His Wicked Games: A Billionaire Romance (The Cunningham Family #1) Page 8

When I get back to my room, I pull out my phone. The calls were an excuse, but it's probably still a good idea to let my dad know I'll be delayed longer than I expected. I hate leaving him alone back at the Center, but there’s nothing I can do. I'm stuck here, whether I like it or not.

  Dad's flustered when I get him on the line. He sounds even worse than he did last night.

  “What's going on?” I say.

  He sighs. “Ella quit this morning. She felt really bad about it, you could see, but she found a position at an office downtown. Not that I blame her. Her last paycheck bounced. We were going to have to let her go soon anyway, and she was smart enough to see that.”

  I don't blame her either. Ella's stuck with us through a lot, but she has to make a living, just like everyone else. Still, now there's even more work on my dad's shoulders.

  “I hate to leave you swamped,” I say. “I promise I'll be home as soon as I can. As soon as the road's clear, I'll be back. I'll stay at the Center all night if I have to.”

  “Don't stress about it. I can handle it for now. You just worry about winning over those prospects. That's more important right now anyway.”

  Guilt twists my stomach. “I'll do what I can.”

  “Good. Love you, honey.”

  “Love you.”

  I hang up, feeling like the worst daughter in history. I don't know how I'm ever going to confess the truth of my trip out here, or my spectacular failure. It's my own fault for being so impulsive—and for ignoring Dad's wishes in the first place.

  I put my face in my hand. The guilt of this situation is going to eat me alive. I just wish there was something I could say, something I could do to fix this whole mess. Instead, I’m running into one dead end after another and lying to my dad in the meantime. It’s like I’m just waiting for everything to explode in my face.

  My fingers skim over the keys of my phone. There's still one option open to me. Like it or not, Garrett might be our only chance. At least if I secure his help, I won't have to face my dad completely empty-handed when I return tomorrow.

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I scroll through my phone and click on Dipshit's number. I hold the cell up to my ear and wait, breathless, as the line rings once, twice, three times.

  Voicemail picks up, and I almost cry in relief. I can deal with leaving a message.

  “Garrett, it's me. Lily,” I say. “I know this is out of the blue—I hope you're doing okay. I know we haven't talked in a while.” I don't admit it's because I've refused to return his calls all these months. “It's just I—well, you see the Center's in a little trouble. We lost our largest pledge, the one we were counting on to pay off those renovations from last year, and we've had to divert program funds, and—and I guess you don't need to know all the details. It's just that things are looking bad for us, and you were always so good at finding donors. Dad and I have been doing everything we can, but if there's any way you could help—I mean, I know it's a lot to ask, and I understand completely if you say no. I just wanted to… ask.”

  I sit there in awkward silence for a moment, and then I remember that it's still recording.

  “That's it, then,” I say quickly. “You have my number. Please think about it.” And then I hang up before I can make an even bigger ass of myself.

  Ugh. I flop down face-first on the bed. I try to convince myself that I did the right thing, but I feel like I'm going to vomit. Garrett was the first great love of my adult life—or so I thought. There was a time I believed he was the perfect man: successful, intelligent, attractive, charming. I was so head-over-heels for him that I didn’t notice when he started to take little digs at me. Well—I did notice, but I assumed all of his little comments and critiques were true. I changed my hair because he told me he thought long hair made my cheeks look too round. I changed the way I dressed because he told me my favorite sundresses were too sexy and invited too much attention.

  It took me way too long to realize how emotionally manipulative he was.

  This isn’t about you, I try to remind myself. This is about the Center. You can handle this.

  Right now a tour of this place with Calder actually sounds like a nice distraction. I roll over and resist the urge to laugh. Has it really come to this? Is being around that sexy asshole of a billionaire really the lesser of two awkward situations?

  I close my eyes and wait for Calder to return, wondering how I managed to get myself into such a mess.