Candace.” His hand mutes sound, but I hear him speaking with someone. Maybe Thea? Thirty seconds pass, then, “Still there?”

“Yes.”

“Sebastian says he’ll handle it. He’ll drop off a check. When do you need it?”

My scalp prickles. “Sebastian’s there right now?”

“Yeah, he came down this morning. Do you need the money tonight?”

I glance at Vera, who’s watching me with interest. With calm I don’t feel, I say, “Yes. Tell him I’ll be home all night. Have him make it out to Charity House.”

Vera’s eyes narrow.

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Alex. Gotta go.” I hang up and immediately beg Vera, “Come over tonight.”

She shakes her head. “Sorry, hon, I can’t. I promised Serefina we’d do dinner.”

I frown. “That name has to be fake. She’d better not be putting the moves on my best friend.”

She laughs. “As if. She’s just a lonely model in a big city. I think of her as my personal charity case.”

I drag a hand over my face. “Fuck.”

“You’re really in knots about this, aren’t you?” she asks softly.

“No,” I say, then repeat it more convincingly. “No. It's fine. He’ll drop off the check and leave.”