Free Taming the Wolf by Maureen Smith Page B

Samara said, silently releasing the pent-up breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Although FYI has done some tremendous work in the past, I’m one-hundred percent confident that with increased funding, we can accomplish even greater things in the future.”
“I agree.” Marcus reached inside his breast pocket and withdrew his checkbook. As the waiter removed the last of their dishes and glided away promising to return with the bill, Marcus filled out a check and passed it to Samara across the table.
She thought her eyes were deceiving her when she saw the seven-figure amount. Even as her heart performed somersaults, she lifted incredulous eyes to Marcus’s face. “I…I can’t accept this much.”
He looked faintly amused. “You’re not,” he said pointedly. “The Yorkin Institute is.”
Samara drew a deep breath, the check trembling in her hand. “When I told you about Richard losing his wife to cancer, it wasn’t to play on your sympathies or anything. I simply wanted you to know how much FYI meant to him, that he didn’t jeopardize its future by squandering funds.”
“The thought never crossed my mind. As I told you before, I met the man myself. His passion for community service made an impression on me. A very distinct impression.” Marcus leaned forward in his chair, his dark gaze intent on hers. “Your passion made an impression on me.”
She swallowed with difficulty. “Please don’t think I’m ungrateful, Marcus. Nothing could be further from the truth. It’s just that—”
Again, he interrupted her protests. “If I were some anonymous benefactor,” he challenged, “Would you have a problem accepting the money?”
“Well…probably not. But that’s not the case here.”
“The Institute needs the donation, Samara. It would be ridiculous for you not to accept it just because we’ve gotten a little acquainted.”
“Wait a minute.” Almost frantically, she dug into her attaché case and extracted a calculator. She began configuring numbers. “I can do some pro bono consulting work for your law firm—marketing proposals, market research, budget reports, press releases, anything you need. At my old firm, I charged our clients an hourly fee based on my degree and experience. Let’s just say—”
“Samara.” Marcus reached across the table, gently laying his hand over hers to retrieve the calculator. “I’m not trying to turn you into an indentured servant, baby girl. This isn’t a loan. I want you to take the money and put it to good use. Can you do that for me?”
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, tingling from the warmth of his hand and the tender endearment he’d used. She knew her behavior was irrational, absurd even. After all, she had arranged the meeting with him in the hopes of receiving a large donation, and the reality was that they desperately needed the money. If Melissa were here, she would strangle Samara for attempting to sabotage the Institute’s chance at financial rescue—a chance that might never come again.
“All right,” she finally conceded. She placed the check carefully inside her purse, intending to guard it with her very life until it could be safely deposited. Lifting her head, she gazed earnestly at Marcus. “I want you to know how much I appreciate your tremendous generosity, as will everyone else who benefits from it.”
“You’re very welcome,” he said.
“But I want you to promise me that you’ll allow me to provide my services to your firm. Absolutely anything you can think of, I mean it.”
“That really won’t be—”
“At least keep it under consideration. Will you promise me that?”
Marcus chuckled, torn between amusement and exasperation. “All right, I promise.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you.” She began gathering her brochures, returning them to the attaché case as Marcus handled the bill.
“Marcus?”
“Hmm?”
Her expression was sheepish. “Could I have my calculator back?”
“Nah,”