‘Yeah.’ My voice is hoarse. ‘I can wait.’
She squeezes my hand discreetly. ‘Mingle.’ Her smile is pure sensual promise. ‘Eat something yummy.’
I lean a little closer. ‘Oh, I intend to.’
Her cheeks glow and I laugh as she walks away, before doing just as she instructed, and find myself talking to a sixteen-year-old called Isaac, whose parents kicked him out of home when he came out to them as gay. He’s smart and polite, and, when he tells me he was living on the streets until three months ago when someone told him about Chance, I feel like finding out where his parents are so I can go and give them some hard truths.
He introduces me to one of his friends, a girl called Bryony, whose parents died when she was thirteen. She was taken in by her aunt, but they fought non-stop. She ran away from home and ended up in Brooklyn, working as a prostitute until she found Chance.
My gut tightens.
These poor kids.
And their guardian angel, Imogen.
It’s hard to fathom the effect this has on me—seeing for myself what she’s doing, how hard she’s worked to make a difference. I feel immediately impotent and completely selfish. I’ve worked my arse off these past five years but for what? To make myself richer? To make my family’s already considerable fortune greater?
When this is how people live?
‘Hey.’ She appears at my side, and her smile is a little tighter now, her eyes less sparkly.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘Yeah.’ Her eyes run over the room and before she can say anything else, a young teenager, maybe thirteen, comes bounding up to her.
‘Imogen!’ She puts her arms around Imo
gen’s waist and Imogen dips down lower to wrap the girl in a proper hug.
‘Sasha. I was hoping I’d see you today. How are you, sweetheart?’
‘Good. I got something for you.’
‘You did?’ Imogen frowns. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s against the rules.’
‘I know. But I saw it and I thought of you. Hang on. I’ll be right back.’
‘I’ll be here.’
Imogen slides a glance at me. ‘She’s twelve. She became a part of Chance four years ago, when her parents were going through a divorce. Her mom was living in a car at the time. Sasha was stealing stuff from bodegas to get by.’ She shakes her head wistfully.
Sasha appears a second later. ‘Here.’ She hands a small bag over. Imogen opens it and laughs, pulling out some saltwater taffy. ‘I remember you saying you love it.’ Sasha grins and Imogen nods.
‘I do. So much. You’ve spoiled me.’
Sasha beams. I’m completely transfixed by Imogen’s look of gratitude and surprise—that someone who does so much for so many should be genuinely chuffed by such a token gift. It’s...charming. And...beautiful. No. Lovely.
She’s lovely.
She quizzes Sasha. ‘Did you get something to eat?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘And a jacket?’
‘No.’
‘Go pick one out, honey.’ Imogen waves towards the table. ‘The forecast is for more snow this week.’