Ten Days of Perfect (8 page)

“November, you work here?” He looked as if he was really trying to work it out in his head.

Seriously? That’s the
statement you’re opening with?

“Yeeees.”
There was a slight inquisition in my voice, imploring him to
feed the elephant in the room.

“Spencer, is it?”

“November, it’s my first name. It was my father’s name. My full name is Spencer Bowan Cavanaugh. David Bryson was supposed to handle the meeting here today, but he had a personal emergency, so he called me
this morning
to ask me to come here. The only information I was given was to come to The Hope Foundation and ask for Monica. What are the odds?” He spoke faster than normal - faster than necessary. I assumed he was anticipating any follow up questions I might have, which is why he
offered up so much right away.

“Wait a minute, Monica said that Spencer Cavanaugh is one of the
founders
of DROP. You never told me you
founded
a non-profit agency.” I fel
t an annoying itch of betrayal.

Bo chuckled, “I’ll counter
your
wait-a-minute with my own. You never told me you were
the
grant writer for a very su
ccessful and stable non-profit
.” My inner academic cheered a bit at his accentuation of “the” as if I was a prize to be sought.
Damn straight.

Then, I was forced to address the i
ssue of his ever changing name.

“So, Bo, that’s just for music?” I was no stranger to people using stage names, I just felt pissed about this one for reasons be
yond my in-the-moment analysis.

For the first time since Monica shut the door, Bo took a step toward me. He sat in the chair I previously occupied. He rested his elbows on the desk, peering at me from
his smoldering ocean blue eyes.

“Bowan, or Bo, is typically all the time, except for at the foundation - they call me Spencer. I use it there as homage to my father.   I’ve been “Bo” my whole life. My parents were working on developing this organization when they died. Two years after their death, I gathered enough strength to continue what they started.” His tone was littered with something just slight of irritation as he sat back in the
chair and finally met my stare.

“I’m sorry, Bo I was just taken by surprise.” My relieved exhale was louder than I’d intended, “I guess we didn’t really squeeze in time to discuss our jobs.” I
grinned
at the memory of all the things we
did
have time for. “Shit. The meeting. So, double agent, I’ll call you Spencer for the
meeting?” I raised an eyebrow and he smiled.

“Knock knock!” Monica exaggerated as she carefully opened the door. Bo and I rose to greet her. “All set in here…or whatever?” Professional Moni
ca was replaced by nosy Monica.

“Monica,
this is Spencer
Bowan
Cavanaugh. Non-profit founder by day, musician by nigh
t.”

“Nice to meet you, Monica.” Bo stuck out his
hand and Monica
rolled her eyes.

“Shut up
.
I’ll get the details later. Right now we have a room full of people that need to meet you
. . .
Mr. Cavanaugh.” Her to-the-point humor made fast friends with my cynicism early in our friendship. It cam
e in handy in times like these.

As we headed to the meeting room
, I was eager to hear what he had to present
.
How had a man, like Bo, decided to pick up the pieces
of his deceased parents’ dream?  As soon as he started speaking, I was fighting tears.

“My little sister, Rachel, was in a drug rehab facility by the time she was fifteen.” Bo didn’t make eye contact with me, which my glistening tear ducts appreciated. “She had been doing drugs for about six months
when she
nearly overdosed on cocaine and alcohol. She was in the ICU for a week before she was sent to rehab. My parents’ eyes were opened to the rampant drug and alcohol use among her friends and in our community. The issue crossed class lines, it didn’t discriminate. Pills, alcohol, and cocaine seemed to be the easiest thing for my sister and her friends to come by
;
it nearly killed her.” H
e inhaled deeply and continued.

“Rachel was in the rehab facility for
alm
ost
six months. She was very depressed, and expressed several times that she wasn’t ready to go
home for fear of using again
,
but she
was
home in time to start her junior year of high school. I had already
been out of college for a year,
so I was able to help Rachel stay out of trouble by spending a lot of time with both
her and her friends. The summer before Rachel’s senior year, my parents started working on DROP
. Their vision was
a community action
organization which provided
realistic opportunities for young people to engage in
,
alternatives to drug use,
and a place to
seek help when needed. At the end of the first year my parents - Spencer and Vivian -
were busy lining up donors
and spaces
, when they were killed in a car accident.” His
voice clipped at the memory.

“
Two years after
their death I was ready, and able, to reignite
DROP. I’ve spent the past two years securing financial backing, and developing a solid program with David Bryson. In our hometown, DROP has been fully operational for a year, and has
successfully set up both a community center and a mentoring program
.
Now, we’re
ready to expand. The problem isn’t just in our hometown - it’s
everywhere. We’d
like to align with an organization that focuses on domestic violence, as we’ve seen drug use in our teens is often paired with violence at home or violence in their relationships. Thank you f
or letting me share our story.”

I blinked for what felt like the first time since he started speaking, thankful my tears had burrowed back into their hole. I caught Monica’s eye, and she seemed to be thinking the same thing.
Wow.

Monica rose and shared The Hope Foundation’s mission statement, and her work with community education. She noted that while our foundation
didn’t
have its own centers outside of offices, we
did
work in conjunction with domestic violence shelters. She concluded that, from her standpoint, being able to have our own center(s) would ultimately work in the favor of the community by providing a non-threatening place for young people or families to spend time, and not just seek us when they’re in crisis. All through Monica’s speech, Bo listened attentively. He
continually
shot me side glances and
always
caught me staring at him - I blushed every time.

Whatever hotness level I thought he attained in Finnegan’s was blown to smithereens when I saw him in business attire.  I spent my whole life balancing the free lifestyle I grew up in, with the structured life I craved. Sitting across from me seemed to be another human being balancing conflicting lifestyles. And, I happened to know what his tongue could do outside of the boardroom.

When it was my turn to speak, I presented a resume-style list of the grants I was able to secure during the past four years. I lauded myself on
my
ability to maintain consistent
and
respectful contacts with people in both the public and private sector. Most of our success had come from outstanding government grant programs, but I’d spent the last year researching private funding options due to the financial mess of the government.

“Mr. Cavanaugh, Monica tells me that DROP has two
,
multi-million dollar backers. While we wouldn’t want to piggy-back off of those donors, would your grant writer be willing to teach me a little bit more about securing large funds from the private sector? My specialty is in public mon
ey, which is tight these days.”

“Yes, Ms. Harris. In fact, I know at least one of our backers would be open to financially supporting whichever organization DROP teams up with.” A boyish grin crossed his face.

“Oh? Do you mind sharing which one,
so I can research them a bit?”

“Me, Ms. Harris. My parents were wealthy business people. When their estate was settled, I decided to use most of their money to fund their dream. My sister also puts her
inheritance
into the organization. I can’t speak for her
,
but I know I would be interested.”

Oh, so he and his sister are the two multi-million dollar backers.
Neat.
I kept my game face on while our boss, Carrie, called
the meeting to end.

“Thank you, Mr. Cavanaugh.
Ember, I’d like it if you and Monica could set up some more meetings with
Mr. Cavanaugh,
his community educator, and financial person to see if this is a collaboration that would work on the nuts and bolts level. It all seems very promising,
so
I’m leaving this project to the two of you.” She left, followed by her secretary, and Don, our IT guy. Monica, Bo, and I were left in the empty meeting room to discuss a time for our “next meeting.”

When the door shut, Monica spoke, “Bo, what the
hell?
”

“Monica,” I interrupted, “did any of us talk about our jobs over the last two days?” I knew what she was thinking.

“Well, no. But this is
weird
. . .
and
great!”

Bo cleared his throat, “This
is
weird. We’ll figure it out, I’m sure.  For now, though, do you all want to go for lunch?” The question wasn’t directed toward Monica.

“I can’t,” she retorted, “I have to go pester your community educator via email. You two have fun.” Reason number two why we’re best friends
;
t
he girl knows when to make an exit.

Over lunch, Bo and I managed to discuss the business that my boss intended us
to talk about
.
I told him about my work at Hope, and that I was really pleased with the role I’ve
had in the growth of the organization. He admitted that while he found my list of accomplishments impressive on a business level, he also found it
very
attractive.

“Well, I have to tell you that you look mighty fine in your day job couture, Mr. Cavanaugh.” I reached out across the table and grabbed his hand. It was the first physical contact we’d had since Saturday night, and just as electrifying.

“Ms. Harris, I don’t know if this is appropriate,” he joked.
He pulled his hand away when
he saw my smile vanish. “What?”

“This
isn’t
appropriate. Shit.” My pulse raced as I ran through the list of implications.

“November, it’s fine.” Nervousness
colored
his eyes
.

“It’s actually
not
so fine. The
grant
writer for one
NPO and the millionaire founde
r and backer for another . . .”

This sound
s
worse by the minute.

“Listen, just relax. We’ll just play it safe until we know what sort of collaboration, if any, our organizations will have.
T
hen we’ll sort it out from there.

“Damn, does this mean our plans for Friday night will have to wait?” I wanted to slam my fists on the table in protest.

“I don’t think so, but I’d like to get together for dinner tonight, if
you’re free.”
He did little to mask the undercurrent of urgency in his voice.

“That sounds good. Let’s do it at my place - I’ll cook.” I wanted to soak up as much time with him as possible before
it might be shortened due to ethical obligations.

“Sounds great,” he said as he claimed my hand
in his, “I’ll see you tonight.”

He kissed my hand, paid for our lunch, and we wen
t back to The Hope Foundation.
He spoke with my boss, and I didn’t say one word about tonight’s dinner plans to Monica - and she didn’t ask.

I finished chopping the vegetables just as I heard a knock on my door. The butterflies that hibernated in my stomach all day flew to life. I opened the door and found Bo standing there in
light khakis
and a grey t-shirt that stretched across his chest.

“Hey,” I breathed out, barely above a whisper.