Hard to Resist - By Kara Lennox Page 0,55
her reaction. But while the name sounded familiar, it meant nothing to her.
“Yes, well,” Canfield said, “Mr. Breckenridge is most anxious to meet with you.”
“Does he have a daughter who could benefit from the program?” Kat asked, a bit confused.
Canfield laughed. “No, no. I’m afraid I haven’t made myself clear. He’s interested in helping you with the StrongGirls program. He’s impressed with it, but he can see that you’re underfinanced.”
“So he’d like to make a donation?”
“Something like that. He’ll explain it all to you himself. He’d like to meet with you tomorrow morning at eight a.m. Now, I know that’s very short notice and I’ll understand if you’re already committed, but his schedule is very tight.”
Kat flipped her calendar to the next day. “As it happens, I don’t have anything scheduled. Would he like to meet here?”
“He wants to meet at his office downtown. Parking is difficult and expensive, so he’ll send a car to pick you up.”
Well, this was nice.
Since the meeting was early, it didn’t make sense for Kat to come into the office first, so she gave Mr. Canfield her home address and said she could be picked up there.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, as she rushed out of her bedroom, her arms loaded with StrongGirls materials, she ran smack into Ethan.
“Oh, sorry,” she said breathlessly as he steadied her. She’d overslept by a few minutes, waking only when Sam’s grandmother called, announcing she had come down with a cold and couldn’t watch her granddaughter that day as planned. “Ethan, I need a huge favor. Can you watch Sam for a couple of hours this morning? My babysitter fell through.”
“I’d be happy to,” he said, “and it isn’t a huge favor. But where are you off to so early?”
“A taxi is picking me up in…” She consulted her watch. “Yipes. Five minutes. Someone may actually want to invest in the StrongGirls program. Oh, Ethan, I’m so excited. Maybe I can get this guy to underwrite printing the StrongGirl book.”
“You wrote a book?” he asked, taking the heavy box of materials out of her arms and carrying it toward the front door.
“It’s more of a course manual, with worksheets and exercises and little inspirational essays. But right now I photocopy everything and stick it in a binder. It’s not very professional. There’s a copy in that box, if you want to see.”
Ethan seemed more interested in talking than reading. “But you could write a book,” Ethan said. “One of those motivational kinds that shoot straight up to number one on the bestseller list.”
“Don’t tempt me! As if I don’t have enough to do.” She looked down and saw she had a spot on her blouse. “Oh, no. Ethan, would you look out and see if the taxi is here, please? And if it is, tell the driver I’m coming. I’ve got to change shirts.”
She didn’t wait to see if he agreed. She dropped the box, her tote bag and her briefcase at the door and ran back to her room, mentally going through her closet and wondering if there was anything else presentable.
She found a silk shell that was only slightly wrinkled and put it on. Though it was too hot for a jacket, she grabbed one anyway. Better hot than wrinkled-looking.
As she raced back toward the front door, she saw Ethan at the open door, smirking at her.
“What?”
“Your transportation is here. Only it’s not a taxi.”
She’d take an oxcart if it meant getting to meet with a possible StrongGirls benefactor. She grabbed her purse, briefcase, box and tote bag, somehow juggling them all as she headed out onto the front porch. And then she nearly dropped everything. A black stretch limousine was parked at the curb, with a uniformed driver standing next to the back door, preparing to open it for her. A couple of the neighbors were standing on their porches gawking.
“Oh, my.”
Ethan came up behind her. “I bet you’ll get your book printed. Now go to your meeting. Knock ’em dead.”
“Thank you. Sam’s probably still asleep. Will you tell her I’ll be back soon?” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then ran to the limousine and climbed in, less than elegantly.
Kat tried to collect her thoughts as the limousine whisked her through the Dallas streets. But this was just too weird.
She opened the door in the glass panel between herself and the driver. “Excuse me.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Do you work for Mr. Breckenridge?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“For how long?”
“Seven years come August.”
“Does he make a habit of