Page 2 of Just George

“It’s for mental health facilities for the poorer communities in Chicago. There are lots of urgent cares, places to treat wounds you can see, but not a lot of free therapy for kids who have been exposed to violence outside or inside the home.”

“You just gave me a little bit of your speech, didn’t ya.”

“A teeny piece, yes,” she admitted, and her grin was wide when I checked my rearview mirror. “I don’t want to put you to sleep at the wheel.”

“Are you giving the opening address, or is Mr. Sutter?”

She scoffed. “If Uncle Aaron does it, he’ll say something like, ‘kids need help so let’s get this done already,’ and he’ll sound grouchy and people will be offended.”

“I don’t get it. He has the money to do all these things himself. He’s a billionaire, for crissakes. It’s not like he needs these people.”

“Yes, but there are set guidelines for charitable building and funding, and if he does it all himself, then it falls under his business, which is for-profit, when free mental health for underprivileged kids would be nonprofit, and it’s a lot of red tape, and even though he has several foundations that he can build under, getting anything done could take years.”

“That’s messed up that he can’t simply go in and put up a building.”

“I know. It’s so funny, because he can put up a commercial one with apartments in it or office space and it’s not an issue. But you put up one for a charity or nonprofit—everyone freaks out.”

“Well, I’m sure some of it is the city thinking that heaven forbid Mr. Sutter goes bankrupt. Who then would take care of maintenance and upkeep of the building?”

“No, I know, but what are the chances of billionaires losing all their money? I mean, that’s nutty, right?”

“I’m sure it’s happened to someone,” I said distractedly, taking a right onto a lovely street that I could tell was picturesque even in the dark because of all the trees. It was one of those places that came to mind when you thought about fall and Halloween and Thanksgiving, with the leaves and the homes with wrap-around porches and decorations everywhere. When I was growing up, alone, it was what I had always dreamed of. “Where… which house am I stopping at?”

“He’s right there,” she said, pointing over my shoulder to the left.

Instantly, the warning bells in my head went off. “Who is that?”

No answer.

“Hannah.”

She cleared her throat. “It’s not a blind date,” she said cheerfully. “I would not be on a blind date with you.”

That was true, but I stopped the car in the middle of the street anyway.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

I wasn’t actually worried about her setting me up, I would see that coming a mile away. But this deception, this ambush, I’d missed because I hadn’t considered, not once, that she was this devious.

“It’s my therapist, Dr. Kurt Butler.”

I knew who it bloody well had to be, and the man in question was, at the very moment, standing on the curb, looking undecided. Clearly, I had stopped but not pulled over. Was he supposed to walk out in the middle of the street?

“If he runs out here and gets killed by someone driving by or someone whipping around you, you’re gonna feel really bad,” she assured me haughtily.

Growling, I pulled over, a car length down from where he was standing, and double-parked beside a Lexus. I didn’t get out. I wasn’t a damn chauffeur; I was the bodyguard.

“Oh dear God,” Hannah groused at me, sliding across the back seat and opening the rear driver side door. “It’s just good manners to open the door. It doesn’t mean you’re my driver, which, technically, you are.”

“I protect you; I don’t drive you,” I clarified, even though she was right and I was wrong. I both drove her and guarded her because it was efficient. A chauffeur wasn’t usually strapped, and since Hannah didn’t need both, she had a twofer with me.

As the man got in quickly and closed the door, I could smell the chilled autumn air that came with him, as well as a warm citrus scent that I inhaled deeply before I could stop myself. He smelled good, and normally I would have said so, but nothing about this was okay.

“I wasn’t sure what was happening for a moment there,” he said jovially, and in the rearview mirror I saw him turn and smile at Hannah. “But thank you both for picking me up.”

I was silent as Hannah beamed at the man. “I’m so glad you could come. I know the fundraiser will be a great place for you to meet new peers and reconnect with old colleagues.”

He chuckled, and of course it was a warm sound. “You know, sometimes I forget that you’re only seventeen.”