“Well, I’m Jack Harrison Killborne,” I say mockingly, and mirroring her accent. “Praise baby Jesus.”
Her brow furrows. “Uh, yes. Indeed.”
I snort. Stupid girl.
Noel jogs and slides in sideways, making his shoes squeak on the old tile.
“Hi, Morgan! Welcome. Right this way.”
Damn. Didn’t know my brother was so terrible with women. I don’t think he could look more desperate.
He ushers her to a long table where the crew wait with fresh new bibles.
Of course, Morgan’s team sets up a stand and lighting for her social media bullshit.
No good deed goes unposted.
My brother leads a prayer like he’s trying to impress her. Might be.
Tommy looks through the book’s thin pages as if he can read. Most of the others are restless. Some nod in agreement.
And I watch from across the room until the hour is almost over.
Here’s my chance.
I swagger over there, grab a chair and shove it backwards next to Morgan, then swing my leg over it. I lean my shoulder against hers and she stiffens, which I love. Nothing better than seeing fakeness crack.
Immediately the chat screen blows up with hearts and comments:OMG who is that? I just fainted. Forgive me lord for lusting for that man. Can I get his username?
I ignore it, but it’s a good start. Her followers like me. A lot.
“How do’ya like theCenter for Special Hearts?” I ask.
She turns her chair slightly so our shoulders no longer touch.
“Oh, I adore what you are doing here!”
“Excellent.” I grin at the camera, giving a casual wave. “Cause we sure need help and could use your church’s generosity to buy food, upgrade the kitchen, and install new tile. It’s cracking and they trip.”
Noel is horrified and fidgets, unsure how to silence me. It’s no use. He knows I give orders. I don’t take ’em.
She blinks and nods slowly. “We would love to help.Church of Redemptionoffers two-thousand dollar grants to charities—”
“Just two-thousand? That won’t cover the tile. How much did your church rake in last week?”
Her eyes widen, like my question is forbidden to ask. The answer should be public.
She resets, smiling like a beauty queen. “Let’s talk after Bible study. My church exists to help others.”
“Great. So thirty-grand? That’s how much it’ll cost. Got contractor estimates.” I drop a stack of papers in front of her.
“We will talk—”
I point at the live feed. Comments are still flooding in:I’ll donate! Do it, Morgan! We love those cuties!
“Seems like your followers are down for Downs.”
She lets out the tiniest exhale in frustration, so small only I caught it.
