A Pretend Proposal. Jackie Braun
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The rivalry between the two Big Ten schools was legendary. He lifted one shoulder. “Good school.”
“Good comeback.” She laughed. “I take it you’re a Wolverine.”
“I bleed maize and blue,” he admitted, referring to the university’s colors.
“Good school,” she said, mimicking his earlier reply. They both laughed before she went on. “Long story short, instead of going into a classroom to teach after I earned my certification, I decided to open the center.”
Gutsy and not exactly the career path most recent college graduates would have chosen.
“Why?” he asked.
She moistened her lips. “I … saw a need.”
There was more to it than that, Thomas thought as he studied her expression. He saw determination there and something else. Sadness?
She was saying, “Our primary funding source has been federal grants and some state Department of Health and Human Services contracts, but money is tight everywhere right now. With tax revenues shrinking at every level of government, cuts have been made. Unfortunately, as vital as having a literate population is to economic prosperity, our funding has been reduced significantly during the past two fiscal years alone.”
“So, you’re seeking donations from the business community.”
“Actually, I’m doing more than that. I want to create an endowment fund to ensure the center’s viability both in good economic times and bad. It’s not easy to go begging for money, no matter how worthy the cause. I would prefer not to have to do it on an annual basis.”
Again, she smiled.
“Then an endowment makes sense.”
The more she said, the more impressed he was with her resolve. He couldn’t think of another woman in his acquaintance who would have started up a nonprofit right out of college and, a decade later, be pounding the pavement to ensure it remained viable.
Of course, the women he dated tended to be far more egocentric than philanthropic. A good number of them didn’t hold a regular job thanks to access to a trust fund or their daddy’s continuing indulgence. Physically, they were Elizabeth Morris’s polar opposite as well. None had been under five-eight. Indeed, a couple had stood eye-level with him in their bare feet. He favored model types, tall and leggy. Arm candy was what Nana Jo called them. It was an apt description. Every last one of them had been flawlessly beautiful and ultrafashionable. None would be caught dead in Elizabeth Morris’s self-described power suit or her nondescript pumps. Which made her somehow all the more perfect.
What if …?
No matter how many times he tried to quell that inappropriate question, it just kept begging to be answered.
She cleared her throat, and he realized he’d been staring. So much for his renowned manners. This made twice in their very short acquaintance that he’d been not only impolite, but also openly rude. Before he could apologize, however, she was rising to her feet.
“I can see that I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll just leave you with some additional information about our organization as well as our fundraising campaign. My contact information is in the packet should you have any questions.”
There was no hint of a smile on her face as she pulled a folder from her satchel and laid it on his desk. She didn’t look angry, but rather disheartened and maybe even a little bit weary. Who could blame her? Thomas imagined she’d probably run into a lot of closed doors and closed wallets during her quest.
“Please. Have a seat. I’ll take a look right now,” he said, forestalling her departure.
Inside the folder, he wasn’t surprised to find several pages of carefully ordered facts about Literacy Liaisons’s mission, each one bulleted for easy reading. He’d already determined that she was meticulous and organized. He glanced through the numbers regarding the endowment fund. She was nearly two-thirds of the way to her goal.
Prefacing this, he said, “I see you’ve been very busy.”
“I’ve been at it for nearly nine months. Unfortunately, it’s been slow going lately.” She shrugged then and said, “The economy.”
Ah, yes. Two words that said it all these days. The economy had wreaked havoc on Waverly Enterprises’s bottom line, too, causing Thomas and his department managers to scour the company’s budget for savings. The office Christmas party had been scaled back to a luncheon, wages had been frozen and some low-level positions were going unfilled.
Still, he’d tried not to cut back too much on charitable contributions—not because his accountants were quick to remind him that such donations were a tax deduction, but because he genuinely believed in being socially responsible.
Teaching people to read was not just commendable, it was essential. As a businessman, he understood that perfectly. Hers was just the sort of endeavor he preferred to support, especially if the bulk of his donation would go to actual programs rather than overhead, which the paperwork in front of him assured that it would.
The subtle scent of apple blossoms floated his way, and that crazy idea he’d been entertaining since she’d first walked through his door became all the more pronounced.
What if …?
The question no longer seemed so outlandish. Nor did asking it seem totally self-serving. After all, a sizable donation would put her endowment campaign over the top and ensure the future viability of Literacy Liaisons. They could help each other out.
Besides, Elizabeth Morris seemed to be a practical woman, the sort who would see his proposal for what it was: a mutually beneficial business arrangement. Quid pro quo.
“So, do you have any questions?” she asked politely. Her smile was back in place and just this side of hopeful.
Did he ever, and it was a doozy, but the one Thomas went with was: “Does anyone ever call you Beth?”
ELIZABETH felt her mouth fall open. Of all the questions she’d anticipated Thomas Waverly asking, that one wasn’t among them. Inquiries about her business or her background? Certainly. Her nickname? Not so much. But since it would be rude to question his questioning—almost as rude as calling on him at his office without an actual appointment—she did her best to wipe away her surprise and answered him honestly.
“No one’s ever called me Beth.”
Lizzie sometimes, since that had been her actual name. She’d changed it legally once she reached adulthood. She liked the formality of Elizabeth, the utter timelessness of it, not to mention the respect that it seemed to engender. Queens and Hollywood legends were named Elizabeth. Lizzie? Put the word tin before it and it referred to a jalopy.
He inhaled deeply, as if preparing to make an earthshaking announcement. But all he said was, “You look like a Beth.”
“Perhaps you have me confused with someone else,” she suggested, unsure what else to say.
The conversation had taken an odd and definitely awkward turn, and, even though she hardly could claim to be an expert on men, the speculation brewing in this particular man’s gaze was unnerving. Okay, it also was a bit flattering. Men as gorgeous and accomplished as Thomas Waverly rarely gave Elizabeth the time of day—whether or not she’d made an appointment. They certainly didn’t look at her like he was looking at her—as if he were interested in something more personal than making a charitable donation.
“Perhaps,” he said with a nod before glancing away.
It sounded as if he muttered the word crazy half under his breath. If so, the description fit the situation, she decided. More likely, though, she was just imagining things or blowing them out of proportion.