Rogue Beast (The Rourkes #12) - Kylie Gilmore Page 0,23
Friends Care has accomplished in the twelve years I’ve been involved with them. My voice chokes and cracks a few times, but it doesn’t matter. I said everything I wanted to say, concluding with, “Please give from the heart for this important cause that can turn a person’s and a shelter dog’s life around.”
The crowd erupts in thunderous applause. It’s not for me, it’s all for Carol’s hard work and dedication. I smile and gesture toward her as she approaches the podium. “All credit for this great organization goes to Carol Lemke.”
She joins me, saying into the microphone, “Thank you, Harper. As you’ve just heard, Best Friends Care does good in the world, and we’re hoping you’ll support us. There’s a device on your table to donate, and we’ll see the numbers tally up here.” She points to the screen that now says zero and then flips suddenly to ten thousand dollars. “Oh, thank you!” She looks out to the crowd. “Thanks for getting us started.”
Awesome! I gesture for everyone to keep going. People start pulling out credit cards at every table. I check the screen as a cheer goes up. Whoa. It’s already at a quarter million.
I did it!
With a little help from the pups and one very intuitive man.
Garrett
Harper drops into her seat next to me, flushed pink, her eyes bright. She’s been working for this cause since she was sixteen. That’s impressive commitment. She’s impressive, the kind of woman I’ve been looking for—sweet, generous, hardworking. I’m so damn proud of her.
She grabs her water and finishes it in one long swallow.
I lean close. “You did great.”
She beams and surprises me with a quick hug. “It wasn’t quite the TED talk I hoped to perform, but the puppy pic really helped me relax. Thanks for thinking of that.”
“Happy to help the cause.”
We smile at each other for a dizzying moment before another cheer goes up. I glance back at the screen, where donations are piling up. These people are loaded.
After the fundraising part of the night finishes—hitting a jaw-dropping two million—a band starts playing, and everyone flocks to the dance floor for a slow dance.
“Come on,” I say, taking her hand and drawing her out of her seat.
Her gaze holds mine for a charged moment. “Are you asking me to dance, lamb chop?”
I grin. “That’s right, sweetheart.”
I guide her onto the dance floor, settling my hand on the small of her back, enjoying the feel of her bare skin heating under my palm. Once we’re there, I take her hand in mine and lead in a waltz.
“Did they teach you to dance like this at the royal palace?” she asks.
“An ex. All those music festivals are usually full of women who love to dance. One of them asked me to go to ballroom dance lessons with her.”
“How long did you do that?”
“Eight weeks. The instructor said I’m a natural.” I dip her over my arm and slowly bring her back up. “I’ve got rhythm.”
Her eyes are huge, her lips parted. “I feel like I’m in a musical.”
I laugh. “Good. They’re usually happy shows, right? All that singing and dancing.”
“Usually. Have you seen a lot of Broadway shows?”
“No, just one. My friend’s parents brought me along to see The Lion King when I was a kid. It was amazing.”
She beams. “I love that show too. I saw it as an adult.”
“Excuse me,” a guy says. “Can I get your picture for the society pages?” He’s holding a camera.
I check in with Harper. She looks surprised too.
“I thought there was only press here to cover the event as a news story, not the society pages,” Harper says.
“Yes, but I told my editor we have a royal here, and she wants a picture of him for the society page. I’m with the New York Times.” He turns to me. “Do you mind?”
The New York Times! Me? I’m not a big-deal royal.
“You know I’m not in any danger of taking the throne, right?” I ask the guy. “I’m way down the line.”
He smooths my lapel. “You look princely in that tux, and it’s the first time anyone’s seen you at a major event. The bachelor prince and the beautiful actress. Our readers will die for it.”
I check in with Harper. She thinks it over for a moment and finally agrees.
The photographer waves us on. “Just go back to dancing like you were, smiling at each other, flirting. It’s perfect.”
We resume dancing. Harper smiles the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.