12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Sarah
The Lone Star Paws board meeting is in the back room at Overtime, which is convenient because I live upstairs and the rent is cheap. However, it's also a complete disaster because Kevin St. Clair is going to walk through that door in approximately four minutes.
The last time I saw him, I was wearing significantly fewer clothes and making sounds I'm still not ready to examine without excuses.
We’ve continued texting like normal. We’ve carefully pretended everything's fine.
And I’ve done a bang-up job of lying to myself that friends with benefits is totally manageable and definitely not going to implode in my face.
And this is the first board meeting since we started sleeping together.
The first time we're going to be in the same room with people who don't know. People we promised wouldn't find out.
Mark, Diane, and Father Phil have no idea that Kevin and I are doing whatever it is we're doing. And they can't find out. That was the deal. Keep it professional at the rescue. Keep it separate.
So far, I'm doing a fantastic job of keeping things separate by obsessively checking the clock and panicking about whether I should sit closer or farther away than usual and wondering if my face gives away that I know exactly what he looks like naked.
Super professional, Sarah. Nailed it.
"Sarah?" Diane Powell looks up from her agenda. "You okay? You look flushed."
"Fine. Just warm."
"It's forty-eight degrees outside."
Shit.
Diane's our lead volunteer. She retired early after beating breast cancer five years ago, then decided to spend the next phase of her life helping dogs instead of playing golf. She's practical, no-nonsense, and unfortunately observant as hell.
"Maybe I'm coming down with something."
"Mmm." She goes back to her notes, but I can feel her watching me.
The door opens.
Kevin walks in wearing a full suit because he's flying out right after this: charcoal grey, white dress shirt, no tie yet. That open collar should be illegal.
I'm trying to run a board meeting while my body's having flashbacks to exactly what that chest looks like under the dress shirt.
Professional. I need to be professional.
He spots me. Something flickers in his eyes before he schools his expression into responsible board member mode. I thought I saw heat there. But maybe it was something else.
Is it wrong that I hope it was heat?
Before a board meeting.
Yeah, Sarah. That's wrong. Think about doing your job, not about doing Kevin.
"Sorry I'm late. Practice ran long." He sets his travel bag down by the door. "Flight's in two hours."
"You're not late." I'm definitely not staring at how that suit fits across his shoulders. "We haven't started."
He takes the seat directly across from me.
Of course he does.
Because the universe hates me and wants me to stare at him and not be able to concentrate and probably start drooling or something.
Our other board members file in: Mark Martindale handling finances, Father Phil from St. Catherine's coordinating outreach. Once everyone's settled, I force myself into rescue director mode.
This is fine. I'm a professional. I can absolutely run a meeting with a man I've slept with more than once while pretending we're just friends who happen to be excellent at orgasms.
Focus, Sarah. Father Phil can probably read your thoughts.
"Thanks for coming on short notice." I distribute the printed agenda with hands that are mostly steady. "We have some time-sensitive issues to address."
"First item is the lease renewal." I pull out Mr. Harrington's letter like it personally offended me. Which it did. "Our landlord is increasing rent by twenty-eight percent when our lease renews in sixty days."
Silence.
"Holy crap," Mark says finally. "Can he do that?"
"It's legal. Market rate adjustment." I pull up the budget spreadsheet on my ancient laptop that takes three years to load anything. "Here's where we are. We can cover current rent, barely. This increase puts us about two thousand in the red monthly."
The numbers blur on the screen. I've looked at them so many times I have them memorized but seeing them in front of the board makes it real. We're fucked unless something changes.
"Can we negotiate?" Father Phil asks.
"I tried. He's firm." My voice is flat. I work to keep it professional, instead of revealing that I spent an hour on the phone with Mr. Harrington yesterday getting absolutely nowhere.
"Said as hot as Austin real estate is right now, he could have it re-leased to a boutique fitness studio before we've even packed up the kibble. "
Kevin's been quiet. Studying the numbers on the one-pager I made.
"What are our options?" Just the sound of his voice — caring, steady, completely Kevin — makes the core between my thighs tingle. I absolutely should not get tingled in a board meeting.
I look down at my spreadsheet and see a sea of little rectangles full of numbers that represent whether or not we can keep saving dogs.
Spreadsheet squares are much safer than looking at Kevin in that suit.
"Three options," I say, clicking to the next slide like I have a good solution, which I do not.
"Find cheaper space — difficult, moving costs would be significant and there's not a lot of affordable real estate near downtown.
Launch a major fundraising push: capital campaign, grants, increased donor base. Or cut programs."
"We're not cutting programs," Diane says immediately, and I love her for it.
"Agreed," I say. "Which leaves relocation or fundraising."
"A capital campaign takes time," Mark points out. "And personnel. Sarah, you're already working sixty-hour weeks minimum. Who's running it?"
My phone buzzes. Paige calling.
Perfect timing.
"Actually, this might be relevant." I hold up my phone. "Paige Campbell manages PR for the Stampede. She has news about Ranger's brand deal. Mind if I put her on speaker?"
Kevin shifts in his seat. He already knows what this is about.
I answer. "Hey Paige, you're on speaker with the LSP board."
"Perfect! Hi everyone." Paige's enthusiasm carries through even on speakerphone.
"So, I have incredible news. We've been talking with Super PawMart this week — at first, they wanted Ranger to be an affiliate and do some cute in-arena content.
But Kevin and I went back to them with some more ideas, and they now want Ranger as the face of their national shelter adoption campaign.
The deal is worth six figures every year for as long as Ranger is the face of the campaign, product endorsements, the full package. "
"Holy shit," Mark says.
My jaw drops. "Sorry, Father."
Father Phil waves it off. "I was thinking the same thing."
Six figures. For Ranger. For my rescue.
This is not real life.
"There's more," Paige continues, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
"Part of that six-figure contract includes a direct Graham to Lone Star Paws — fifty thousand annually for the duration of Ranger's deal.
Plus Super PawMart provides all food and supplies for your foster dogs.
Treats, toys, bowls, leashes, crates, everything.
We've structured it so the money Ranger's earning comes back to LSP in a few different ways. "
I'm doing math in my head. Fifty thousand plus the supply costs we wouldn't have anymore...
"That covers the rent increase," Kevin says, watching me. "And then some."
"It does." I meet his eyes across the table, hoping he can sense my gratitude since I can't even speak right now.
He knew we already had an agreement, but he went back to Super PawMart with the idea to expand their proposal to this.
I don't know if I want to cry or to jump him right here in front of Father Phil.
But I can't do either.
Can't let my face show how much this means. Can't let them see the way I'm looking at him like he just saved everything that matters to me. Because if I do, Diane's going to know something's different. Father Phil's going to ask questions. Mark's going to notice.
So I force my expression neutral. Professional. Like Kevin's just another board member delivering good news.
Not the guy I slept with three nights ago. Not the guy whose hands I still feel on my skin. Not the guy I'm desperately trying not to fall for.
Just Kevin St. Clair, board member and dog owner.
That's all they can see.
"Paige, what's the timeline?"
"Moving fast. Contract signature within two weeks, campaign launch in thirty days. Which means we need to discuss Ranger's handler situation."
"Handler situation?" Mark asks. "He's a dog."
"A dog with a six-figure brand deal," Paige says.
"He needs someone coordinating his schedule, managing appearances, overseeing content creation.
This isn't just posting cute photos. We're talking presence at every home game with meet-and-greets.
Weekly social media content. Monthly adoption events at Super PawMart locations across Texas.
Quarterly campaign shoots for national marketing.
Ongoing brand partnership coordination." She pauses.
"It's essentially a part-time job. Minimum twenty hours weekly. "
Silence.
Everyone's looking at me.
Oh no.
"Sarah," Diane says carefully. "Can you run the rescue day-to-day and manage a six-figure brand deal?"
Sarah, you can’t work and get your Veterinary Technician associate’s degree. You can’t afford that.
Sarah, you can’t run an animal rescue. You don’t have any business sense like that.
Sarah, you aren’t going to make a difference anyway. You can’t spay or neuter enough dogs to stop this kind of thing anyway. Why don’t you go to cosmetology school? Or go groom dogs. That’s like dog cosmetology.
My mother’s words burn over and over and over in my ears, in my brain, in the center of my chest. She’s a million miles away in Seattle, and she’s still the voice I hear every time I doubt myself.