Remembering Zoe’s final words made Jane force a smile. She wasn’t about to risk her job or future catering jobs for the Hearth over this.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Thank you for your time.”
“No, thank you.” The man chuckled. “You made my day thinking I was Chase.”
As the man sauntered away with a spring to his step, her shoulders slumped. She was in over her head and not qualified to do this, but she couldn’t get discouraged. She couldn’t give up. She still had to try.
For Emma. For sweet, four-year-old Emma who loved to play with baby dolls and still had months of treatment left, Jane wouldn’t give up. Maybe she could still find Chase Ryder. It was only ten o’clock in the morning. And if not…
She would write more letters and make additional phone calls. Somehow she would find sponsors for the fundraiser. Somehow she would help Emma’s mother, Michelle, tackle the mounting medical bills. Somehow Jane would pull this off.
If only she knew how.
Jane shuffled her way to the buffet table to pack up the equipment. Less than a dozen of the muffins, scones, cinnamon rolls and pastries remained on the trays, and she transferred them to a smaller plate to leave. All of the fruit cups were gone, except…
Oh, no.
One had spilled on the tile floor. Pieces of cantaloupe, grapes and pineapple had been squished, kicked and trampled on. The building’s janitorial staff cleaned after events, but Jane couldn’t leave a mess like this. She grabbed a towel near one of the coffee air pots, kneeled on the floor and wiped the sticky goo.
Nothing like a bit of fruit roadkill to finish off a lousy morning. She reached for a smushed strawberry. At least her day couldn’t get much worse.
“Excuse me,” a male voice said.
Still kneeling, Jane took in the shoes first. The black running shoes needed new laces, but looked comfortable. Just like his faded blue jeans. Her gaze traveled up the length of his calves to his thighs to his, um…
Her cheeks burned.
“You wanted to speak with me?” he asked.
What was she doing? She’d come to provide service. To beg a favor. Not stare at his…Jane jumped up. “I’m Ja…”
As she looked into his intense blue eyes, everything stopped. She couldn’t breathe let alone remember her name.
From the angular planes of his face to the slight cleft in his chin to his oh-so-kissable full lips, each feature fit perfectly together with his warm, bright eyes. His blond hair fell in loose curls and brushed the back of his grayish-blue dress shirt collar and navy sports coat. No man could be so naturally good-looking. There had to be a flaw, something more than a mole or two…
And then she found it—a jagged scar running through his right eyebrow. But rather than distracting from his looks it gave him an edge, a sexy, dangerous edge. She stepped back and bumped into the table. Her heart rate increased.
“Jay?” he asked.
“Jane.” Her voice sounded different, lower. She cleared her dry throat. “Jane Dawson.”
“Chase Ryder.”
Everything in her revolted. This was worse than before. He was too young, too handsome, too…male, like a cowboy who’d wandered into the wrong building. Wide shoulders and tall, six feet at least, as the top of her head came up only to his chin. Talk about being at a disadvantage.
“You wanted to speak with me?” he repeated.
His honey rich voice washed over her sending her temperature up at least another twenty degrees.
Don’t freak out. She could do this. So what if he was the most attractive man she’d ever seen? So what if he was richer than Midas himself? A family’s financial future depended on her. She couldn’t be derailed by a pretty—make that gorgeous—face.
“Yes.” Jane extended her arm only to realize she was holding the towel full of smashed fruit. She tossed the rag on the table and wiped her hand on her apron. “I did.”
He glanced at the watch he wore on his right wrist. “I’ve got three minutes.”
His terse response irked her, but what was she going to do? She had less than three minutes to get his help. “I’m organizing a fundraising event to assist paying for the medical expenses of a four-year-old fighting leukemia. The little girl is being raised by a single mother who works, but doesn’t have health insurance.”
She took a breath. “I sent two letters to your foundation about getting sponsorship for the event and left three voice mails, but never received any response. Since I was going to be here this morning, I thought I’d save another stamp and ask you myself though I realize your foundation isn’t associated with Cyberworx.”
He studied her, his appraising gaze missing nothing. Never had she felt so self-conscious and exposed in her freshly creased black twill pants, crisp white blouse and apron. She tucked a strand back into her ponytail.
“And you’re here for…?” he asked.
“The food.” She motioned to the name embroidered on her apron. “I’m…we catered the meeting. The Hearth. It’s a coffee house located in the Pearl district.”
“I’ve heard of it,” he acknowledged. “The Hearth is one of our caterers, but I don’t recognize you.”
“I usually work at the coffee house, not catering jobs. Except for today.” Jane wet her lips. “My, um, boss said I could talk to you as long as I wasn’t bothering you. Am I bothering you, Mr. Ryder?”
“It’s Chase, and no, you’re not bothering me.”
Thank goodness. Too bad she couldn’t say the same thing about him. Okay, he wasn’t exactly bothering her, just leaving her hot and bothered. He might not have the personality to match his good looks, but she would still need an iced cappuccino to cool her down once she finished here. “I know you’re busy and my time is almost up, but I’d be happy to send or e-mail more information about the fundraising event or buy you lunch so we could discuss it further.”
He raised a brow. “Buy me lunch?”
Lunch? Had she said that? More proof she wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing, but it was too late to back out now. “Lunch at the Hearth. I do get an employee discount, but we make a tasty…” Their deli sandwiches, soups and salads might not cut it for a man who could buy himself whatever he wanted. Think. Think. Think. “A tasty grilled panini sandwich.”
The corners of his mouth lifted. “You have a lot of confidence in your cook.”
A lot more than she had in herself. Zoe was going to kill her. Jane tilted her chin anyway. “It’s my recipe.”
His gaze met hers for a moment and a pleasurable shiver inched down her spine. “How does one-thirty sound?” he asked.
“Today?”
He nodded once, and a curly piece of hair
