“I said it’s fine.” Quinton throws over his shoulder as his bare feet pad across the cement floor.
It’s all so awkward that I have to wonder if working with him for the next four months is actually worth it. If I’ve learned anything over the last couple of years, it’s that life is too short to be miserable.
“Are you just going to stand there or come in? I’m guessing since you got here early, it’s because there’s a lot to do.” It’s a good thing he’s a better quarterback than he is host.
He’s standing behind an island in the kitchen that—like the rest of the house—has no personality. He leans forward, cracking his knuckles against the white stone covering the island, the black pendant light dangling above his head only highlights the shadows crossing his face that make him seem even less approachable than he did in HERS yesterday.
But since I can’t quit today—bills can’t be paid with happiness—I pull up my grown-up panties and get to work . . . still wishing I wasn’t wearing Birkenstocks.
“Yes, as I told you yesterday, while this won’t be hard, it will be time-consuming.” I cross the room and place my bag on the counter across from him, pulling out my sleek and shiny laptop. After years of buying secondhand computers that were usually covered with half-peeled-off stickers, seeing it still sends a thrill through my system. “So, first things first. Why do you want a foundation?”
“You’re the one who wants the foundation.”
I not so successfully fight the urge to roll my eyes. But, because he’s acting like a petulant teenager, he’s not looking at me to see it anyways.
“Well, we both know that’s not true since you applied for your 501(c)(3) before I was even a blip on your radar.” Which, by the way, I still can’t believe he got approved for without having anything else in place. Ahhh, to be rich and famous. Must be so freaking nice. “Did you at least have an idea in place before life got in the way?”
“Let’s move this to my office.” He lets out a deep breath before pushing off the countertop. “I didn’t have much for it, but what I do have is in there.”
He doesn’t wait for me to respond before he starts to walk away. I slam my computer shut and hurry to follow him. The last thing my nosy ass needs is to be left alone anywhere in this man’s house. Even though, from what I can see, he lacks anything that could possibly have any personal or emotional meaning.
And, when he pushes open the door, his office is more of the same.
Not one picture to be seen; his desk—which I’m sure cost as much as my mortgage—has nothing on it besides his computer. It’s actually sad. I may be broke compared to him, but at least the things I do have mean something to me.
“Take a seat.” He motions to the very attractive, very uncomfortable chair across from his desk as he rounds it and plops into the rolling leather chair opposite me. “You were asking if I had anything ready when I submitted papers to the IRS, right?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I cringe at the noise the chair makes as I try to scoot closer to his desk. “There are certain things we have to have in place before we start asking for money, which is part of the goal for the launch event we want to throw.”
“That makes sense.” He leans back in his chair, some of the irritation finally fleeing from his expression. “Nobody wants to give money if they don’t know what it’s for.”
“Exactly.” I flip open my computer again and quickly type in my password before pulling up the checklist I created last night. “Which is why we want the mission statement to be as clear as possible. You’ve made quite a stir. ESPN has been hounding me and I already scheduled a couple interviews with local channels. Getting publicity isn’t going to be the problem. The hard part is going to be getting your message across in a way that can’t be misinterpreted. It will just be guiding the conversation to the place you want it to go. And you can only do that by precise, strategic planning.”
“Is that even possible with the Internet? Twitter alone is wild.” He quirks a single eyebrow, skepticism thick in his voice. “With everyone spouting off their opinions all the time, how do we overshadow that?”
We. YES!
I knew going into this that the biggest challenge was going to be Quinton not feeling like I’m on his team. I mean, I am being paid by someone who wants him to stop doing something that’s very important. So him including me in this, no matter how minor it may seem, is a giant step to this plan succeeding.
“First, don’t go on Twitter or any other social media platform from now on. That’s my job. I will schedule posts for you if you want to keep a presence online. The last thing you need is to get caught up with online trolls.” I’ve spent enough time on social media trying to gauge people’s reactions to him to last a freaking lifetime. I doubt he wants to see all of the “spoiled millionaire complaining over nothing, why don’t we send him overseas and see if he can respect the flag then” and the #ShutUpAndPlay tweets. People also seemed to forget that he led a team to the championship. Way too many people were saying he sucks and isn’t worth the trouble. “But yes, it is possible. I know it sounds difficult and it can be. But there are things we can do to keep the focus where we want it to be. Big companies do it all the time.”
“Big companies? Like the one we both work for.”
Oops.
And just like that, we’re back to
