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CODY
“You’re sure you don’t mind taking this on?”
I sat behind my desk at the Ballentine Coalition and stared at my boss. Jackson Trent wasn’t known for double-checking that someone was okay with a project he was handing out.
I cleared my throat. “I guess. I mean, I’ve never been in charge of something like this before, but I think I can handle it.”
“I wouldn’t have asked you to do it if I didn’t believe that was the case.” Jackson grinned as he stood. “And you never know, you might get something unexpected out of it. I certainly did.”
My eyebrows lifted. “I don’t follow?”
“Oh. I thought everyone knew I met my wife when I hired her to cater a fundraiser. We did not exactly hit it off right away.” He shrugged, and a smile played at the corners of his lips. “Worked out in the end.”
“Yes, sir.”
I wasn’t sure exactly what other reply was appropriate. Jackson was my boss. He’d given me a task. Sure, it sounded like I could have objected—maybe—but then what? It wasn’t as if the fundraiser didn’t need to happen.
“All right. Good luck. If you need anything or have questions, feel free to ask. There’s a folder on the shared drive that has all the information from prior years. It’s never a bad idea to familiarize yourself with those. But I know Mr. Ballentine would like this year to be different.”
I nodded.
Jackson left my office.
I sagged back into my chair. I had absolutely zero interest in planning and running a Christmas fundraiser, but the woman who’d served as our event coordinator for longer than I’d been working at Ballentine had been diagnosed with stage three breast cancer. Obviously, she needed to take time off and focus on treatment. I didn’t disagree with that at all.
But why me?
Noah appeared in my doorway. “Hey. What was that about?”
I gestured for him to come in. “Close the door.”
“Ooh.” Noah waggled his eyebrows as he did, then he plopped into the chair Jackson had just vacated. “Spill.”
“I’m in charge of the Christmas fundraiser.”
“Oof. I don’t know if that’s a compliment or punishment.”
I chuckled. Leave it to Noah to sum it up. “Exactly. And with basically three months to get it organized, I’m leaning a little toward the latter. Even though I have no idea what I might have done to warrant it.”
Noah shook his head. “Nah, man. Everyone knows you’re on track for the next promotion. This is probably the final test—making sure you can handle the glad-handing portion of the job.”
I frowned. I wasn’t sure who “everyone” was, but I wasn’t going to ask Noah. I disagreed though. “I don’t think there are any foregone conclusions here.”
“Pfft. Please. The rest of us are good employees, it’s true, but you’ve got the knack. And the heart. You really love what you do.”
“You don’t?”
I had a hard time believing that. Noah was good at his job. Better, in many ways, than me. He actually enjoyed taking potential donors out to lunch and explaining the various things we did here at Ballentine. What Mr. Ballentine had started as a lobbying organization had morphed over the years into a multifaceted Christian nonprofit organization. Yes, we still had lobbying at our core—but we also provided aid and disaster relief internationally either as part of Ballentine or in collaboration with other Christian organizations.
“I do. Just I’m also able to leave it at the door, you know? As much as I enjoy the fact that I have something to do for forty hours a week, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if that changed.”
I nodded slowly. I sort of understood that. In a roundabout way, I agreed. But only because of my billionaire status, thanks to a friend group that roped me into a stock market scheme a little over a year ago. Having money in the bank—and in the market—was a cushion that I didn’t take for granted. I didn’thaveto work. Noah ought to understand, since it was the same for him.
“You’re not quitting and going out on your own, are you?”
“No way.” Noah gave his head an emphatic shake. “I can’t even decide where to move. What on earth would I do if I decided to start my own business?”
