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ONE, TWO, THREE.My fist connects with the punching bag, cushioned by the boxing glove as I pummel it. I hurl my leg up for a kick, then punch again,and again, until sweat pools in my bangs.
"Lucy, did you hear me?"
I drop my fists. My lungs heave, like breathing glass. Working out feels good on a natural level, but that doesn't mean I don't hate it. My body hurts, but imagining Colt's face every time I throw a punch helps keep me going.
Across the small gym I have set up in my house, I meet the eyes of my assistant, Nora. With her black hair tied back tight, she stares at me with her phone out, blinking, waiting for a reply to something I never heard.
"Sorry, what?"
"I need to know if you can come tonight," Nora says. "It's important, Lucy. The Safe Way Home is losing funding, and we need this."
Damn. The Safe Way Home is my livelihood, the reason I wake up every goddamn day. It's the charity I started once I turned eighteen and inherited shares in my father's company and a half-decent fortune.
We've done well over the years, but Nora is asking me to do something that makes me want to run and hide where no one can see me. But I've done enough running in my life, and we probably need this.
Still, the human in me resists.
"How big is the event?"
She gives me a look. "Big, but there will be a lot of people with deep pockets there, and we could use their support."
"We still have that one anonymous donor," I mutter, throwing a limp arm at the punching bag. Pain ebbs into my scrawny bicep. "That person contributes like a third of our yearly budget."
"You know it's not enough for the development plan."
Unfortunately, she's right.
I wouldn't normally resist this hard, since I know we need funding to stay afloat, but this event sounds like my nightmare. It's a charity ball for the upper echelon of Godfrey City, filthy rich people who want to feel like they're doing something good, or at least make it look that way. Charities can come in and pitch their projects, and investors can decide if they care enough to pitch in. It's not that I can't ask people for money: I can. No problem. But it's the play-nice that I hate.
So no, I don't want to go bear my soul to a bunch of people like that and beg them for funding so I can build another shelter on the outskirts of town. No, I don't want to converse with them and listen to their superfluous conversations or laugh at things that aren't remotely funny or charming.
But I want their money. It's not for me; it's for those families I could help.
"Fine, I'll go. I'll help pitch the charity. But I hired you to do most of the public speaking stuff, Nora."
