Read Truth or Dare (His Wicked Games #2) for Free Online Page B

it?”
    “Tell me about your latest efforts,” he says.
“Your father said it was your idea to start renting out the gallery
space.”
    “Well, I—I mean, I suggested it, but he made
most of the major decisions.”
    “That’s not what he tells me. He says you’ve
spearheaded the entire project.”
    I sit back down. “I’ve just done what needed
to get done. He has a lot of things on his plate already, and so it
made sense that I’d take on most of the new responsibilities.”
    Asher props his hand on the edge of the desk
and leans toward me. “You know, Lily, modesty is a fine quality,
but it doesn’t make for very good sound bites.”
    I feel my cheeks grow warm. “I’m not being
modest.”
    Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Oh, I think you
are. You’ll go on and on about the Frazer Center until someone asks
you about your own part.”
    I start to protest, but he cuts me off.
    “Don’t worry, the readers will eat it up.
It’s pretty charming, actually.”
    Wait—is he flirting with me? He flashes
another broad, dimpled smile before returning to his chair.
    “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he
says. “I won’t force you to brag. We can come at it from a
different angle, if you like.” He leans back in his seat. “Tell me
a little about the situation here before you decided to rent out
the gallery.”
    I take a deep breath and launch into what I
think is a pretty good account of our situation those final few
months: our failed fundraising attempts, our cutbacks, our ongoing
discussions about our prices and programs. I could talk about this all he wants, and I figure I must be giving a decent
answer because Asher keeps nodding.
    Finally he says, “Your father tells me that
you guys were doing just fine until you lost a significant donation
you were promised. What can you tell me about that?”
    There it is. I should have guessed this topic
would come up. I need to tread carefully here.
    “Sometimes pledges are broken,” I say, “and
we have to make do. It happens to every nonprofit organization at
some point, I’m sure.”
    “But this was a very large pledge. From a
very well-known family.”
    I force myself to shrug. “We don’t know the
circumstances surrounding the decision.” The general public has yet
to learn about the Cunninghams’ financial situation, and I won’t be
the one to reveal it.
    “You don’t believe they owe you some sort of
explanation?”
    I shift in my seat. “I’m in no place to judge
their decision. They don’t owe us anything.”
    “Not even an apology?”
    “We’ve received an apology.”
    “Really? Your father says you haven’t.”
    Ugh, I should have been more careful. I’ve
received an apology from Calder, of course, but my dad wouldn’t
know that. And I certainly can’t explain that to this man without
going into the nature of my acquaintance with the Cunningham
heir.
    Time to change tactics.
    “I prefer to think of the situation as an
opportunity for us,” I say. “It gave us the chance to grow as an
organization.”
    Asher nods and smiles, and I can’t tell
whether he buys my answer or not. But he doesn’t press the issue
further, at least.
    “Would you mind if I took a few pictures of
you? A couple in here, I think, and then some in the gallery. And
anywhere else around the facility that you’d like me to see.”
    “Of course.” I say, suddenly wishing I’d put
on a little more makeup this morning. Or worn one of my cute
blouses instead of this standard old button-down.
    He pulls out his camera, and I frantically
run my fingers through my hair.
    “You look amazing, I promise,” he assures me,
shooting me a wink over the lens.
    I drop my hair and flip it back over my
shoulder.
    “Where do you want me?” I say, trying to
think of all the cheesy business articles I’ve seen. “Typing at my
computer, or…?”
    “Whatever you like,” he says cheerfully.
    I position my hands awkwardly over the
keyboard while Asher snaps