Belle Reeves
AMELIA
Gramps had a decent night, so I managed to snag about four hours of sleep.
I was still in yesterday’s clothes. Craig had come in late. There was a crisis at the hospital, and he couldn’t just leave a patient in the middle of a Code Red. I couldn’t hold it against him. I was only paying him half the usual nursing rate.
But I was running late for a crucial meeting. I was going to ask the concert hall board for more funds to grow the Wishlist program. I wanted them to reserve blocks of seats for students from local schools.
But no one likes to give away things for free. It was one thing to hand out an unused ticket now and then, but this was a whole different ball game.
I made quite an entrance, arriving as the board meeting was wrapping up, but it wasn’t the kind of impression I wanted to make. Still, I got their attention.
As I hurried into the room, my bag snagged on the door handle and everything tumbled out. I was on my hands and knees scrambling to gather my things.
I looked up and there he was—the guy from the luxury box, looking down at me with a frown. I was done for before I even started.
BRADLEY
Amelia Donavan. Her name was on the board agenda, but she was nowhere to be seen among the few public members sitting on folding chairs before the long table, reserved for board members like myself.
I was disappointed when the meeting ended, and she hadn’t shown up. But then the door swung open, and she practically tumbled into the room.
It wasn’t as awkward as it sounds. She was a graceful whirlwind, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find it enticing to see her on her knees, her curls cascading over her flushed cheeks.
The contents of her bag were scattered on the floor for all to see. A pile of papers now out of order, a lollipop, Chapstick, tampons, and a pencil.
She looked up and her gaze swept over the board members before landing back on me. She flashed a sweet, genuine smile as she recognized me. I frowned to keep myself from laughing, and her lips mirrored mine.
She cast her eyes down and hastily shoved her belongings back into her bag, leaving out the papers and the pencil, and clambered onto a metal chair.
As I watched, she gathered her thick hair and twisted it at the back of her head, securing the bun with the pencil. But strands were already escaping, as if they couldn’t resist brushing against her face.
There was something so intimate about her fixing her hair, something so unpretentious, and so arousing.
The meeting was already being adjourned and the motion seconded before she realized she was too late.
“No!” she stood up, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she had upended her bag again. “Please, I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. But this will only take a moment. I already sent the proposal for expanding the Wishlist…”
“We’ve already made a decision, Ms. Donovan,” Byron, the board president, said as he gathered his papers and tucked them into a briefcase.
“But please hear me out! You’re not just doing good, you’re helping yourselves. You’re creating future fans and patrons.”
Byron was halfway out the door when he glanced back at me. “Brad, you advised us on this one, you want to handle this?” he asked. Or rather, he made it sound like a question, but it was more of a command.
I was alone with Amelia now. She closed the gap between us and looked up at me. Her fists were clenched, and she looked like she was on the verge of tears.
“Is this because I fell on you and drooled on you?”
I couldn’t help but smirk.
“Not everyone who takes advantage of the Wishlist is like me.”
“I could only hope,” I said. That’s what made her unique. “Listen, Ms. Donovan, you don’t understand,” I started.
“Oh, I understand perfectly. People like you get the best seats, not just here, but in life, and you’re trying to keep the rest of us out.” She moved even closer.
“Music belongs to everyone. This is just one genre you’re trying to monopolize. And it’s going to die out on your watch unless you bring energy and vitality back to it. You need everyone in those seats, not just uptight stuffed shirts.”
“Are you done?” I asked.
“No. You are going to at least have the decency to hear me out.”
“I don’t need to hear you out. You see, the board decided to fund your project.”
Her mouth fell open. I watched as every emotion played out on her beautiful face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Because I’m a jerk. And I wanted to see her flustered. And passionate.
I shrugged. “When it came up, I told them what you said last night. It wasn’t a question, it was unanimous, except for the amount of funding.”
“Wait, you mean they didn’t fund it at the level I requested in the proposal?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly.
She looked so vulnerable. I wanted to reach out and smooth the worry from her cheek, but I enjoyed seeing her so open and unguarded. It was thrilling to toy with her. I wanted to laugh. Instead, I frowned down at her.
“No,” I said. “They didn’t.”
AMELIA
I’ve never been to an amusement park. There are cheaper and safer ways to have fun. But this man was the closest I’d ever come to riding a roller coaster.
“How much did they fund the Wishlist for?” I asked, bracing myself for the disappointment.
“Double what you asked for.”
“Please don’t joke about that. You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m not.”
I stared at him. His expression was stern but seemed sincere.
“I don’t know how I could ever thank you,” I said when I finally found my voice.
His eyes tightened, and simultaneously, his pupils expanded. I can't quite put it into words, but I believe that was the instant I understood that he knew precisely how I could express my gratitude.