The Boy Toy - Nicola Marsh Page 0,15
dust. “Your office said you’d be here, so I thought I’d swing by.”
She glanced up and her frown cleared. “You’re a gem.”
“I t-try.”
He hated slipping up around Amelia, not when she’d put in countless hours to get him to the point where he could speak almost fluently, but nerves made him stumble.
He’d come here to tell her in person he couldn’t pledge a financial contribution for now. No way he’d get her hopes up about the audition and the show, not until he had something concrete to tell her. It wouldn’t be fair. He’d contemplated asking her to be his dialect coach until he realized that was exactly what would happen: she’d pin her hopes on him landing the role to secure funds for the program, and if he failed, the guilt would be unbearable. He didn’t want to let her down, and if worst came to worst, he’d end up approaching his father for the money.
As for getting a major bump in salary courtesy of Renegades, he’d wait until he saw the dialect coach and practiced the required techniques before making a judgment call on whether he had a chance of nailing the audition or not.
Thankfully, she didn’t mention his slight stumble. “So you got my message?”
She never wasted time making small talk. He liked that about her. Direct and concise, she’d managed to convey techniques clearly while exhibiting enormous patience. He’d thrived in her sessions.
“Yeah, sorry for not getting back to you yesterday.”
She stood and moved around the desk toward him, her expression hopeful, and he inwardly cursed that he’d have to dash her hopes.
“You mentioned some of the donors pulled out?”
Disappointment pinched her mouth as she nodded. “Apparently, this speech therapy program isn’t glamorous enough for them.” The frown returned, slashing her brows in a V. “They won’t get much recognition, so they won’t contribute.”
“Charming,” he muttered, tension creeping across the back of his neck. For the first time since he’d turned his back on a career in economics, he regretted it. He could live on his wage from part-time stuntman gigs, but it didn’t leave a hell of a lot left over to give to others.
Amelia hesitated, as if weighing her words carefully. “I hate to ask you for money, particularly with the amount of time you’ve already spent helping me get this off the ground and lodging the relevant applications to get started here.” She swept her arm wide to encompass the rec hall.
“But without more money, I won’t be able to man the program. Staff are only willing to volunteer for so many hours . . .” She trailed off, before giving a brisk shake of her head. “Anyway, the logistics are my problem, not yours.”
But not being able to help fund this was his problem, and right now, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
“I’ll be honest: I can’t promise any money now.” He held out his hands like he had nothing to hide. “But I’m working on something big, and if that comes through, I’ll be able to help out.”
Hope reignited in her eyes. She assumed he’d ask his father. As if. That would be a last resort.
“You’re a good guy, Rory. I’m lucky to have you on board.”
Uncomfortable with her praise, he managed a terse nod. Taking a deep breath so he wouldn’t stumble over his words, he pointed at the calculator. “How much do you need exactly?”
“Too much,” she said, with a self-deprecating laugh. “But another ten thousand should ensure I can get the program up and running, and provide the local kids with services for six months.”
Ten grand.
Fuck.
He had to nail the audition for Renegades, no matter how much he squirmed inside with fear of screwing up in front of a massive audience because of his stutter.
Maybe the dialect coach Chris had teed up could help with the rampant nerves making his throat tighten at the mere thought of landing a role that big?
“I know it’s a lot to ask—”
“I’ll be in touch,” he said, forcing a tight smile before swiveling on his heel and walking away.
When she called out, “See you soon,” he raised a hand in farewell. He couldn’t speak, not when he’d blurt the truth: that the chances of his earning ten grand in a short space of time ranked up there with addressing the country alongside the prime minister on New Year’s Day.
Landing the Renegades hosting gig had just become imperative.
* * *
* * *
An hour later, he entered a sleek glass-fronted practice overlooking