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Reporters would do anything to get the story they wanted.
Picking up the phone, Deanna uttered a pleasant greeting then paused. “Are you a reporter? Okay, then may I ask who’s calling?”
Lowering the phone and covering the mouthpiece with her hand, Deanna said, “Natalie, it’s for you. Some woman named Penelope who claims she’s not a reporter.”
Natalie narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “You don’t actually expect her to say, ‘Yeah, I’m a reporter.’ Come on, Dee.”
“She said she’s from some children’s charity,” Deanna explained.
Natalie frowned, but was slightly less suspicious. She did a lot of charitable work in San Antonio. But still she said, “Ask her what charity.”
Deanna put the phone to her ear again. “What charity?” And after a moment, “Oh. Okay.”
“Well?” Natalie asked. She knew some of these reporters were very clever. She didn’t want to be tricked.
“She says it’s a local children’s charity for kids with cancer, and she could really use your help. That she knows of your charitable work in San Antonio.” Deanna shrugged. “I don’t know. She sounds legit.”
It was a subject near and dear to her heart, one Natalie had spent a lot of time lending her voice to back in San Antonio. But still, it could be a trick, a desperate reporter who knew enough about her to try and lure her onto the line under false pretenses.
“Are you going to take the call?” Deanna asked, still covering the mouthpiece with her hand.
“All right.” Natalie supposed she may as well talk to the person on the phone, even if she would only end up telling the woman off for her ruse. She turned on the kitchen sink, washed her hands, dried them with a dish towel, then crossed the kitchen and took the phone from her sister’s hands.
“This is Natalie Cooper. I mean Hart.” If Vance was already engaged to somebody else, then why should Natalie use his surname anymore? She was a Hart. And it was even more important for her to cling to that connection to her mother now, to her sisters. The Hart name had much more meaning to Natalie at this point in her life than it ever had before.
“Hello, Mrs. Cooper,” came the relieved reply. “I’m really glad I found you.”
“And who are you?” Natalie asked, knowing that she sounded a little brusque.
“My name is Penelope Rand. And I knew your aunt. Jean…she was such a wonderful person. She gave so much to this community, volunteering for one cause after another. I really appreciated her and I miss her terribly.”
Thinking of her aunt caused Natalie’s chest to tighten. “Yes, I miss her, too.”
“I was excited to hear that you are in town, especially because your aunt told me about your efforts to help raise funds for childhood cancer research. I’m on the board of a small local charity, Compassion for Families, and our mandate is a little different than what you’re used to. We don’t raise funds for cancer research. Rather, the money we raise supports a home here in Cleveland where families from out of town can live while their child is undergoing treatment at one of the local hospitals. Or, if they live in town but are facing financial hardships because of the cost of medical care, we help out with rent or mortgage payments. The cancer patient needs support, but so does the entire family unit—and that’s where we come in.”
“That’s wonderful,” Natalie said.
“We’re currently working on putting a gala event together to raise funds. It’s very last minute, but we need to pull this off because Compassion House needs urgent financial help or it’ll have to close its doors. With the economy’s current shape, there have been less donations and between trying to help keep people in their own homes, there isn’t currently enough to keep the house running at the level we’d like. I don’t have to tell you how devastating it would be for families from out of town to suddenly have nowhere to go. So we were hoping to have an event within a six-week timeframe, possibly less. I don’t know how long you’re in town, but if there’s any chance you could help out, lend your vast expertise to the cause, that would be amazing.”
That’s how to get them, Natalie thought. Compliment them, and how can a person say no? It was one of her strategies for helping to elicit funds and favors from people when she worked at getting financial support to help a certain cause.
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be here, either,” Natalie told her. “I mean, the cause sounds great, absolutely. It’s definitely something I would support. But I’m just in town because of my aunt’s passing, and to spend some time with my uncle and family. Since I’m not even certain how much longer I’m going to be staying here, it wouldn’t make sense for me to make a commitment. You’re going to need someone who can give one hundred ten percent of their time. But I’ll happily—”
“I would take whatever time you’re able to give,” Penelope said quickly, and Natalie heard a hint of desperation in the woman’s voice. “It’s been hard to garner support. The economy is in rough shape, people just don’t have the same kind of money they used to. And when they do donate, they give to bigger charities. But if I could have someone high profile like yourself, with your connection to your husband, Vance Cooper—”
“We’re not together anymore,” Natalie said, swallowing the lump that had lodged in her throat at the mention of his name.
“I know,” Penelope said, sounding contrite. “I heard about your split. And I’m sorry. But, you’re still very well connected. Your husband…ex-husband…is a successful NBA player. He has a wealth of friends who are very successful, and who know other successful people. Any connection to them that you may have can be of assistance.”
Natalie nodded. “I understand. I do. But I just don’t want to bite off more than I can chew right now. The last thing I would want to do is disappoint you and your organization. Any project I take on, I like to see it through to the end. And right now, I just can’t say that I could do that for you. But I’ll definitely make a substantial donation to your charity to help with your immediate needs.”
“Oh, I’m certain you would do a fantastic job,” Penelope insisted. “It’s not simply the fundraising we need help with. I hate to say it, but I’m not that experienced with throwing the kind of posh event I’m hoping to pull off. The organization is small, so there aren’t that many of us on the board. But I feel forever indebted to Compassion For Families because of my own personal story and am compelled to help them in every way possible. My seven-year-old son is a cancer survivor. Three years ago, when I needed this house—after losing everything to put toward my son’s medical care—I don’t know where I would have been without Compassion for Families. What I’m saying is that I’m not some expert event planner. I’m just a woman who cares because I know how much this charity means, how important it is.”
Natalie said nothing. What could she say? Telling this woman no—after she had poured her heart out—was almost impossible to do.
“I’ve made some calls,” Penelope went on. “And the prices to hire a person to pull off an event like this are quite frankly astronomical. More than the organization can afford right now. But I do have a connection to one of the players on Cleveland’s NFL team—he went to school with me. He said he would be happy to help out. And when I heard you were in town—and knowing how giving and loving your aunt was—I thought it wouldn’t hurt to reach out to you, as well. With two celebrities heading up this event, I think we can pull it off and raise more money than ever.”
The woman was making it harder and harder for Natalie to say no. But she wasn’t ready to commit. Not with Callie injured, and her uncle still grieving, and knowing the kind of time commitment an event like this required. So she said, “I do appreciate the fact that you’re even considering me. I’m quite honored. And as I said, the cause is clearly worthy and one that is near to my own heart, as well. But how about I think about it, let you know?”
Penelope emitted a little sigh. “That’s the best I can hope for, that you’ll consider it. I do hope you will let me know soon.”
“Definitely,” Natalie said.
Penelope then gave Natalie her home and cell numbers. “I’ll await your call, then.”
“Sure. I’ll let you know either way.” Natalie had always hated waiting for a response from someone and hearing nothing. “There may be some other way that I can help out, even if I can’t commit to seeing this fundraiser through to its end.”
“Great. I’ll talk to you soon.”
* * *
All Natalie could think about the rest of that day and all through the night was Penelope’s call. Penelope had made a great point—that the money people gave to charity often went to the bigger, older, more established organizations.
The truth was, Natalie knew how to fundraise. She had made it her life’s mission in San Antonio. How could she not offer her help to Compassion for Families?
Besides, she was going nowhere soon. With Vance and Olivia now engaged—and shacking up together in the home she’d shared with Vance for all she knew—where was she going to go? Back to San Antonio, where she would no doubt suffer more media scrutiny? No, it only made sense for her to lie low in Cleveland until the story about her and Vance’s marriage finally died down.
Not to mention the fact that she wanted to be in town in order to continue the search for her mother with her sisters.
That fact had sealed the deal, and by the next morning, Natalie had made her decision. While she expected and hoped to put one hundred percent of her time and effort into finding clues that would lead to her mother, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to spend some time helping Penelope with her fundraising efforts. The truth was, event planning came easy to Natalie, because she had done it so often. And as Penelope had said, athletes and athletes’ wives and other people in high-profile positions were able to get tasks done more efficiently, simply because they had connections to people who had more financial resources.
After breakfast, Natalie called Penelope.
“Natalie?” Penelope said without preamble.
“Yes, Penelope. It’s me.”
“You’ve made a decision?”
“I have,” Natalie said, and paused. “I really love what you told me about Compassion for Families and I’m more than happy to help out.”
“Excellent!” Penelope exclaimed. “And timing couldn’t be more perfect. Remember I told you about the football player friend of mine who is also going to be helping me with this cause? Well, he’s coming into our office today, and this would be a great chance for you to come and meet him. In fact, he’s on his way right now. Why don’t you come to the meeting? With the gala date only six weeks away, there’s no time to spare in getting started.”
“You want me to come in now?” Natalie asked with hesitation.
“Unless you have another obligation right now.”
“No, I’m free now,” Natalie decided. There was no real reason she couldn’t head in to the office and meet this man she would be working with. As Penelope had said, there wasn’t a moment to spare.
“Excellent! Let me give you the address, and I’ll see you soon.”
Natalie scribbled the address on a piece of paper. “I’m on my way.”
“I can’t wait for you to meet Mike Jones,” Penelope added.
Natalie’s stomach lurched at the mention of the name. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Mike Jones is the football player I was talking about. My friend from school. He’s a sweetheart, and real easy on the eyes. You’ll like him.”
Suddenly, Natalie’s brain was scrambling to try to come up with a reason to do a one-eighty and tell Penelope that she could no longer meet her, no longer volunteer her time.
Yeah, I bet you looked just like a little angel when you were born, and that’s what your mama named you.
“As in Michael Jones?” Natalie asked for clarification.
“Yes, that’s him,” Penelope said. “Oh, you know him?”
Natalie’s hands tightened on the receiver as she closed her eyes. “No. I’ve just…heard of him.”
“Excellent.” Penelope couldn’t sound more pleased. “All right. See you soon.”
Chapter 4
The entire drive to the Compassion for Families offices, Natalie felt as if she had a bowling ball sitting in her stomach. At least ten times she contemplated—and dismissed—the idea of turning around and heading back home.
How silly are you being? she asked herself as she parked beside a sleek BMW. What—are you incapable of working in a professional capacity with a man like Michael Jones?
That was the thought that had her getting out of her car and making her way up the steps of a large, older home with a wraparound porch. Clearly, this was not only the home where the families in need resided, but also the building that held the charity’s offices.
Natalie drew in a breath as she stood before the door, then reminding herself that she was acting like a schoolgirl, she opened it.
She was immediately greeted by a woman who had to be Penelope—a five foot nothing African-American female with a short afro, light brown skin and a sprinkling of freckles on her nose.
“Natalie Hart,” the woman said, extending her hand. “I’m Penelope Rand. So nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, as well,” Natalie said. Then she looked beyond Penelope, in the direction of a woman who was crossing the far end of the hall with a tray of cupcakes.
Penelope turned to follow Natalie’s line of sight. “That’s Cynthia. She’s one of our staff members. She bakes the most extraordinary desserts.”
“The house certainly smells lovely,” Natalie said.
“Would you like a cupcake?” Penelope asked.
“No, I’m fine.” Natalie waved off the suggestion. “Leave them for the children.”
“All right, then. This way.” Penelope gestured to the door on the immediate right.
Natalie started into the room—and stopped dead in her tracks. Though she had known she would see Michael Jones in the room, laying her eyes on him again was like a shock to her system.
Good Lord, the man was so…
“I know, I’m sorry the office is so cluttered,” Penelope said, mistaking the reason for Natalie’s hesitation. “Please bear with the mess.”
“It’s fine,” Natalie said, avoiding looking directly at Michael. But as she put one foot deliberately before the other and walked farther into the room, she could feel Michael’s gaze on her.
His eyes were burning her skin. She felt flushed and didn’t know why. And strangely, she found her breathing had become shallow.
Embarrassment, she told herself. That’s what it is. And she knew that was true. After yesterday—
“I’ve cleared space at the end of the conference table,” Penelope explained, jarring Natalie from her thoughts about the day before. Penelope began walking toward the table, and as Natalie feared, she took a seat opposite Michael, which left Natalie one option—to sit beside him.
“Michael Jones, this is Natalie Cooper—I mean Hart. Natalie, this is Michael Jones, the local football player I was telling you about.”
“Pleasure to see you again,” Michael said, eyeing her up and down as if she were a juicy steak.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Penelope said, her expression one of confusion as she took a seat opposite them. “I didn’t realize that you knew each other.”
“We don’t,” Natalie said.
To that, Michael raised an eyebrow. “Actually, we met yesterday.”
“Briefly,” Natalie clarified. “A chance encounter on the street.”
Natalie sat and pulled her chair in, trying her best to ignore the uncomfortable sensation that came from knowing that Michael wasn’t taking his eyes off of her.
“She’s right,” Michael agreed. “We didn’t enjoy the pleasure of a formal meeting.” He extended his hand to her. “I’m Michael Jones.”
Natalie turned to face him, knowing that it would look suspicious if she didn’t. And she saw that the edges of Michael’s full lips were twitching. He was trying not to smile. Clearly, he was enjoying having the unlikely upper hand. Yesterday, she had thought she would be rid of him forever when she walked away from him on the street, and yet here he was, in her life again.
But Natalie couldn’t hardly let him know that he was getting to her on any level, so she took his hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you, Michael,” she said, keeping her voice dispassionate.
“Very nice to meet you.”
Natalie swallowed—hard. She felt a rush of heat. That bedroom voice, those sexy eyes…why on earth was he getting to her? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen an attractive man before.
But Michael Jones wasn’t simply attractive. He was hot.
He’s a block of ice, you’re a block of ice, Natalie said mentally, trying to trick herself. Because no matter how hot this man was, the last thing she wanted to do was look twice at another professional athlete.
Least of all look twice at one who was giving her the bedroom eye as though he hoped to make her his next conquest.
Nope, Natalie had learned her lesson the first time around, and would not be foolish enough to make the same mistake twice.
What was the saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
Not that Michael had ever fooled her, but she had already been fooled by his species: the professional athlete. Women threw themselves at men like him. Stalked them at their away games. Tried to sneak into their hotel rooms. Got hired as wait staff where they ate their meals. Natalie knew all the tricks. Heck, Vance had joked about the various ploys of these women, making Natalie believe he was immune to their charms. And yet Vance had betrayed her, despite his vows to love, cherish and be faithful.
She supposed it was only inevitable that men like Vance cheated. A man was only human, after all, and how long could he realistically resist temptation when it was always in his face?
