For Joy's Sake

She met Lila’s gaze again. Then focused briefly on the rose-colored silk fabric of her chair. Confusion had her sinking back into the seat she’d so abruptly vacated.

“Have you told Dr. Larson about all the time you spend here when you aren’t working or socializing with staff?”

Julie shook her head.

“Needing to be in the company of others who are going through some of the same struggles you face, who’ve been indelibly hurt by those they trusted, is normal,” Lila said.

Julie felt better for a moment.

Was something wrong? Or not?

“But I think that, for the most part, you’re beyond that stage,” the director continued. “You’re more like a mentor to these women than you are one of them.”

Right. That was how she’d seen it, too. So...everything was fine?

“Which leads me to suspect, as I mentioned a few minutes ago, that you sometimes come here for another purpose.”

Recognizing the defensiveness that suddenly flared within her, Julie slowed her thoughts. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Personal intimacy.” Lila said the words softly, almost as though she could diminish their impact. “You’re close to your brother and Chantel, as you should be. They’re your only family, and the three of you are good together...”

Julie nodded. They had to work at it, she and Colin mostly, but they were good together. She with her own wing in the house, he and Chantel with theirs. They all met for breakfast, which Julie prepared every morning. Otherwise they might not see each other for days.

“But besides them, you have...”

A small circle, Julie finished silently when Lila’s voice dropped off. She had acquaintances. What seemed like millions of them. And, yes, those few friends.

“There are a couple of women I consider close,” she said. Her best friend from high school, for one. Jaime, an artist, lived in New York now, but they were still in touch.

“I hope you consider all of us here your friends,” Lila said, finally picking up her cup of tea and sipping. “But I’m not just talking about friends. Look at Sara and Lynn—” full-time counselor and resident nurse at the Stand “—they’re both committed to this place and have personal lives, too. They have spouses and children.”

“You don’t.” Even as she let the words loose, Julie knew they came from her defensiveness. Not the right reason at all.

“I’m fifty-three years old,” Lila said, appearing completely unflappable. “Past my childbearing years.”

“I’m not opposed to having a future,” Julie said slowly, trying her best not to be defensive. Lila wasn’t completely wrong to have concerns. Julie’d had similar conversations with Dr. Larson.

“But you haven’t been on a single date since high school.”

“That’s right.” Not that she hadn’t been asked—and fairly often, too. Until just over a year ago, she hadn’t set foot out of her house for any kind of social function. And not for a business one, either, if it was at night. Except on rare occasions when she’d gone somewhere with Colin—having vetted the guest list to know who would not be present.

“From what I understand, you haven’t been out with girlfriends, either. Other than for lunch.”

“No. But only because, as you said, they all have lives, families...” Which had come about during the years Julie had been holed up in her suite in the Fairbanks mansion.

Lila nodded. “So what do you say to a girls’ night out? You and Sara and Lynn and I? We can go wherever you’d like, do whatever you want, the only caveat being that we don’t discuss The Lemonade Stand, our residents or our work for the entire evening.”

What? Lila was asking her to do something socially? Not trying to gently tell her she was nuttier than she’d realized? She hadn’t seen that coming.

“I’ve already spoken to them. They’re both in.”

Julie was confused again. Lila wasn’t reprimanding her? “But...why?”

“You’re a strong, talented, giving woman, Julie. We all like you and enjoy your sense of humor. We thought it would be fun.”

A mental flash of her studio called to her. She needed her easel. Needed a pencil and paper—time to create the simple stories that always helped her see more clearly.

“Why?” she asked again. Was Colin behind this? He’d promised her he’d back off, that he’d let her take charge of her own healing.

“Because we want to show you that you aren’t alone.”

The threat of tears nearly strangled her. Lila was wrong. In the end, everyone was alone. Alone in your mind. In your secret places. Alone in a pain only you could feel. In a fear only you could fight.

No one else could know what it felt like to live with your own inability to trust.

Lila’s hand on Julie’s knee brought her gaze back to the older woman. “You’re interesting, Julie,” Lila said. “You’ve got such a unique perspective. Don’t forget I’ve read your stories...”

She blinked. Only Colin, Chantel and a few other people knew that she was the author of the newly published and already bestselling children’s book series, Being Amy. Lila was one of the few. Julie had told the director and Sara about the books when she’d offered to do some storytelling sessions the year before.

“Don’t worry, no one else here knows,” Lila said, cluing Julie into the fact that she must be showing her horror at the thought of becoming a public figure of any kind. “I gave you my word.”

She nodded. At Chantel’s urging, because her sister-in-law believed that Julie’s books could help children understand the challenges they faced, she’d agreed to have her work looked at. Chantel had an aunt by marriage whose family owned a small nonfiction publishing house—and who had long-term acquaintances with fiction publishing professionals. Within six weeks of sending the original file, Julie had a contract.

“So what do you say? Will you join us for dinner?”

The mere idea of venturing out far enough to go out for no purpose other than to socialize gave her a panic attack...and yet...she’d loved being part of a tribe...

But, in the past, when push had come to shove, when there’d been pressure put on their families by the police commissioner and his best friend, Smyth Sr.—a man who’d owned most of their investments—when they could’ve been ostracized from their privileged social group, her friends had all chosen to believe that a brutal date rape had been consensual sex.

Not everyone was out for the money, Julie told herself.

Her protective voice spoke up. But everyone looked out for self. In spite of others’ needs.

Except at The Lemonade Stand, where Lila and Julie and Lynn spent most of their waking hours. She could trust them to be real friends.

I will not let the bastard win...

“When did you have in mind?” Every nerve trembled, but when Lila gave her a date and time, Julie agreed to the outing.

And got out of The Lemonade Stand as quickly as she could.

* * *

LATE SATURDAY MORNING, Hunter Rafferty swung. Connected the iron with the ball and sent it sailing. It landed on the green, setting him up for a putt that would make him a shoe-in for the day’s grand prize. He didn’t even know what it was. Or care.

Hunter didn’t really like golf. Never had. Even though he’d been playing since he was twelve. He was good at it.

But then, he was good at pretty much everything he tried.

Looking to the one person in his foursome who’d prompted his attendance at the day’s charity event, he asked, “What can you tell me about Julie Fairbanks?”

Brett and his wife, Ella, had stopped in briefly at the wine tasting held at the Fairbanks mansion the night before. Their sixteen-month-old son had a cold, and Ella, a pediatric charge nurse, hadn’t wanted to be away from him. But Hunter had seen Brett speaking with Colin Fairbanks, Julie’s older brother.

Brett Ackerman, founder of The Lemonade Stand, among other things, turned and looked at him. “About Julie Fairbanks? Depends on what you want to know.” He picked up his bag and, with Hunter right beside him, began the two-hundred-yard trek to his ball a little short of the green. If they hadn’t been friends for so long, Hunter might have taken offense. As it was, he knew Brett was just being...Brett. He’d actually managed to establish a nationally respected accreditation for charities. They’d invite him to sit on their boards; there, he’d oversee spending and activities to ensure a lack of fraudulent use of funds. All across the United States, charitable foundations were vying for the accreditation, waiting in line for Brett to have time to sit on their boards.

The other two in their foursome at the semiannual businessmen’s tournament were several yards ahead of them.

Depends on what you want to know. Brett would’ve made a great covert op. Getting information out of him was nearly impossible sometimes.

If he knew what he wanted to know, he wouldn’t be asking.

He didn’t want to limit what he might learn by narrowing his possibilities.

“I found it odd that she wasn’t at the wine tasting last night,” he improvised. The event had been in her home. When Brett had issued the invitation to attend as a way to get to know some of Santa Raquel’s elite a bit better, Hunter had immediately accepted. Mostly because it would’ve given him a chance to see Julie outside their business relationship.

Brett had originally introduced him to Julie when he’d heard about the gala fund-raiser for one of the kids’ charities she supported. As a result of that introduction, Julie had hired Hunter’s company—The Time of Your Life—to run her gala, and they’d been working closely together for months.

He knew nothing more about her now than he had when they’d first met.

Except that she was soft-spoken, often quiet, but when she had something to say he wanted to listen. She wasn’t pushy or aggressive, and yet she always managed to make things happen. She dressed more conservatively than any other woman he’d ever wanted to date. She’d never once mentioned that she lived in a mansion or that her trust fund was worth more than he’d ever had in all his investments combined. Her long dark hair was always contained. She had a smile that could melt ice.

And a scent that he dreamed about, waking up on more than one occasion expecting to smell it on the pillow beside him.

Oh, yeah, he had it bad.

But he wasn’t about to wallow in it.

He was The Time of Your Life guy.

And it was time for him to have a life.

Or something like that.

CHAPTER THREE

WITH ONE MISSION in mind—getting Brett to give him some information before they left that day—Hunter took a couple of quiet steps in the pristine grass. Trying to come up with a plan.

“She wasn’t at the wine tasting because she was busy elsewhere,” Brett said a good two minutes after either of them had spoken.

Hunter had spent the evening looking for her when he should’ve been courting new clients and had left with his hopes dashed.

“You know where she was?”

“Yeah.”

“But you aren’t saying.”

Brett stopped then and turned toward him. “Are you asking?”

He hadn’t said exactly what he wanted to know. Or why he was asking about Julie. A key miss on his part.

Brett Ackerman was not a man to hack around with. He had made a mint from one thing most people had but so rarely relied on—integrity. A mint. By being a man the entire country could trust.

Americans Against Prejudice was how Hunter had met him. Hunter’s business arranged charity fund-raising events. And Brett had just been starting to earn recognition in the field of charitable organizations. Hunter had withstood intense scrutiny from Brett on the first few occasions they’d met. He’d been completely open. With his books, his intentions, his plans. He’d been eager for Brett’s approval, truth be known.

The two had been in contact ever since.

“I’ve asked her out more times than I can count,” he confessed as they reached Brett’s golf ball.

Hunter might not be as wealthy as most of the men out on Santa Raquel’s most prestigious golf course that Saturday afternoon, but he had money. Good looks. And a knack for showing people a great time.

Brett swung. Hunter watched as his ball landed and rolled five feet closer to the green than his own. Didn’t matter, Hunter was there on one. It had taken Brett two.

“I’ve never been turned down for a date in my life,” he said, when Brett remained silent.

“So that’s what this is about?” Brett asked, bagging his iron. Slinging the strap of his golf bag over his shoulder, he started to walk again.

“That I’m bugged because she turns me down? I thought so at first.”

Glancing his way, Brett asked, “You don’t now?”

“Nope.”

“I can’t tell you much.”

He’d figured.

“Don’t even think about getting to her through Colin,” Brett said, his tone sounding almost as if he was enjoying himself. “She hates it when he sticks his nose in her business.”

Hunter had spent some time speaking with Colin the night before. Had liked him. A lot. And he’d obtained a promise from Colin to invite a group of handpicked clients to attend a dinner at Hunter’s expense, to allow Hunter to explain what he did and invite them to join his guest list. Wealthy individuals were always looking for charity tax write-offs, and he threw one hell of a party. It was a win-win.

“I left it alone,” he said now. He’d been tempted to ask Colin about Julie. Something had held him back.

Like the thought that Colin would warn him off his little sister and he didn’t want to piss the guy off by disregarding his advice.

At the edge of the green both men pulled out putters and dropped their bags. Waited while the two guys ahead of them took their putts.

“Julie’s not really in your league,” Brett said, serious again.

“I’m not after her money.” If Hunter hadn’t known Brett so well, he would’ve been more offended than he was. Still...

“I’m not talking about her money,” Brett said. “Julie’s...different.”

No shit. She wouldn’t be keeping him up nights if she weren’t. “I know.”

“She’s not a woman a guy’s going to have fun with.”

“I’m not out to take advantage of her.” Although he could forgive Brett a little more easily on that one. He liked to have a good time. So did many other people, including the women who liked to hang out with him.

“Is she seeing anyone?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking, in spite of how stupidly adolescent he felt.

Brett didn’t answer, and Hunter took that as a no. If she was involved, there’d be no reason he could think of to keep the information private. And in that case, she’d likely bring the guy to her upcoming gala.

“She’s careful.” Brett was staring at him now. And all of Hunter’s senses slowed.

They weren’t playing around here.

“She’s been hurt.” Brett didn’t look away as he spoke. “Badly.”

He continued to stand there.

“I just want to invite her out to dinner,” Hunter said. “To sit at a table with her and have some conversation.” Crazy thing was, his words were the complete truth.

He’d take more if it was given. A helluva lot more. He’d take anything she wanted to offer. But he really needed to talk with her, spend enough time with her to figure out why he couldn’t get her out of his head.

Brett’s expression changed. For a second there, Hunter thought he’d scored the big one. That Brett was going to give him his way in.

And then the other man walked off to sink his putt.

Hunter sank his, too. First try.

The other two in their party congratulated him. Fist-bumped him. Said they’d buy him a beer.

That was when he realized they’d just finished the eighteenth hole. They were done. His win was official.

He didn’t want a beer.

He wanted a date.

* * *

JULIE WAS AT the storyboard easel in her sitting room on Sunday afternoon when her cell rang. Colin and Chantel were at Chantel’s little apartment in town—the place she insisted on keeping so she didn’t completely lose herself in Colin’s opulence—vegging for the afternoon, and Julie had expected to work uninterrupted.

When she saw who the caller was—Hunter Rafferty, owner of The Time of Your Life—she debated whether or not to pick up.

She didn’t want to deal with Hunter that afternoon. He was likable. Able to put everyone at ease. Make them laugh. He was great at his job. And his charm was a job. Which was why his personal attention bothered her.

But...he wouldn’t be calling unless there was a problem with the gala. Something that needed immediate attention. He never called to ask her out; he only did that in person. On the walks to a parking lot after a meeting. That kind of thing. Using her private cell number for personal reasons would be inappropriate.

So, there had to be a problem.

The gala meant the world to her. If they earned even half of what Hunter told her they could expect, the Sunshine Children’s League would be able to feed real Thanksgiving dinners to homeless and orphaned kids all over the Los Angeles valley.

She answered her phone on the fifth ring.

“Can you free yourself up for a couple of hours?” His hello, by way of that question, put her instantly on alert.

This was what she didn’t like about Hunter. For all his ability to put people at ease, he made her uncomfortable.

Julie couldn’t consider his attention harassment. Except that, in a way, she did.

Not because he was friendly with her.

But because...part of her liked it. While the rest of her knew not to trust his party face in a personal setting.

“I’m working.” She gave him her standard answer. Nice that pretty much all she did was work, of one kind or another, so the words were always true.

“Is it something you can break away from?”

“Why?”

“I’m at a festival in Santa Barbara. There’s a great act here. I just caught the tail end of their show, but they’re due to be onstage again in an hour. The show’s about forty-five minutes long. If you like them, I can get with them right afterward and see if we can book them.”

He’d told her about an entertainment cancellation when they’d had a gala meeting on Wednesday. He hadn’t mentioned, when she’d seen him then, that he was on the guest list for the wine tasting at her house on Friday. She’d seen his name. She’d already been toying with the idea of leaving Chantel to act as hostess. Hunter’s name on the guest list had made up her mind for her.

“We’ve got nine great acts lined up,” he reminded her. “Most of them are fairly short. We need a tenth if we’re going to keep the party going long enough to get the money you want...”

The gala was a black-tie affair at a dinner theater in Beverly Hills. Guests paid to be there. That price included dinner and the first three acts. But they could pay more if they were enjoying themselves and wanted the evening to continue. There’d be voting buttons at each seat. If guests wanted another act, they pushed the button. As long as there were button pushes, the gala would continue. And each push of a button served as another pledge.

She wanted ten acts.

If he’d told her about the festival to begin with, skipping the preliminary questions, she could already have been on her way...

Asking for directions, she told him she’d be there in half an hour.

And wasted five of her thirty minutes trying to decide whether she should change from the jeans and the short, waist-hugging black leather jacket she’d worn to brunch with Colin and Chantel in town. By then, considering how long it would take her to get there, she no longer had time to change.

* * *

“NICE JACKET.” HUNTER’S words had Julie cringing even before she was fully out of her BMW. She should have changed.

“My sister-in-law gave it to me,” she said. Which was why she’d had it on. The only time she’d had it on. Sassy was just not her style.

Not anymore.

Not for many years.

“She’s got good taste.”

The look in his eye, accompanied by the grin on his face and the tone of his voice—they made her feel warm.

She didn’t want to like it.

But she did. Sort of.

And that bothered her.

On a day when she’d been all set to enjoy her peace.

As they started to maneuver through the festival crowd at the edge of the beach, he raised an arm and reached toward her, as though he was going to drop that arm casually around her.

She stepped away.

And hated her life for a second.

Hunter always looked good. Great. But in jeans and a blue polo shirt, with that blond hair windblown and just a hint of stubble on his chin, he was drop-dead gorgeous.

The fact that she noticed, that she always noticed, made her nervous. Even if she didn’t have a lifetime of issues to muck her way through, Hunter Rafferty was not her type. At all. He was a charmer. The kiss of death.

Charmers’ smiles were so bright, so compelling, they hid everything beneath them. Everything inside them.

Someday, she might be healthy enough to go out with friends without a panic attack. In a perfect world she might even get healthy enough to date. But she’d never, ever be able to trust a charmer again. One of them had almost killed her.

And he’d condemned her to live in the shambles he’d left behind.

Smyth had taught her something about charmers, though. They smiled even when they were destroying you. She’d never forget his smile as he held her arms above her head...

She turned down Hunter’s offers to buy her a cup of shaved Hawaiian ice, a funnel cake and, finally, a chocolate-covered frozen banana. She kept her distance as they made their way to the stage and sat a chair down from him when they settled in to watch the show.

She gave him her approval of the six nine-year-old girls who sounded like Gladys Knight and the Pips, halfway through their show. After that, she excused herself, knowing he had to wait until the end of the act to speak with the girls’ manager, or parents, or whoever could arrange to have them in the lineup the night of the gala.

She’d tell him when he called her later that she thought the girls should be their opening act. And to thank him for finding them.

What she wasn’t going to tell him was that she’d liked the festival and wished she could have dared enjoy herself with him.

But she wouldn’t.

Because she knew why she was attracted to him. He was exactly her type—in the most dangerous way. And that meant he couldn’t be her type. He was upbeat. Energetic. Always with an idea up his sleeve. Adventurous, like she used to be.

She’d fallen head over heels in love with a man like him, a fun-loving charmer, once before.

And had the fun choked out of her.

Literally.

CHAPTER FOUR

HUNTER DIDN’T CALL Julie Sunday night. She’d had to leave the festival, which obviously meant she’d had something else to do. Or so he chose to think.

She wasn’t a micromanager. So she didn’t need to be told immediately that he’d hired the girls for her gala.

And...he wanted to call her badly enough that he shut himself down. He wasn’t desperate. Had never had to be overeager.

And to prove that to himself, he called a woman friend of his, one he’d been dating casually on and off for years, and took her to dinner and then to a club. He enjoyed himself just fine. More importantly, she enjoyed herself.

Mandy was fun. Vivacious. She was easy to please, and pleased to be with him. Best of all, like him, she had no expectations beyond having a good time with someone she could trust. Had no interest in more than that. The only reason he’d ended the evening early—when she’d made it clear that the night could extend until morning—was that he had an 8:00 a.m. meeting, followed by a packed Monday and a busy week.

But he’d see her again soon.

He’d assured her of that. And had won a glowing smile and intimate kiss for his trouble.