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“I need you to change my meeting with John Keene from three p.m. to five p.m.,” I told her as she held out the printout of my presentation slides for my next meeting. I took them fromher reluctantly, half grateful and half resentful that she was doing a good job so far.
John Keene would never agree to a meeting with me at five p.m.
11
CHLOE
Eight hours later, when it was fifteen minutes before five p.m., I breathlessly rushed back to my desk, feeling nervous. I’d done something. Something big or something stupid—I couldn’t say which. But there would be consequences. Of that I was sure. Especially with a man like Sean, who, for some unfathomable reason, was out to make my life difficult. I knew he was unhappy with the way I’d been assigned to him.
I didn’t want to be around him either, but he hadn’t taken into account a very stubborn sister who would do anything to help her brother pay for his college classes. So, I’d gone back and forth with John Keene’s assistant to wrangle a meeting with him at five p.m., coming up with more and more creative solutions with each call, only to get turned down. But years and years of learning ballet had taught me one thing—resilience. I had been forced to give up ballet, but resilience? That part stubbornly refused to leave me. I knew everyone had a weak spot, and it wouldn’t be too long before I found Mr. Keene’s.
I walked up to Mr. Tassater’s door a few minutes later and knocked. When given permission, I walked in. He leaned backin his chair, surrounded by whiteboards. The start-up team had just taken their seats across from him, nervous but ready to present a new tech app feature. He ignored the three of them and looked at me with an expression that said he was ready to gloat at my failure.
I didn’t give him a chance.
“Mr. Keene will meet you in the conference room in ten minutes,” I announced. “At five p.m.”
I wasn’t prepared for how handsome Sean looked when he got caught completely off guard.
“You did what?” he asked, leaning forward on his desk and looking at me like he didn’t believe his ears.
The other three people followed his gaze and looked back at me too. Sean’s jaw cramped shut as his intense brown eyes met mine, searching me in disbelief.
My breath hitched, and I barely managed to nod. “The meeting with Mr. Keene has been rescheduled to five p.m., like you requested.”
He grunted and stood up, his expression hard as he walked with me out of the office, ignoring the three stunned people who sat with their computers opened to their pitch.
“He’ll be back in ten minutes,” I assured them, realizing that Sean had been so sure of my failure that he set up another appointment himself for five p.m.
I led him down the corridor to the conference room.
The air around us was tense as Sean and I stood outside, observing Mr. Keene in the room. He was on a phone call, standing with his back to us. But he was very much undeniablythere.
Sean looked at me for a long moment, seeming to struggle for words for a bit. “Well,” Sean said finally, letting his guard down, “how did you manage to convince him?”
I considered how much I wanted to tell him. My palms were sweating as I prepared myself to drop the bombshell. “His assistant did have a huge list of reasons why Mr. Keene couldn’t make it,” I admitted. “The biggest one of which was that he needed to get to his son’s baseball game at five p.m.”
I stopped speaking, and I could see that Sean, while trying to feign disinterest, was hanging on to my every word.
“I called the coach and changed the time of the game to six thirty p.m.,” I said at last, my words coming out breathy.
There. Now, for the repercussions.
It was the slowest head turn I’d seen in ages.
Sean met my gaze evenly. “How did you get the coach to do that?”
“The Tassater Foundation made a sizable donation to Mr. Keene’s son’s baseball team to help purchase new helmets and uniforms,” I said, unable to keep a small smile from unfolding on my lips.
Sean’s shoulders sagged just a little. “Should I ask how much?”
“You shouldn’t,” I said, “But it was twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“Twenty-five thou—” he began, enraged, just as Mr. Keene turned around, spotting us, and hung up his phone.
“Mr. Tassater, I really must thank your nonprofit for the generous donation,” John Keene said, walking up to Sean and holding a hand out.
Sean swallowed before he shook hands with the man and gave me a small look. It was anoh, yeah? Let’s see about thiskind of look, as though he finally realized that I wouldn’t fall for his tricks so easily.