Page 4 of Finding Mr. July

S o today is the day,” Rachel says as we prepare cups of coffee in the kitchen.

After the rocky start, my caffeine duties have gone off without a hitch, and it seems everyone has appreciated the carb offerings I’ve brought in, too.

It’s a small win, but one I’m cherishing as the hours tick down to our final challenge being announced.

“And you really have no idea what it is?” I lean my hip against the counter as I stir in my milk and sweetener.

“Cross my heart.” She makes a half-assed gesture near her chest.

“I just have this feeling Callum knows. He looked pretty smug yesterday at lunch.”

“His mentor does have the office next to Manny’s. I suppose he could have overheard. But don’t worry. Callum is not your competition. And I’ve set this whole weekend aside so we can tackle whatever leadership throws your way.”

I nudge her with my elbow as we make our way to our desks. “It means a lot to me that you’d do that.”

“As long as we’re done by five tomorrow. Me and the guys are going cruising.”

Rachel owns three vintage muscle cars that she treats like they’re her babies. If she’s not at work, she’s in the garage doing whatever a car-obsessed person does in a garage or she’s showing off the shiny lacquer in a rumbling procession down Pike Street with her dad and his buddies.

“I promise. Wouldn’t dream of getting in the way of all that horsepower.”

We set our mugs down, and Rachel pushes a stack of papers aside to access her laptop.

“So, knowing come Monday you’ll be consumed with whatever Manny has in store, let’s wrap up any other project you have and follow up with Brasilia on Paranoá today. Do you have other loose ends we need to handle?”

“Maybe checking with the Sounders on their in-kind intentions for the holiday auction?”

“Sounds good.”

I know I’m not yet done at GCL, but her words make it feel final somehow.

Whatever happens, I’ll be leaving this office, leaving Rachel, soon.

I’m supposed to be this calm, cool, and collected professional, but that thought is somewhere in the realm of terrifying.

My time at GCL has been such a reprieve from where I was before that it’s hard to fathom it coming to an end.

“You’re looking a little pale all of a sudden,” Rachel says, squinting at me. “You okay?”

I blink to drive back my emotions and put on a smile. “Yeah. Just eager for tonight.”

GCL has rented out the swanky bar on the first floor of the building for the party.

The space is lit with modern brass chandeliers that reflect off the intricately patterned ceiling, but the real star of the show is the illuminated glass shelves behind the bar with row after row of top-shelf booze.

Two tall, steel-grilled windows frame the display.

There’s already a steady buzz of conversation in the room as I enter, and everyone is dressed up.

“Holly!” Letitia and Ashley holler in chorus.

I wave and make my way to the table they’ve claimed. It sits right in front of a giant screen displaying a slide show of moments from the past year. A picture of Rachel shaking hands with some British philanthropist shuffles past. I scan the room, but she’s not here yet.

“What are you drinking?” Eric asks me.

Letitia and Ashley both hold martini glasses with something translucent red inside.

“I’ll have what they’re having. Thanks.”

He tips his beer to me and disappears to the bar.

“I’m nervous. Are you nervous?” Letitia asks.

“Nothing to be nervous about,” Callum says with a poorly concealed smile.

Ashley elbows him. “You totally know, don’t you?”

“Yeah, you do know,” I say. “Spill.”

Callum puts up his hands. “I may have heard little whispers, but that’s it. Not my place to say. I could be wrong.”

Letitia’s eyes narrow. “Not cool, man.”

Callum takes a swig of his beer. “We’ll know in a few anyway. Besides, it is a competition. I’d be a fool for tipping my hand.”

So that’s how it’s going to be? Letitia and I share a look that tells me she’s of the same mind. But he’s not wrong. Only one of us can get the job.

“Your drink, ma’am.” Eric sets it down in front of me.

“‘Ma’am’ me again, and you’ll be wearing it,” I say sweetly. “But thank you.” I have a sip, and it hits every spot on its way down my gullet. As my shoulders relax, I realize I must be more on edge than I thought. Where the heck is Rachel? I nod toward the mingling people. “I’m going to do a lap.”

I’ve ended up halfway through the room stuck in a conversation with Britt from accounting about software usability versus cost when a spark and crackle over the speakers saves me, followed by Rachel’s voice.

“Hello, good people!”

The conversations stop, turning instead to widespread “yays,” “hellos,” and “woos” in response.

“I saw a microphone and thought it had my name on it, so here we go.” Rachel grins, and the crowd chuckles. “Manny—the man.” She points to Manny at the bar. “You don’t mind, do you?”

He shakes his head and raises a glass of red to her. Wait, is that…? Yes, Jonathan is seated next to him. Still dressed in all black. I didn’t expect him to show up.

“Cool, cool. Then I’d like to officially kick tonight off with a toast.” Rachel mimics Manny’s gesture with a tall ice-filled glass of something. “To GCL and the people who make it the best fucking place to work. Period.”

The cheers grow louder.

“We’re going to have fun tonight!” Rachel declares. “We’re going to eat and drink, and then we’re going to make life a whole lot more interesting for our ah-ma-zing interns.” She finds me in the crowd, her eyes glittering.

She knows now, too, I realize. Manny must have told the mentors beforehand what our task will be.

“But I’m going to leave that to Mr. Manny Gupta, because doling out projects is his specialty. My specialty is, as you know…” She sidles to the DJ and says a couple of words off mic.

“Don’t tell me she’s going to sing,” I say out loud to no one in particular. Nothing makes me more uncomfortable than spontaneous karaoke.

“She always sings,” Britt says. “It’s tradition.”

The first guitar riffs to “Mustang Sally” flows from the speakers.

“Yeah!” a guy I don’t recognize calls out.

And Rachel sings her heart out, hamming it up on the makeshift stage to the crowd’s delight. When she finally joins me on the floor, her cheeks are flushed and her grin lights up the dim space.

“You’re nuts,” I tell her as we hug.

“I know. And it feels great.” She chugs what’s left in her glass before she grabs my sleeve and tugs me toward the bar.

“I need another one.” She looks me up and down as we wait for service.

“Loving this.” She points to my cap-sleeve black dress with a lace-trimmed neckline. “God, I wish I had your legs.”

“It’s the heels,” I say. “I’ll regret them tomorrow.”

“And those earrings.” She touches one of my dangly, silver lightning bolts and then points to the stage. “You should get up there.”

“I’d rather eat glass and take a laxative.”

“Pfft.” She elbows me in the arm and mutters, “Definitely due for another drink.”

“But that will be my last one. I’m not getting wasted at a work function.”

Rachel shoves a glass of white wine into my hand. “It’s. A. Party. Bottom’s up. Try to have fun. Tomorrow the real work begins.” She winks.

“Yeah, about that…”

“Nuh-uh. Drink first.” She clinks her glass to mine, and I oblige. “That’s better.”

“Manny told you?” I ask.

She eyes me over the rim. “He did.”

“And?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

I take another sip for strength. “Do I have a chance? Will I win?”

“I’m not a fortune teller.”

“Come on. You know what I mean.”

Rachel’s expression sobers. “You’re kidding, right? Don’t you already know that you’d have a chance no matter what you’re assigned? You rule. Best intern ever.”

A burst of affection explodes in my chest. “Really?”

“Really, really.” She glances over my shoulder and nods at the stage. “Come on. It’s time.”

I turn to see Manny making his way through the crowd. My heart does its best imitation of a bongo drum.

“Is everyone having fun?” Manny shouts into the microphone.

A wave of enthusiastic assent flows through the room.

“Good, good.” He tips back on his heels.

“Another year, another few steps forward for our environment—thanks to all of you.” He raises his glass.

Lots of toasts tonight. “But I’m not going to be long-winded.

Tonight is not only about celebrating what’s past, but also about looking forward.

Can I have Letitia, Ashley, Holly, Callum, and Eric come up here, please? ”

“Sounds like you do have to get up on that stage after all,” Rachel whispers.

The five of us make our way forward. Several people pat me on the shoulder as I pass with sporadic “good luck” wishes interspersed.

“Let’s give it up fooooor… our interns!” Manny tucks the microphone under his arm and leads the applause.

“Oof, so nervous,” Ashley whispers next to me.

“May the best man win,” Eric says.

“Or woman,” Letitia adds.

“Naturally.” Eric grins.

I’m used to being the center of attention in a room.

As an attorney, you need to be comfortable “holding the floor,” whether that’s a small conference room or a large courtroom, so all these faces turned my way don’t bother me.

But there is one face missing. Over at the bar, Jonathan’s profile stands out like a sore emo thumb, like he’s determined not to engage with the rest of us.

The light from the backlit bar sharpens his jawline with well-placed shadows and makes his dark hair appear almost black.

He’s scrolling on his phone, I think. The sight makes the rapid drumming in my chest slow to a more ominous gong.

But just as I’m about to think more ungenerous thoughts about how he’s checked out even here, he looks up and straight at me as if he’s heard my thoughts through the room.

Thankfully, Manny’s voice booms through the mic again, forcing my attention back to the stage.

“You all know these five hotshots. They’ve become part of our GCL family. But after tonight, the countdown begins.” He pauses for dramatic effect and then continues close to the mic so he sounds like a movie voice-over. “Only one will remain standing in the end.”

Sporadic laughter and cheers sound from the floor.

“Are you ready?” Manny asks us.

We nod. Here we go.

“Over the next six weeks, each of you will plan and execute a fundraiser for GCL.”

Letitia stirs next to me and lets out an excited noise.

“You will have access to a limited budget, your mentors’ advice, and the option to team up with an in-house creative for promos, et cetera, but that’s it.

The rest is up to you. All of the net proceeds will go either to our temperate rainforest conservation work or a GCL cause of your choice, and the person who runs the most successful fundraiser wins.

That person will join two of our Australian team members, as well as Fred from our office, in Glasgow as a program liaison to get the work off the ground. ”

Fred, our lead conservationist, stands up and waves. “Can’t wait for the haggis,” he shouts with a grin.

“Ah, ha, ha. Better you than me, buddy,” Manny responds before facing us again.

“So there you have it. Think outside the box and make sure that whatever event, service, or product you come up with is done before the deadline on October 28. ‘May the odds be ever in your favor.’ The clock”—he raises his hand and lets it fall—“starts now.”