Nanny to the Billionaire's Son. Barbara McMahon
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open door.
“You remember the business luncheon tomorrow, right? I’m hoping my speech will loosen some wallets. I want you and Pam there to handle any donations we may get.”
Sam nodded. “I’ve had it on my calendar for weeks, ever since you told me, Tim. We’ll both be there from eleven-thirty on. Maybe some of the guests will take a brochure or something prior to lunch and offer a few thousand dollars on the spot.”
“That’s always a hope.”
Raising funds for worthy charities was getting more difficult. There were so many deserving organizations, but with companies tightening their belts to make sure their bottom lines continued to be robust, available corporate donations were drying up. Sam’s boss, Timothy Parsons, had been scheduled to speak at this luncheon for weeks.
Sam liked attending events like this since it gave her an opportunity to discuss the wonderful work of their Foundation with people who may not know about it. While not her first choice of professions, her work at the Foundation was important to her.
Nothing untoward had happened the rest of the day. Anonymity should prove enough protection—she hoped.
That evening shortly after dinner was finished, Sam studied the want ads in the paper. Most were for day jobs or required specialized training. It was depressing how few jobs there were that she could do, and even more so how few part-time jobs. Nothing popped out at her.
Charlene was in her studio, as they called the former dining-room-turned-quilting-haven. Her sister was so talented in that area maybe Sam should look at marketing the quilts until another part-time job appeared. It would be wonderful if Charlene could overcome her shyness and sensitivity to being in a wheelchair and sell some of the lovely works she’d created. Not only for the much-needed income, but as a boost to her sister’s self-esteem.
How did one go about marketing quilts besides visiting specialty shops and seeing if the owners would take them on?
The worry that she hadn’t heard the last of the purloined ticket nagged at her. If Mac wanted to make an issue of her using the ticket, she’d pay him the cost of it. She wasn’t sure how she’d come up with the money on short notice, but there had to be some way. She tried to think of something of value they owned that she could sell.
Charlene rolled her chair into the kitchen. She took out some juice and went to the lower cabinets where they stored dishes. Glancing at Sam, she frowned. “No luck?”
“Huh? No, none. How’s the vest coming?”
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