Chapter 39

39

Georgia kept one eye on the browning turkey and the other on Banks, who was sitting at the kitchen counter reading and wearing … glasses. How had this man found new ways to ramp up the hotness levels? The Georgia of four months ago would not have paid the slightest attention to a guy with specs.

“So what do you think?”

He didn’t even look up. “Not finished yet. How’s that turkey coming along?”

“I think it’s ready for the taco seasoning.”

“Just half the packet with a little water. Don’t overdo it.”

She followed the instructions and gave the mixture a stir. Then she returned her nervous gaze to her husband—who had just placed the documents down and, boo-hoo , removed his glasses.

“Well?”

“It’s great, Georgia. Clear, precise, to the point.”

“But?”

He rubbed his beard. “You have the start-up funding, but nothing about how you’re going to raise money going forward. It needs to be self-sustaining.”

“My trust fund will make up most of the seed money and I’m hoping my parents will contribute as well.” The trust was at least five million and she planned to sign over most of it to the charity.

“Sure, but you’ll need an investment prospectus for the funds, a way to ensure they continue to compound interest and the fund stays healthy. And you need to have a plan to solicit donors to keep the coffers full.”

“I’m worried people won’t think it’s as worthy as other causes. That it’s kind of frivolous to think of the caregivers instead of the people who are truly suffering. If I keep the funding source to my trust, I won’t have to worry about it.”

He slid off the bar stool and reached behind her to turn off the pan. Then he lifted her like she weighed nothing and popped her on the counter.

“Dylan, your shoulder!”

He pressed his fingers to her waist and held her steady, while she parted her thighs and invited him in. So natural. “I want you to listen to me, Peaches, and listen good.”

She snatched a shaky breath. “Okay. Listening.”

“Why do you want to start this charity?”

“I told you. I see a need.”

“Give me the spiel.”

Okay. “Caregivers need a break. They need therapy. They need ways to get back into the job market after being out of it for a while. Hell, they need a mani-pedi every now and then.” She shook her head. Too frivolous. Too Georgia.

But Banks was soaking her in, his eyes full of encouragement for her to find some inner recess of strength.

“The current social services network is focused on the needs of the patient, the person at the center of this web of suffering. My charity will address the needs of the people who support that person, whose lives are consumed with loving that person, often to the extent that they lose all sense of themselves. Supporting them in small but meaningful ways will demonstrate that they are not forgotten. That their contributions and sacrifice are honored.”

Banks remained silent. Was he expecting more?

A smile peeked through his playoff beard.

“See? You can sell this to anyone. It’s worthy because you make it so, by your commitment and passion to this cause. You’re putting your money where your mouth is, you have a compelling backstory because of Dani, and you have the connections to make this happen. Agreed?”

She nodded.

“I think we should add a section on future fundraising sources, and you should bring a PR person onto the staff, someone who can help us with the messaging.”

We. Us. “Okay.”

She had once thought that if she ever fell in love, it would feel like floating on a cloud, tingles in every extremity, and happy sighing for eternity. None of the books mentioned this sense of security, this recognition that another person had your best interests at heart and was fully invested in the person you were trying to become.

This was the definition of love.

She touched her forehead to his. “Can you hold my hand through every funding pitch?”

“You won’t need me, Georgia. You’re so much stronger than you know.”

She was starting to realize that. But having Banks in her corner was the bonus she hadn’t known she needed.

You’re jinxing it.

Probably. But in the last few days, she had felt closer to Banks than ever. His support in the face of her parents had emboldened her, so much so that she seduced him in the parking garage of their building. Maybe that was one more crazy Georgia stunt—or maybe it was a sign she was throwing off the shackles of her past and taking what was rightfully hers.

Her future. One which she hoped included Banks.

A sorry mewling sound rose up from the ground.

“Cheddar! You’re supposed to be in your room.”

Banks grunted. “Let him be. He’s suffered enough.”

“You’ll be suffering if you let him have the run of the house.”

She pushed back at his chest, and he gentled her to the ground. Only this time, reality didn’t set in. Her heart remained in the clouds playing with cupids and arrows and harps.

Cheddar snaked around Banks’s ankles as he returned to the stove and turned the heat back on under the skillet. Hold on, now. She hip-checked Banks out of the way.

“I’m making lunch, Big Guy. You can start shredding cheese.”

He looked on approvingly. “Bosshole wife? I like it.”

So did she.