All That Really Matters, Nicole Deese [best detective novels of all time .TXT] 📗

and groom without spilling a single speck onto the table would get to—

“Are you hungry?” Silas asked, plucking me out of my childish memories.

“No.” I stopped the imaginary bridal dance. “Oh gosh, are you? Sorry, I asked the waiter to come back once you arrived since I wasn’t sure what you might want, but I guess he forgot. I can go and find him if you—”

“I’m fine.” Silas’s mouth stretched into a sly grin. “I was just concerned that your salt and pepper dancers were going to get rowdy if they didn’t find a hot plate to season soon.”

I smiled back at him. “You know, you can actually be funny sometimes, Silas.”

“Don’t tell anyone.” He moved to the third page of The Fit Glam Kit contract, sliding his finger down. And then he stopped. “Ah, here we go. ‘The Brand Ambassador retains the right to refuse to create content that may injure, tarnish, damage, or otherwise negatively affect the reputation and goodwill associated with Makeup Matters with Molly or that of the Brand Ambassador’s existing sponsors.’” He looked up at me again. “There’s your out.”

“That’s it?” I looked down at the document.

“That’s it. According to the Brand Ambassador’s protection clause of this contract, you have the legal right to refuse to create any content you feel will damage your reputation. There’s no breach of contract.”

Relief rushed over me. “Thank you, Silas. Thank you.”

He gave a nod. “You’re welcome. I can write up an official statement if you’d like me to. To send to your . . . manager, or to the sponsor herself. I’m not a practicing lawyer, of course, but I can make it sound pretty convincing if you need me to.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“It’s the right thing to do after such an unfortunate occurrence.”

I released a self-deprecating sigh. “I should have read it all over first.”

“No, your boyfriend never should have put you in such a compromising position. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

As my eyes met his, I felt it anew. The drastic divide between the man across the table and the man I’d shared far too much of myself with over the last year.

“You’re right,” I said with adamant resolve. “He shouldn’t have. And he won’t have the chance to again.” A statement I’d said aloud for the first time yet knew it wouldn’t be the last. “Would you mind taking a look at one more legal document for me? I think I understand this one a bit better, since I had a lawyer present when I signed it, but I’d like to be sure.”

“Of course.”

I slid the rest of the Cobalt Group contract on the table, asking him the specifics of the consequences of an early-exit strategy. But unlike the first contract, Silas’s finger never stopped trailing the clauses. He didn’t get that aha look on his face as if he’d just reeled in a marlin when he’d been expecting a catfish. Instead, he confirmed what I already knew: My contract with Cobalt was ironclad until it renewed at the end of this calendar year. If I broke it, if I exited early, I’d not only forfeit any profit brought in by the sponsors, endorsement deals, and campaign promotions that they’d secured for me during our business partnership, but I’d also lose the $100,000 Dream Big Scholarship I’d secured for The Bridge.

No matter how much I was beginning to despise him, I could tolerate Ethan as a manager for six more months. I’d have to.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish it was better news for you.”

I shook my head, sighed. “It’s okay.” I’d make it be okay.

I reached for my phone to pay him through Venmo. “How much do I owe you for your time tonight?”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Yes, it really is, because if I end up needing something more—like a written statement, I want to be able to ask you without feeling like I’m taking advantage of your generosity.”

“I can respect that,” he said, eyeing me cautiously. “But I don’t want your money.”

Something grabbed in the pit of my stomach at the change in his tone.

“But I could use your help,” he continued. “If you’re willing.”

“Of course, with what?” I set my phone down, giving him my undivided attention. Silas wasn’t the kind of man who asked for favors. Whatever this was, it certainly wasn’t an easy or casual ask for him.

“That fundraiser idea you mentioned in your syllabus. Is that something you might be willing to take on? I know it will require more volunteer hours and more time away from your work responsibilities, but the head of the trustee board called me this afternoon. It’s why I was out at my folks’ house this evening. I was consulting with my father.”

“What did he say—the head of the trustee board?”

Silas smiled. “She’s a woman, actually, Mrs. Cecilia Harleson. She told me about a fundraising option called the Murphey Grant. Essentially, it’s a dollar-for-dollar matching grant for nonprofit organizations like ours looking to expand. There’s a lot of red tape to the application process, a lot of documentation needed to prove our program meets their requirements, plus an approved building plan by our trustee board.”

“How much will the Murphey Grant match up to?”

“Five hundred thousand.” He put out his hand like a stop sign before I could let my excitement explode across my face. “But the catch is that we can only apply for this particular grant once every five years.”

I crinkled my brow, thinking through the implications of his statement. “Meaning that if they approve your application but you don’t quite reach the financial goal you need, you can’t reapply next year.”

“Correct.” But something like doubt remained cemented on his features.

“So, what’s the issue? If the grant is willing to match whatever you can fundraise, it seems like a no-lose situation.”

“The issue is that the trustee board at Fir Crest Manor will only approve my proposed expansion plan on the condition that we secure the entire sum of money needed to complete the project before we