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Look, I come from money, but a couple mil being handed out to a good cause isn’t pocket change. I’ve never managed to raise a fraction of that amount.
The only way I could get that much is if I raided my parents’ bank accounts, which I totally refuse to do, especially when they already give so generously from their own pockets.
Two million dollars.
That’s a lot of incentive.
There’s also a note about getting a chance to work with Mr. Hot Messy CEO in the flesh. I’m surprised he’s personally involved, and it might be good leadership experience, if you can get past the likely personality flaws.
I haven’t had a chance to work with many business leaders who aren’t part of Dad’s circle and biased toward liking me. That could be useful if I’m ever in a position to start a nonprofit.
The bad news, of course, is that a prize that big guarantees fierce competition.
Mr. Hot Messy CEO would get a big pile of good applications for a quarter of that amount. Even if he’d offered a hundred grand, he’d have people vying for the spot like hungry piranhas.
But two million dollars?
I have to remember how to breathe.
My mind is already spinning with hope, imagining everything I could do if I win the position—which is ridiculous when I haven’t even decided to apply yet.
But it does say you can pick any charity you want, doesn’t it?
Imagine what a local environmental group could do with a cool two million as a booster, all in one go. Heck, if I let my followers know, maybe they’ll donate too.
But what would I choose?
I’m pretty sure they need to know upfront.
I chew my lip as I run through my options.
Maybe the Marine Conservation Club?
They do so much to protect endangered local species like sea otters, whales, harbor porpoises, and sea lions.
Reflexively, I reach up and finger the little onyx turtle necklace I always wear. My stepmom, Eliza, got it for me years ago and it’s turned my luck around ever since.
So, maybe I could put in an application and let the rest sort itself out.
What could it hurt?
If a man can wake up this early to scream at concerned strangers and tempt fate dueling with the Puget Sound, I can certainly tempt it by getting off my butt for a good cause.
* * *
It turns out,it can hurt a lot.
Mostly my head.
Especially when you freakingwin.
“Stand up straight,” the lady says from behind the camera. We’re set up in the bright, airy lobby of Home Shepherd’s headquarters. We could have filmed it on his office floor, but his décor feels less than cheerful.
What I actually mean is lesspleasant.
Chrome and weathered grey slate are classy, for sure, but stepping in there made me feel like I forgot what the sun looked like in this fancy dungeon.
If the CEO chose that style himself, I can easily imagine what sort of man he is.
