Annette Blair (5 page)

Goddard bent to confide in her. “If you got swept out to sea,” he whispered, “you could ride your broom back.”

Kira bit off a giggle, which earned her an eye roll from the development director, who was trolling for donors. Part of rich boy’s job would be to find Michaela more wealthy women to solicit.

Hmm. Rich
female
donors needed. Rich, powerful
male
on board . . . equals celebrity bachelor auction . . . equals
spectacular event. Kira added the auction idea to her notes.

The rest of Goddard’s ideas ranged from off-the-wall horrible, to impossible, to doable, to brilliant.

Lucky her, Kira thought, she’d get to weed out the nightmares.

Mizz Fitzgerald,” Goddard said. “You have something to add?”

“Yes, I’ve put together a list of events myself.”

“Such as—”

“I think we should do more for St. Anthony’s, like bringing the boys together with couples looking to adopt.”

“That’ll bring in the bucks,” Michaela said.

“Money isn’t all we’re about,” Goddard said. “The boys are my primary concern, and I think the idea is an excellent one. Please, continue Mizz Fitzgerald.”

Kira now saw him as a respectable frog-toad kind of jock. “In addition to events for the boys,” she said, “which we can discuss, later, how about a horse-drawn fund-raising sleigh tour of the mansions decorated for Christmas, an interactive murder-mystery tour, a celebrity bachelor auction? I’ll bet some woman would pay big to win the Best Kisser in America for a night . . . I mean a date.” Kira flushed.

Goddard growled, but she didn’t know if he was angry about the auction idea itself, or her slip implying he’d sleep with his date, or both.

Whatever it was, Kira had to look for something in her briefcase on the floor, while her face cooled.

When she rose, Goddard was waiting to pounce. “Some of your ideas are excellent,” he said. “Some are impossible, impractical, out of the ques—”

“As are yours.”

The silence around them pulsed.

To give the toad his due, he acknowledged her point with a nod, which caused a slight relaxation of shoulders and an easing of the collective tension around the table.

He scowled. “A people auction is—”

“Perfect,” Kira said. “I mean, how many famous kisser guys are there? You can get your famous jock friends to join you. The cheerleaders you date hang with some pretty illustrious names. Invite them to be auctioned off. Your models and starlets would be a draw, plus they’d bid high.”

Jaw set, chin dimple deep, Goddard gave a lengthy negative head shake, while Kira nodded for the same length of time, simply to tick him off.

“You’re on board to get the Pickering Foundation on its feet,” Kira quoted. “You’ll work yourself and everyone else to the bone.”

Okay, so the toad was morphing back into a wolf.

Kira tried an encouraging smile, not easy in the face of his blood thirst. Any minute, she thought, he’d go for her throat with his pointy teeth dripping saliva.

“Come on,” Kira said, taking her life in her hands. “It could be fun, the kind of upbeat high-profile party you’re used to, and it would mean big bucks for the foundation. I’ll bet we could clear a hundred grand in a night.”

“Two hundred,” Michaela said, and Kira knew what it cost the development director to side with her. Kira could hear the fund-raiser’s brain ringing like the vintage cash register at the mansion tour desk.

Goddard shook his head again. “While I’m sure a bachelor auction is not without merit—”

“
Celebrity
bachelor auction,” Kira clarified.

“I like it,” his grandmother said, catching him off guard. “An auction is a great idea. November would probably be best.” Bessie patted her grandson’s hand. “Call your friends, dear.” She turned to Kira. “You two can work out the details later.”

Goddard bit off an argument, his mottled complexion a dead giveaway, and appeared to swallow his pride and his objections.

Squaring his shoulders, he returned to his notes as if the debate had not taken place, as if it had not gone against him, which meant it was not over, not by a slap shot.

Great,
Kira thought. She could hardly wait for the grudge match.

He checked his notes. “Mizz Fitzgerald, let’s talk about those events for St. Anthony’s.”

Bessie cleared her throat. “Spending more money on St. Anthony’s is the only suggestion I
can’t
agree with,” she said. “I regret that our donations and expenses for St. Anthony’s must be lower than usual this year. We don’t have the ready funds, and I won’t dip into the principal.”

“There must be ways to save money, Gram, er, I mean, Mrs. Hazard,” Goddard said, “than by cutting St. Anthony’s.”

His grandmother opened a folder. “I send only rare and valuable items to conservators. As workers retire, I try not to replace them. We have two gardeners, instead of four; they travel from property to property. At Kingston, after the housekeeper retired, I left a small cleaning staff and a caretaker.”

Bessie checked another list. “The Deerings at Rainbow’s Edge took the gatehouse as a life residence, in lieu of raises. That saves them rent, and the gatehouse is maintained at no cost to us, though that did take the gatehouse off the tour.”

Goddard placed a hand on his grandmother’s. “Of course you tried. I apologize.” He shook his head. “We’re walking a fine line, and I know we have no choice, but if we’re not careful, cost-cutting could lead to higher maintenance later.”

“My worst fear,” his grandmother said.

“So . . . now I know why I’m here,” Goddard said. “Ideas for St. Anthony’s, Mizz Fitzerald.”

“I have two,” Kira said. “A theatrical that the sisters would prep the children to perform, followed by a dessert buffet and games, where people interested in adopting could meet and interact with the boys.”

Kira opened her publicity folder. “I can advertise on the cheap, in community bulletin boards, TV, the papers. Maybe get a feature story.” She made a note. “We’ll post a
phone number so people can call to make reservations, no charge, so we know how many we’re seating and feeding.”

Goddard’s expression turned to respect. “I like the idea. Thank you, Mizz Fitzgerald.” He made a note. “Your second idea?”

“A gift of time and service, something that would save St. Anthony’s money to make up for what we’re not donating.”

“I’m for it,” Goddard said. “What do you have in mind?”

“You could give the boys hockey lessons at the Cloud Kiss rink, and cut the cost of after-school supervision.”

Jason felt as if he’d been board-checked by a bulldozer. He shook his head to clear it. “No,” he said, dazed. “No.”

“Well,” the witch said, “you gave
that
a lot of thought.”

Jason had noticed that everyone at the table spent a great deal of time looking from him, to his coordinator, and back. Gram’s smile was broad, while everyone else looked as if they wanted out.

“I’m a player,” Jason said, knowing if he could make his grandmother understand, everyone else would, but though he saw empathy in her look, he knew that she thought he should forget hockey. She probably thought coaching would be good for him. Son of a . . . witch!

He turned to the thorn in his side. “I’m not a coach, Mizz Fitzgerald. When I’m on the ice, I skate,” he said. “I play hockey; I
have
to, which is impossible right now.”

She didn’t understand any more than his grandmother.

“You wouldn’t have to skate,” the witch said. “Give the boys directions from the sidelines. Whatever they learn would be second to working with you, to the exercise, the
fun,
the opportunity to leave a building, in which they live
and
attend school, to do something different with their mundane lives.”

She was right, damn her, but it would kill him to spend time in that rink and not be able to skate. It would eat him from the inside out. Jason shook his head. He wasn’t ready. Not to coach, and not to face those boys again. He certainly
couldn’t bear to see the need in Travis Robinson’s eyes again. “Gram, I don’t think—” Jason felt like he was begging, so he shut up.

“I think,” his grandmother said. “I know,” she corrected, seeking his understanding, “that this is the solution. We can’t give them money, but we can save them money.” She covered his hand. “You can do it, Jay,” she said softly.

Great,
he thought, another minute and she was gonna pull out choo-choo doggie and his blankie. But she squared her shoulders and became all business again, and he was grateful.

Jason hoped no one else had seen the vulnerability his grandmother had addressed. He couldn’t even look the witch’s way to see what she thought of the exchange.

Gram caught his eye. “Since you have physical therapy on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, you’ll coach the boys after school on Wednesdays and Fridays,” she said, “starting next week. That will give me time to talk to Sister Margaret, and it’ll give you a week to prepare. Kira, I’m adding assistant coach to your job title and duties.”

The witch bit off a protest, as ready as he to argue, but God herself had spoken, and there wasn’t anything either of them could do, because Bessie Hazard’s head was as hard as the brick wall that got him here.

Better men than he had tried, and failed, to sway her.

For the next six months, he was gonna have a sexy-as-hell witch by his side day and night and in between, Jason realized. Talk about a bad time to be celibate. He might spontaneously combust.

Jason gave the witch a hard stare, because he wanted her to squirm, but she raised her chin and gave as good as she got, her eyes hot with something that shot straight to his—

Damn, but she would be a handful, if he ever got his hands on her, minus the wand, of course, which would be stupid in the extreme, and dangerous, and impossible, Jason reminded himself.

He opened the floor for questions. The development director licked her lips when their gazes met, and he almost laughed. He’d had more subtle come-ons from a pole dancer.

“Your celebrity status could make you quite an asset to the Development Office,” Michaela said, lashes at half-mast. “Any chance I can take you on the occasional weekend? You know, do some ‘one-on-ones’ together?”

Could she be any plainer? Did his grandmother understand?

Since Gram was examining a plastic pen with great attention to the casino ad on the side, he figured: Yeah, she knew.

Okay, so Michaela was assertive, but who better to ask for big bucks, right? He simply needed to find her some top-notch donors. He nodded. “If I can help secure a major donation, I don’t see that doing a face-to-face would be a problem. On occasion. Mizz Fitzgerald? Did you have a question?”

The approving smile the witch turned his way made Jason feel as if he could do anything.

“Yes, I do,” she said, “about the Ghost and Graveyard Tour of Rainbow’s Edge.”

“Shoot,” her boss said, flashing his first easy smile, and making her damned-near forget to breathe. No wonder women followed him like puppies.

“Mizz Fitzgerald?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry.” Kira tossed the end of her scarf around her neck to hide her blush. “One: A thousand dollars per person seems a bit pricey for a ghost tour. And two: More of a fact, but important—Rainbow’s Edge doesn’t have any ghosts.”

Goddard chuckled with everyone else; she had to give him that. “In my . . . enthusiasm,” he said, “I did fail to confirm the existence of ghosts, but with a little research, I’m sure
we
can come up with enough titillating ghostly activity to keep our attendees happy.”

Kira took the bait. “
We,
meaning?”

“
You,
of course,” Goddard said with a smile that could only be termed vengeful. “You’ll pull off every event I plan with class and flair.”

And that, Kira thought, was an order.

“YOU
think we can give our guests a thousand dollars’ worth of ghostly titillation in a mansion with no ghosts?” Kira said, making everyone else in the room shift uncomfortably in their chairs.

“The fact is,” Goddard said, “the ghosts won’t be the draw, if you’ll excuse my—” He blushed; the Best Kisser in America actually blushed.

Kira was charmed, despite herself, and to remain objective, was forced to recall her previous image of him.

The toad sat straighter. “Let me say this another way. The upper stratum, or shall I be blunt and say the moneyed hoards, will attend the Ghost and Graveyard Tour because it’ll be my first public appearance.” Pain etched his features, giving him a wounded look and making Kira want to take his healing process into her own hands.

“My accident made the national news,” he said, almost in apology. “According to the press and Mrs. Hazard, everybody who is anybody with a buck is clamoring to attend my . . . coming-out, shall we say?”

That was true, Kira thought. Maybe the ghost thing wouldn’t be such a big deal.

“I don’t understand the draw, myself,” Goddard said, “but there you are. We may as well take advantage. Soon enough people will see an invitation from the Pickering Foundation and say, ‘Oh no, not him again.’ ”

Disarmed, Kira looked around and saw she was not alone.