Ben grabbed extra forms from the desk. “I know some people.”
She beamed.
“I’ll take some,” Owen said, reaching to grab a stack bigger than Ben’s. “I know some people, too.”
“That’s very helpful. Well, thank you both for coming in.” She stood and so did they. “I really hope the tournament is a success—the more kids we can help get to camp this year, the better.” She led the way out into reception and opened the door.
“We’ll make sure it is. There’re a few people in Denver who’d like to golf with me,” Ben said, grinning. “After all, I did win a Stanley Cup this year.”
Oh come on. Give the ego a break, man.
“Yes, you did, and I’m sure you have no shortage of fans,” Paige said.
Paige wasn’t being flirty, just polite, and Owen’s attraction to her soared as she displayed zero interest in his buddy.
“Thank you again for coming in.”
“See you,” Ben said, leading the way out into the hall.
“Bye,” Owen said, but she’d already turned to head back to her office.
As the door to the office closed behind her, Ben laughed, glancing at the stack of sponsor forms in his arms. “Who do you know, man?”
Owen shrugged. He might not know anyone. But Bernie, on the other hand, had a lot of friends.
* * *
Damn, it’s hot in here.
As she closed the door behind her last appointment of the day, Paige cranked the air-conditioning in her office and removed her jacket. Sitting at her desk, she checked her planner. Four back-to-back meetings had secured six golfers so far: Ben Westmore, two football players from the Denver Tigers, and three baseball players. A little behind schedule, but she was confident they could make up time.
The three major sponsors for the event were in place, and with the support of the athletes who’d signed up to golf that day, she knew they’d raise enough from auctioning off the two other spots on each team to hit their goal.
She glanced over the signup sheet. Ben Westmore had surprised her. His reputation as an arrogant jerk couldn’t have been further from the man himself. Though she had read in a tabloid somewhere that he’d recently gotten engaged, so that might explain it.
It was the other guy—the team’s promotions manager, Owen—who’d made her uneasy. She’d felt his eyes on her the entire meeting, and the effect had been unsettling. She knew her tall, blond looks had a way of attracting attention—or at least they had—but the intensity of his appreciation had put her slightly on edge. He was a great-looking guy, and the only one who’d bothered to dress the part for the meeting…that she could appreciate.
Unfortunately, she’d also appreciated the way his suit jacket had fit snug across his broad shoulders and biceps. Even seated, she could tell he had a muscular build and solid, sturdy frame…the shape she’d once been fiercely attracted to. Was obviously still attracted to, if her body’s reaction to him was any indication. It had been a long time since she’d met a man who’d made her nervous, but the fluttering in her stomach had almost thrown her off her game. Thankfully, she hadn’t really needed it around them. The two men were eager to help. In fact, almost every athlete she’d met with that day had been.
Still, she felt an odd sense of anxiety creep down her spine.
She reached for the folder for the caterers. It was just because the organization meant so much to her. If anything could make or break an event, it was the food. The golf course had a restaurant, but she wanted to keep the costs down, and she’d gotten better pricing from outside services. Because it was a charity event, the golf course organizers had agreed to allow it. She suspected they knew they’d make enough on the alcohol service in the lounge after the golfing was over. Which reminded her…
No outside alcohol on the course, she scribbled the note to herself.
Then, as she picked up the phone to dial out, Isabelle buzzed her office on the intercom. “Paige, it’s after three. You wanted me to remind you of your three thirty with Dr. Madsen.”
Right. The real source of her anxiety. She’d lost track of the time, but obviously her apprehension over the appointment had been weighing on her. “Okay, thank you…” She paused, scanning her to-do list. There were at least six more items she needed to check off that day. “Actually, can you cancel that?”
“Again?”
“Yeah, I just have a few things I need to finish today before I head…”
The door opened and Isabelle walked in.
Paige quickly reached for her jacket and slid one arm through. “Hey!”
“You don’t have to cover up for me.”
Still, she put on the jacket. The scarring along her arms and shoulders visible in her sleeveless turtleneck may not offend Isabelle, but someone else could walk in with the desk unattended. And it killed her to watch people’s gaze sway to her scars. A look of either sympathy or disgust would appear that they’d quickly try to hide. Or worse, the people who forced their gaze anywhere else—the ones who were embarrassed for her.
“How many times have I asked you to knock?” she muttered.
“I pulled rank as your mother.” She shivered and crossed the room to adjust the heat. “You can’t keep putting off this appointment.”
“I’m really busy right now with this event. Once it’s over, I’ll have time to think about the surgery…” Surgery number eighteen.
“No, you won’t. There will be some other excuse then.” She sat in the chair across from her. “And you have to stop hiding in this office. I’m not speaking as your mother now, but as an employee of this organization. You need to start getting out into the community if you hope to generate awareness for the fall fundraising campaign.”
“I am getting out into the community. Didn’t I attend that Women of Action luncheon last week?”
“Attending in body and attending in spirit are two different things. Besides, simply attending is not enough. You need to do more networking. People would benefit from your story, Paige…”
She held up a hand. “Look, please just cancel this one, and I’ll call Dr. Madsen to reschedule in the morning. People will also benefit from having food at this event, and I’ve put off hiring the caterers too long.” She flipped several pages on her desk. “By the way, have you heard anything negative about Uptown Catering?” Change the subject. Divert. Move on.
Her mother sighed. “No. I’ve heard nothing but good things. Would you like me to check their Yelp rating?”
“No, that’s okay.” She already had. “I think I’ll go with them—their quote came in on budget.”
“Great,” Isabelle said as she stood. She approached the door, then hesitated. “I’m going to a try out a new yoga studio tonight. I thought you might be interested…”
She didn’t glance up, her chest tightening at the thought of the familiar activity they used to enjoy together. “Hot yoga?”
“Yeah, but…”
“No thank you—I’m good,” she said, still not looking away from the folder, desperate to avoid seeing the look of disappointment she knew would be on her mother’s face.
She missed the time together, too.
“Okay,” Isabelle said, shutting the office door behind her.
Reaching for the phone, she caught sight of her exposed wrist as her suit jacket rose slightly, and she tugged at the fabric.
People would benefit from her story.
How many times over the last five years had she heard that? From her mother, her psychologist, her doctors, her support group…She didn’t buy it yet. How exactly could people benefit from a story about human cruelty and hatred?
And if the story they were referring to was her ongoing road to recovery, her bravery and strength in light of her tragedy, her courageous spirit as she put the pieces of her life back together, well, first she’d need to believe that version of the story herself.
Chapter 2
Bernie had friends indeed.
Owen took t
he steps of the Burn Treatment Center two at a time a few days later. He’d called in every favor he had from every friend or acquaintance who’d needed a last-minute mascot to attend their event at little to no cost and they were all willing to provide sponsorship funds for the charity golf tournament without hesitation.
Of course, the individual amounts were small, and no one could afford the hefty price tag of actually bidding to golf alongside a pro athlete, but every dollar added up. Opening the door to the offices, he approached the desk. “Good morning, Isabelle,” he said, leaning against the desk.
She smiled, but her face registered no recognition. “Hello.”
“Owen McConnell, promotions manager for the Avalanche.” Still nothing. “Ben Westmore and I met with Ms. Adams about the celebrity golf charity event the other day.”
She finally nodded. “Yes. Right. Sorry, it’s been a busy week. Lots of traffic and new faces coming through. Do you have an appointment with Paige?” she asked.
“No. I thought I’d stop in and see if I could catch her.” He had tried for an appointment for three days, but her schedule had been full. Busy woman.
She had been on his mind constantly. He wouldn’t even pretend that his sudden interest in the burn treatment camps was solely altruistic. He believed wholeheartedly in supporting the cause, but he also wanted to impress Paige. Rarely did he meet a woman who competed for his every thought the way she did. It wasn’t just her gorgeous looks that had sucked him in, but her obvious dedication to her role at the center and her professionalism mixed with a passion for the charity. Since the injury that ended his military career, he’d had countless casual relationships, but no one had intrigued him enough to make him consider settling down, pursuing something real.
And he was no doubt jumping the gun here, but there was something different about Paige. She was definitely intriguing.
Isabelle checked her calendar. “I’m not seeing much of a break anywhere. Even her lunch hour is booked with an outside meeting. Was there something I could help you with?”
He slapped the completed sponsor forms against his other palm. “I kinda wanted to give her these myself.” She’d barely glanced at him the other day in the boardroom. But he hoped that without Ben next to him, he might be a little more…appealing.
“Completed sponsorship forms?” she asked.
He nodded, handing them to her.
She scanned them, and her eyebrows raised. “Wow. This is fantastic.” She hesitated, glancing through Paige’s office window. “She’s not with anyone right now. Just give me a second,” she said, getting up and going inside the office, closing the door behind her.
He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but there was quite a lengthy discussion before Isabelle opened the door with a triumphant grin. “You can go right in.” She gave him the forms and a wink as he passed her.
He ran a hand through his gelled blond hair and entered the office. “Good morning,” he said.
She was typing furiously, and he marveled over how quickly her brain must work. “Sorry, just give me one second…There. Okay, hi,” she said with a polite smile. “Owen McConnell, right?”
Isabelle had obviously given her a heads-up, but he’d go with it. “Glad you remembered me. I haven’t been on your mind too much, have I?”
She blinked.
No sense of humor. Got it. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I was projecting.”
Blink. Blink.
Okay then. “I just wanted to stop by to drop these off.” He placed the sponsorship forms on her desk and shivered. “It’s freezing in here. No wonder you need a scarf,” he said, noticing once again she was completely covered, this time in a dark gray pantsuit, pale pink blouse, and sheer white scarf wrapped high around her neck, her long hair in loose waves around her shoulders. He hadn’t thought it possible for her to look sexier than she had with the hair pulled away from her face, displaying her high cheekbones, but he’d been wrong. This softer, more feminine look was decidedly his favorite.
“I like the cold,” she said, staring at the forms. “Wow. You’ve been busy since Monday.”
He smiled. “Told you I knew some people. I mean, come on—who doesn’t remember summer camp and all the great times there, right? Every kid should get to go.” He’d actually been slightly overweight as a kid and had moved around a lot with a military family, so most of his lasting friendships, including that with Ben, had been made at Camp Timberline in Colorado. No matter where he lived, he came back for the summer.
“Agreed.” She reached for a folder on her insanely organized desk and slid them inside. Her smile was once again polite, but distant, and he had absolutely no reason to think it was a good idea, but out on a limb he went.
“Hey, was it just my imagination, or was there a connection between us the other day?”
“Just your imagination.”
“Damn. I never read these situations right. Tell me the truth, it’s the eye, isn’t it? The slightly cloudy effect makes you uncomfortable?” It was barely noticeable since his surgery, and he’d long ago come to terms with his accident overseas when he was a lieutenant in the Marine Corps.
Her head shot up. “I didn’t even notice your eye…”
Translation—she hadn’t noticed anything about him.
“Great, so do we have a date?”
“Um, no…there won’t be a date.”
“You have a boyfriend.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and waited for her to confirm she was unavailable.
She remained stone faced, giving him jack shit for information.
“Girlfriend?” Had he read things completely wrong?
She raised one eyebrow, but ignored his prodding. “I appreciate the sponsorships. Very impressive,” she said, making him pause.
“Impressive enough for you to dump your boyfriend/girlfriend and give me one quick coffee date? That’s all I need to sweep you off your feet.”
A hint of an amused smile. “Have a good day, Mr. McConnell.”
Shut down. Naturally. “Always a pleasure, Ms. Adams.”
* * *
Turning down a date had never left her with a lingering disappointment like the one she felt watching Owen say goodbye to her mom on the way out of the office. The guy had a permanent smile plastered on his face, making his already tempting good looks even more appealing, and she had to fight the urge to chase after him.
But she’d been refusing dates for so long, she wouldn’t even know how to act on one…and she sensed spending time with him would be dangerous.
Paige grabbed her purse and left her office for her lunch meeting with Dr. Madsen across town. Perhaps some people were just naturally happy all the time. Owen McConnell certainly seemed to possess that gene.
She used to smile a lot, too. Besides her six-foot frame, it had been her biggest asset for her modeling career. Blessed with perfect, straight teeth and full lips, smiling in front of the camera had been easy money and a life she’d never thought she’d be forced to walk away from.
“I’m heading out. I’ll be back in a few hours,” she told Isabelle as she passed the desk and handed Owen’s fundraising forms to her.
“He raised a lot of money since Monday,” she said, eyeing her.
She knew the look and the tone. “Forget it, Mom,” she said, leaving the office before her mother could give her a lecture about dating she’d heard too many times already.
She’d get back in the saddle when she was ready.
Never.
Climbing into her car a moment later, she cranked the AC. Then, unbuttoning the top few buttons on her blouse, she tossed her hair away from her neck. The sight of the melted-looking skin starting below her chin and extending beneath the collar of the blouse made her chest tighten. Four surgeries on that part of her body so far, and still no real improvement in the texture and repair of the damaged flesh. Four painful skin grafting procedures where the doctor had removed flesh from the base of her back and buttocks and tra
nsplanted it over sheets of collagen had failed to deliver the results they had in other parts of her body.
She knew she was lucky the sulfuric acid hadn’t hit her face. The damage to her skin on her chest, neck, and arms had been severe enough. The thought that it could have been so much worse had the acid gotten into her mouth, destroying her esophagus, or into her eyes, blinding her, made her shudder.
So many of the survivors she worked with every day hadn’t been as lucky, which was something she had to remind herself whenever moments of self-pity seeped in.
Like now, as she passed Brooks Boulevard and the billboard on her left displayed a new smiling spokesmodel for Blissful Cosmetics, the company she’d signed a six-figure modeling contract with six years before—the contract that changed her life. First for the better, as the realization of her dream came true, then in the form of a nightmare, as the boyfriend of the other woman who’d been up for the opportunity had attacked her outside her condo. He’d thrown the sulfuric acid so quickly, then time had passed as though she were in a terrifying haze. The hellish heat of the liquid on her flesh made her so desperate for something to cool it, she’d fallen to her stomach in a puddle of ice and melted snow on the ground, covering her skin. An ear-piercing shriek echoed around her and grew even more frantic when she realized it was coming from her. Then the two faceless, nameless good Samaritans who picked her up and rushed her to the emergency room.
Her attacker disappeared with her future.
She sat at the red light, staring at the young woman whose face had replaced hers on the billboard, smiling above the city, carefree, happy…and she couldn’t shake the torment of wondering where she’d be had the attack not happened. She’d always dreamed of Paris runways, modeling high-fashion designs, and photoshoots in exotic locations. Tall from her early teen years, and blessed with a look society deemed beautiful, modeling had been a certainty in her future.
A car horn behind her made her jump. The light had turned green. She hit the gas and cast one final glance at the advertisement.
Maybe This Summer Page 2
