it even.”
She sat down, ready to explain, but as the present moment finally settled in around her, it hit her that though she was reeling, he didn’t seem at all surprised to see her there. “You knew it was me who was coming today.”
He gave an enigmatic smile. “We have a lot to talk about.”
She glanced down at her stack of brochures, suddenly remembering why she’d come there today. Oh, God. How in the hell was she supposed to pitch her children’s charity to a guy who’d licked olive oil and orange juice off her boobs? She wanted to put her face in her hands and die right there. That would be easier than suffering through this conversation. “I don’t even know where to start. This … I wasn’t expecting …”
“Tessa,” he said, cutting off her rambling with a firm but kind voice. “Don’t be embarrassed. We’re both adults, and everything is fine. How about we get this business stuff done first? Then we can tackle anything else afterward.”
She rolled her lips inward and nodded, doing her best to regain her composure. “Sounds good.”
He leaned back in his chair and hooked an ankle over his knee, as if settling in to evaluate her, but he started talking before she could begin her speech. “First, let me explain a little about our event so you know what we’re looking at. Every year, Vandergriff Industries gathers the top restaurants in the city, not just the ones we own, to participate in a large, upscale wine and food event called Dine and Donate. Each restaurant who participates sends a team to man a booth that sells appetizers and cocktails to attendees. We try to have at least thirty restaurants participate so that people have a variety of cuisines to sample. We also book local bands to play throughout the day and then usually a well-known act to headline the night. All proceeds go to the selected charity for that year.”
“Wow, sounds like a major undertaking,” she said, already imagining how much money something that large scale must bring in for the lucky charity.
“It is,” he agreed. “And we’ve been very successful with it over the last few years, which is why so many charities solicit us now.”
She wet her lips, nerves creeping back in as she pictured a line of worthy charities wrapping around the building, hoping to be the chosen one.
“And we wish we could select them all, but the biggest impact comes from choosing the one each year where we can really make a significant difference.”
“Right.”
“So,” he said, leaning forward and putting his forearms on the desk, “tell me why being selected would make a significant difference to your charity.”
His laser gaze pinned her to the spot, and it felt like her tongue dried out and shrunk to half its size. She fiddled with opening the brochure in front of her while trying to find her voice. “Well, I brought—”
His hand landed over hers, stilling her nervous movements. “No, don’t read to me about it. Tell me, Tessa.”
She looked up, her heart doing a discordant drumroll against her ribs. This was her chance, Bluebonnet’s only chance to survive right now. All those people and kids were counting on her. She couldn’t freeze up like a frightened mouse or screw this up because she happened to be intimidated by/attracted to/left speechless by this man. She nodded and he released her hand.
“Bluebonnet Place is a charity focused on helping older children in foster care develop life and work skills so that when they age out of the system, they have a foundation to stand on. We assign them mentors who help them with college applications and with applying for financial aid. We assist them in getting jobs during high school to gain work experience and skills. And we provide a place where they can come after school if they need a break from their household or the group home or the streets.”
Kade nodded, seeming as if he was listening with every ounce of his attention. It was both unnerving and confidence building.
She cleared her throat, encouraged by his interest, and began to share the statistics of how many kids aged out of the system and what their likely outcomes were without support. The grim numbers made her stomach twist, but she continued on, her passion for the cause starting to rise to the surface and speed up her words.
Kade took a few notes and appeared appropriately concerned by some of the more dire statistics.
“And I know that we’re small and still relatively new,” she continued, “But—”
Kade held up a hand, halting her. “Don’t start apologizing and undermining everything you just said.”
She bit her lip, swallowing back her instinct to spout disclaimers. “Okay.”
“It sounds like an amazing cause, Tessa. Truly. I’m impressed that you put such a thoughtful organization together.”
“Thank you.” Her heart was like a Boombox rattling her ribcage, and her palms had gone sticky with sweat against the arms of the chair.
“And it would be an honor to have Bluebonnet Place as the featured charity at our event.”
Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod. It was like everything was happening in slow motion, like a dream.
“However …”
Her breathing stopped, the awful word clanging in her ears.
“There would be some conditions,” he finished.
The air whooshed out of her in a gust. Conditions. Not a no. Conditions! She could handle that. Heck, she couldn’t imagine anything that would stop her from saying yes. Anything would be better than crawling on her hands and knees and begging her asshole ex-husband for help. She grabbed her pen and flipped her steno pad to a fresh page. “What do you have in mind?”
“Evelyn, our point person who is usually in charge of the event, is on medical leave.”
“Okay.” She made a note.
“And I know that you’re currently working for a temp agency, is that correct?”
She frowned, unsure what that had to do with anything and how he knew the information in the first place. “I am.”
He tugged open one of his desk drawers and pulled out a folder. His eyes met hers. “I need you to quit and come to work for me.”
EIGHT
Tessa tilted her head, the words not quite registering. “Wait, you want me to what?”
“In order for this to happen, I’ll need you to quit the temp agency and take over the event this year as coordinator,” Kade said, his tone no-nonsense.
She stared at him, wondering if he’d knocked his head on something or maybe had gotten sauced on his lunch break. Clearly, he was talking crazy.
“We’d, of course, pay you a fair salary since the position will be full time for the next few months.” He slid a document her way, pointing to a salary number that would take her at least two years of temp work to make. “You’ll have a small office in the PR department and access to one of their assistants
