Page 6 of What You Own
“It sounds like a useful place,” Father said.
“Yes, sir. Last year, the center lost one of their trusts, and they’re struggling for money. The organizers hope to throw a benefit at the end of July in order to raise funds, as well as entice a new sponsor from the community. LQF has donated to charitable events in the past, including two different center events held twenty and fifteen years ago.”
Father blinked. He hadn’t expected me to research this so thoroughly. Joe was trying to hide a smirk. “What sort of donation were you thinking of?” Father asked.
“I’d like to do more than simply give them money in exchange for our name on their poster,” I said. My stomach rolled. “Other companies can donate items for the silent auction, but I’d like for LQF to be their sole corporate sponsor for this event, and I’d like to work with the organizers, in order to show that we, as a company, do more than just throw our money at things. A successful community fundraiser like this will look fantastic on my transcripts, and I may be able to use it as my senior project.”
Father was silent for several agonizing seconds. “How will this affect your time here?”
“My internship requirements are twenty hours a week, even though I average thirty. I can continue twenty hours a week here, and then use the rest of my own time on this benefit.”
He leaned forward, chair creaking, and placed his elbows on his desk. I tensed, expecting to get laughed out of his office. A full minute passed, marked by the ticking of an antique clock on the wall. “I’m going to say yes to this proposal, Adam, and I’ll tell you why,” he said, which surprised the hell out of me. “This is the first time I’ve seen you get excited about working here, and if charity work lights your fire, I’ll let you run with it.”
I blinked. “Seriously? I mean, thank you.”
“You’ll be the face of Langley-Quartermaine Financial, son. You need to treat that position with respect.”
“I will, sir.”
“Get an estimate of the funds they’ll expect to need for this benefit, and I’ll set you up with an account. I also expect a written contract, so expectations between both parties are clear.”
“Of course. I’m certain Mr. Paige has lawyers who can draw up the proper paperwork.”
“Good. Once you have the specifics, we’ll talk again.”
I took that as a sign to retreat, so I did, walking on air as I left the office. He’d agreed, and I hadn’t even needed to tell him who’d presented the proposal. If Father knew Ryan had been in the building, he’d have forbidden me from participating. Once I had a contract signed and our name dropping all over the place, it didn’t matter if Father found out, because we’d be legally obligated. The timing was less than ideal, but I’d deal with the fallout when it actually occurred.
“Hey, Adam,” Jesse said on a harsh whisper that stopped my retreat. “That was about Paige Center?”
“Yes.”
“Cool, man. I mean it, that’s solid. The center helped me and my brother out a lot a few years ago. You let me know if you need some help, okay?”
“Sure, I will.”
Jesse seemed about my age, maybe a bit older. He’d been temping for my father for two weeks, and our conversations had always revolved around work. Today I saw a guy with a history, who was kind of cute in a Marc Anthony way—and I really needed to not think of him like that.
I was halfway down the stairs to the lobby when I remembered I’d left the packet in Father’s office. The packet had Ellie and the center’s phone numbers. I didn’t want to go back upstairs to fetch it, so I used my phone to search the Yellow Pages for the center’s address. Maybe Ellie and Ryan wouldn’t be there, but I could still deliver this good news to someone in person.
For the first time in years, I allowed what had once been a firm, four-year plan for my future to change its shape. The shape had to fit the center into it somehow, as well as the time I’d have to spend with Ryan. Time I never thought I’d get again.
I also had a small, fragile chance of making amends with Ryan.
It wasn’t part of the plan, either, but I had to try.
Chapter 3
Ryan
“YOUAREnot allowed to brood over this,” Ellie said. She pointed a ketchup-soaked french fry at me, and red splatted onto the table between us.
I grunted and pushed my half-eaten hamburger away, the meat and bread sitting heavily in my twisted stomach. We’d stopped for dinner after our last disaster of a meeting for the fundraiser, and I hadn’t been able shake the funk clinging to me like a determined bull rider. Seeing Adam had hurt, plain and simple.
“Not brooding,” I said.
“So why aren’t you eating? You love Red Robin.”
“Comin’ down off my nerves, and my stomach’s a mess, okay?” Enough of the truth in there so I wasn’t lying. My gut did the same queasy, tight thing before a performance, before a school presentation, before I did anything in front of an audience. Even an audience of one, like with our appointments today.
