The Dare Collection December 2019. Clare Connelly
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amazing staff, though, and I check in with them with enough regularity to know when things are working, and when they’re not.
Where’d you go?
The text message from Nicholas comes through as I arrive at our Brooklyn Chance headquarters. I smile.
I didn’t want to wake you, Sleeping Beauty.
I add an emoji with its tongue poking out.
Why didn’t you stay?
But we’ve talked about that. I feel better not actually sleeping the night—which is a silly distinction, but one that somehow makes sense. Boundaries will be my saviour when all of him is a sink hole, drawing me closer, making me want him, making me need him in a way I definitely didn’t expect.
I have a thing today.
A thing?
Alicia Waterman, the manager of this Chance facility, walks towards me, her no-nonsense air instantly reassuring. I only have time to dash out a quick reply.
I’m giving a talk to some Chance kids in Brooklyn. I’ll call you later.
‘Alicia.’ I stuff my phone into the back pocket of my jeans. ‘All good to go?’
‘All ready.’ She nods crisply, falling into step beside me. ‘There’s a huge turnout. Over two hundred.’
I let out a low whistle. ‘That’s great.’
‘Will you have time afterwards for a quick sit-down? I need to talk to you about some of our vocational partners.’
‘Uh oh. That doesn’t sound good.’
Her smile is tight. ‘I’m sure it will be fine; just a hiccough. I just need to go through some options.’
A presentiment of concern moves down my spine. ‘You’re sure?’
She grimaces. ‘It’ll wait.’
‘Okay, fine. After.’
‘You need anything?’
I survey the disused warehouse we’ve converted into a loft space. The high ceilings give it a feeling of freedom, and the office partitions are all on wheels, meaning for events like today we can move them around to open it right up.
My heart bursts as I step into the building.
Pride, unmistakable, is like a firefly dancing through my system. I did this. All these people are here because of me, and all of them have a chance because of me. And because of Abbey. I close my eyes and picture Abbey, and the ever-present sense of purpose has me pushing up towards the stage at the front of the room.
There’s a lot of chatter but as I take the steps it quietens down a little. I stand at the lectern, push my phone onto silent, sip the water and begin to talk.
I love this—speaking to these kids. I used to get nervous but very quickly I realised that it’s not about me, it’s about them. I’m here to tell them what they need to hear, to give them what has been missing in their lives.
I speak from the heart, and close everything else out.
I didn’t plan to come here, but when Imogen messaged to say she was speaking at a Chance function, curiosity got the better of me. Before I knew it, I’d done a quick search and was flying my helicopter towards Brooklyn.
It doesn’t occur to me until I’m almost inside the warehouse that she might not have wanted me to come. I contemplate waiting outside, but that’s just dumb. She won’t care.
Besides, I want to see this. I want to see what she does when she’s not facilitating a club where the world’s super-rich elite blow off steam.
The room is completely silent, despite the fact it’s full of kids. They’re older kids, teens, mostly. I move to the back of the room.
An efficient-looking woman with a clipboard and short black hair regards me with a look of curiosity and scepticism. I nod at her, as if I belong, and stand against the wall.
My eyes fall on Imogen and something locks inside me.
‘My meemaw used to have a saying.’ She smiles, naturally, comfortably, her eyes skimming the room, and I can tell that she has a gift with this, with making every single person in the space feel as though she’s talking only to them. ‘You can’t see a dolphin when the water’s choppy but that don’t mean it’s not there.’ She does a perfect southern accent, as she did the day I came looking for Miss Anonymous. It makes me grin.
‘I know you’re all here today because the waters around you are choppy.’ She takes a minute to let that sink in, her expression shifting so it’s serious, sympathetic. I feel compassion bursting from her every pore. ‘Maybe it’s worse than choppy. Maybe you feel like you have a tsunami bearing down on you with nowhere to go. But that’s not the case. Chance is your port in the storm, your anchor, your home and your family. You belong here with us, you’re one of us, and we will do everything we can to help you.’ Her eyes scan the room once more, and this time, they pass over me then skid back, surprise showing on her face for the briefest of moments so I feel a wedge of guilt, as if maybe I’ve driven her off course.
But she smiles, right at me, and my stomach soars, then she continues seamlessly. ‘Just because the water’s choppy doesn’t mean there isn’t a dolphin—you have a dolphin inside you, your future is out there, bright and waiting for you to grab it with both hands. I’m so proud of you all, and I’m thrilled you’re a part of the Chance family. You belong here. Merry Christmas.’
The audience erupts, a huge applause that is almost deafening in this cavernous space. When she smiles, she looks so sweet and young, not at all like the founder of The Billionaires’ Club.
She waves a hand and steps off the stage, and my pride in her catches me completely by surprise. I can’t take credit for how good she is at this; it has nothing to do with me. And yet I feel an immense wave of warmth.
The woman with the clipboard takes the stage. She speaks for a few minutes, directing everyone to a table set up against the wall, loaded with pastries and hot chocolates. A better look shows there’s a second table, which looks to be overflowing with coats and jumpers, all neatly folded, ready for new owners to take them home.
‘What are you doing here?’ She comes up from behind me, her smile bright and perfect.
I can’t help it. I dip my head down and kiss her, so overwhelmed by how great she did, by the words she spoke, by the power she wields to make a true difference.
But she pulls away quickly, her eyes skittering around the room. ‘Nicholas.’ She shakes her head. ‘Not here. There are people here who know me.’
Shit.
We’re dating secretly. And I completely forgot. I forgot this is all kind of pretend. Not real. It’s not my place to act like the doting boyfriend, which I’m definitely not.
I forgot myself for a second.
‘Sorry,’ I say, sincerely. ‘I was just so proud of you.’
Her smile is back, her eyes twinkling. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah.’ Pull it together, you soppy bastard. ‘Christ, you were amazing up there.’
She blinks quickly, as if she’s trying to combat tears or something. ‘I have to talk to Alicia. Can you wait?’
‘Yeah.’ My voice is hoarse. ‘I can wait.’
She squeezes my hand discreetly. ‘Mingle.’ Her smile is pure sensual promise. ‘Eat something yummy.’
I lean a little closer. ‘Oh, I intend to.’
Her cheeks glow and I laugh as she walks away, before doing just as she instructed,