Allie blew a raspberry. Selina was right. This could be her one and only chance in life to see how the other half lived. “Fine.”
“Good girl.” Selina patted her hand.
Allie softened. For all her trouble, Selina was a dear.
Gag! I even think like an eighty-five-year-old.
She took another look at herself in the heat lamp. She’d never been one to wear a lot of makeup. Her dark, thick lashes were a blessing. But maybe a little blush and some lip gloss wouldn’t hurt. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn her hair down. Somewhere in the apartment was a flat iron; she might as well get some use out of it.
The more she thought about dressing up, the more her hands trembled. It was one thing to just be you every day, and quite another to pretend to be more than what you are.
She wanted to remember how it felt to be in her twenties. Maybe with a little practice, she’d stop thinking like an old lady and start living like a
young one.
OceanofPDF.com
CHAPTER THREE
“I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Mark Dubois hit the button on the steering wheel to end the call with his buddy, Beau Mckay. They’d spent the evening at a silent auction for autism and planned to meet up for a game of pool in Beau’s man cave.
In the seat next to him, Aspen Hamilton, Hollywood’s rising star, checked her manicure. “I think tonight went well, don’t you?” Mark adjusted in the leather seat of his Maserati Ghibli S Q4. “I think so. I checked with Aaron before we left, and he said they’d raised enough to help the families on their list and even a few more.” There were few perks Mark enjoyed about celebrity status—being able to donate to causes like Aaron’s Homes for Autistic Children was one of them. The shallower side of him liked the car, but that was about as far as that end of the pool dipped. He could give or take the clothing designers shipped him, hoping he’d be caught wearing their label. In fact, he did give those boxes to Goodwill. Aspen pulled down the sun visor and checked her lipstick in the lighted mirror. “That’s not what I was talking about.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about meeting Simon Tinsley. I’d heard rumors he was going to be there, but you don’t think a director with his clout would come to a podunk event like this.”
Mark twisted his hands on the wheel. “The event wasn’t small, and Simon’s son has autism.”
Aspen pouted. “I didn’t know that. Too bad.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder, glitter sprinkling into the seams of his leather seats. “Was that the slow kid following him around?”
Mark bit his cheek to keep from commenting on her lack of knowledge, her lack of sensitivity, and her lack of class. “That was him.” Simon’s son, Cody, was a great kid. Mark had met him on several occasions and enjoyed his sweet spirit and kind nature.
“Have you thought about doing an auction for your water thingy?” “Waters without Borders is fine.” He’d started the charity ten years ago and had recently handed operations over to a board of directors. He still went on several trips a year to dig wells, lay irrigation pipe, and plumb villages, all in an effort to wipe out diseases spread by unclean water. Waters without Borders had been his passion, but the cause outgrew him and his abilities. Besides, with his divorce, his focus had shifted closer to home. He understood the irony of the situation. It took his wife and daughter moving out of the house for him to understand how important a home truly was. He wouldn’t make that mistake again and had joined up with several local charities to bring awareness and raise funds for their efforts. “Teens on Target needs my attention now.”
“Right—the lottery.” She turned up her nose.
“You don’t like the idea?”
“I don’t like that you’re selling yourself—it cheapens you.” “I’m not selling myself; I’m selling my time. There’s a difference.” “Whatever.” Aspen stared out her window, her long blond hair
shimmering in each streetlight they passed. “Jennifer Kay bought a thousand dollars’ worth of tickets this afternoon.”
While Mark was excited about the increase in sales, he wasn’t thrilled about spending an afternoon with Jennifer Kay. The woman was a sly gossipmonger who spewed drama everywhere she went.
He’d asked about capping the entries so one person with a high income couldn’t fix the raffle. The idea of setting the tickets at five bucks was so that everyone could participate and anyone could win—rich or poor.
In the end, they went without a limit to encourage people to give as much as they could. The more money they raised, the more projects Teens on Target could do around Atlanta. He wondered if there were other people with nefarious motives trying to get at him or Beau or Anthony through the same channel.
“How do you know that?” he asked.
“She tweeted this afternoon.”
“Pray she doesn’t win.”
Aspen snorted. “That’s your thing, not mine.”
Mark turned into her private drive, and she entered a code into her phone for the gate to open. “Do you want to come in tonight? We could give the press the idea we’ve taken our relationship to the next level.” Her hand landed on his knee.
