My heart stops. “I’m sorry, sir, what do you mean?”
“I’ve got some new plans that just popped up, so let’s move the date up to that Wednesday instead.”
I run a hand through my hair. “Sir, invitations have already been sent, and people have RSVP’d. It’s really too late to change the date—maybe you can send a proxy instead?”
“If I’m donating twenty five grand, I’m going to be there to get the praise for it, you hear me, son?” William’s good old boy accent gets stronger when he’s annoyed. “Everything is done online anyways these days, just change the date two days earlier, it’s not a big deal.”
“We greatly appreciate your donation, but I’m worried our vendors won’t be able to change on such a short notice.”
“Make it happen,” he says. “Or WLB won’t be your top donor anymore.”
chapter seven
Charlotte
When I first walked into this barn, it felt dirty and ancient. Now, it almost feels like a vacation work-from-home setup. Caleb has set up a table for me, brought out a comfortable office chair, and even laid down an extension cord that he duct taped up the leg of the table into a power strip so I can plug in my laptop, a lamp, and a small desk fan. The weather has been nice and breezy, but by noon it can get a little warm.
In just a few days, I’ve grown accustomed to the fragrant smell of hay and outdoors. When I go back to my office at Perfectly Planned, with its pristine desk, well-stocked coffee and snack bar, and various perfumes in the air from my coworkers, I feel suffocated. Like I can’t possibly work in there when the rustic beauty of my temporary barn desk is so much more inviting.
Caleb knocks on the giant—and wide open—wooden barn door. He’s never knocked before. It’s a massive open space, not some private office.
“What’s up?” I ask, not looking up from my laptop. “Catering is booked, and they’re even doing a cute menu where the foodoptions have dog-themed names. I just booked a better DJ than the first guy we looked at. This one dresses formally and will also handle slide deck so we won’t need a second person for that. The local Girl Scout troop heard about what we’re doing and they offered to host a dog wash fundraiser for us where they’ll donate all the money they make from washing people’s dogs to you. Cool, huh?”
He’s still standing there, twenty feet away at the barn door, forearm leaning against the frame.
“Caleb?”
He steps inside. This tall man with a body of lean muscle, somehow looks half his size as he walks up to me, a frustrated look digging into his face. “I just got bad news.”
“What’s wrong? Is someone hurt?” My thoughts go straight to Rex. What if he has cancer or something? Do dogs get cancer?
Caleb blows out a deep sigh. “WLB Construction wants us to move our event date. How hard would that be for you to do? I can pay you an emergency rush fee, or whatever it costs. We can’t lose him and he said he’d pull out all together if we don’t change our date to Wednesday.”
All my sudden fears of something being truly wrong dissipate. Rex is okay; everyone is okay. Anger floods into the space that just held fear, only I have a lot more room for this kind of anger. “William Bryan told you that?”
He nods. “The owner of WLB.”
“I know who he is,” I say, shaking my head with the audacity of that man. He’s the kind of man just wealthy enough to lord it over others, but not nearly wealthy enough to make me give a damn about him. “We’re not changing the date.”
“Charlotte, we have to.” There’s a real pain in his warm brown eyes. the Alden K9 Foundation means the world to him and he sees WLB as his saving grace for this gala. Not on my watch.
“No, we don’t. We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
Caleb’s lips press together. “WLB is one of the biggest companies in town. He’s a powerful guy and he’s our biggest donor. We don’t just have tons of people knocking down our door begging to give us that kind of money. We have to do what he wants.”
I stand up, meaning to get eye level with him, but he’s still much taller. “No, we don’t. I don’t give a shit about Willam Bryan.”
Every moment spent with that man rises in my memory. The way he’d tell Bobby he deserved a better looking woman than me, a woman who wasn’t all into college and being a career woman. The way he’d make Bobby cancel our plans just to lord some kind of control over his son, loving how he was powerful enough to make everyone scramble to please him. He’s no doubt doing the same thing right now to Caleb, delighting in knowing this man will ruin all his plans to suck up to him to get his money. Nope. Not on my watch.
“You know what’s more powerful than WLB?” I ask, gritting my teeth together. I’m not much of a "positive thinking” manifestation girlie, but right now I have no other choice but to trust that I’ll figure this out.
“What?” he says with a slight tilt to his head. As worried as he is, there’s a light in his eyes now. A small bit of hope he’s allowing himself to feel, because of me. He cares more about this business than anything else, and right now he’s about to trust it all to me.
I grin. “The donor who replaces him.”
His eyes widen. “And who is that?”
I shrug one shoulder like it’s no big deal at all. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world to get twenty five thousand dollars. It’s not—and I’m internally freaking out—but I don’t want Caleb to know that. I smile. “I’ll figure it out.”
