The Boss: (Billionaire Romance) (13 page)

The soft leather felt perfect under her. She tested out the wheels and tried sliding from one side of the desk to the other. No problem. She slipped her heels off and felt the wood floor against her bare feet. It made her want to dance.
Focus, Charity.

She pushed her chair away from the desk and went back to the first room to look around. The bright, empty room would make a perfect conference room. Give it a laid back, homey atmosphere and possibly donors would relax the minute they stepped in. She pulled her Blackberry out of the short-sleeved red jacket that went with her black dress.

Maybe a loveseat, definitely a round table, four comfortable chairs, two ottomans, plant, fridge, cabinet to hold glasses, and wine rack.

She glanced around. There were three walls to work with since she didn’t want to put anything but a low table near the windows. If she painted the one wall with chalk paint, that would be a perfect note-board and would also work as a projector screen for presentations.

A buzzing in her hand caught her attention. She had a call. Quickly saving the shopping list, she then switched screens to check the caller ID. She almost dropped the phone when she saw the number.

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“D
ad!” Her father never rang unless there was an emergency. “Is everything all right?”

“Hullo?” The voice that answered wasn’t her father. It was husky, with a clear accent.

It took her by surprise and sent a shiver down her spine at the same time.

“I’m sorry, is this Charity?”

She scratched her head, trying to recognize the caller. Australian accent? Or New Zealand? “Where’s my father?”

“I’m not too sure, actually.” The stranger chuckled. “I was just in a meeting with him an’ he said he needed to call you. Suddenly he tosses me the phone and rushes off to some code three over the intercom.” A slight grating noise echoed through the phone like the stranger was rubbing a five o’clock shadow.  “I’m sorry. I don’t even know what he wanted to tell you.”

“That’s okay. He does have a habit of rushing off to save the day. Who is this, by the way?”

“I’m Elijah.”

“Hi Elijah, I’m Charity.” She shook her head. Was she honestly flirting with some stranger over the phone? Her father’s phone on top of it. She really needed to get out more.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He chuckled. “Well, over the phone anyway.”

She smiled. “Not to make you the messenger, but you can let my dad know I’ve arrived and he can call me when he has a free moment.”

“Arrived?”

She absently waved her hand in the air and walked around the room surveying what she needed to do first. Hardware store, a furniture store. “I just started a new contract down here in Atlanta.”

“A little warmer than New York at the moment.”

“Definitely.”

Muffled voices carried over the phone. “I apologize again,” Elijah said, “but Dr. Thompson needs me.”

“No problem. Have a great afternoon.”

“You too.”

Charity slipped her phone into her jacket pocket and grabbed her briefcase. She wondered what Elijah looked like. That sexy accent surely belonged to a good looking guy. She rolled her eyes. The guy was over a thousand miles away, and she had a new job with a lot of work to do.

Speaking of work.
She needed to get a list of past donators, skim through the local papers to find the elite social class. The first group would be women. Doctors’ wives and local celebrities. She already had connections to a couple of popular bands that would do charity concerts for her. It was simply a matter of getting dates and plans to coincide.

She headed out of the office and back down the hall to Amanda’s office.

Amanda sat behind her computer, reading glasses on the bridge of her nose. She smiled at Charity. “What do you need, sweetie?”

Charity dropped into the chair in front of Amanda’s desk. “I need lists. People who have donated to the hospital, anyone big named or wealthy who have been here. Even those who wished to remain discreet. I’ll contact them on the down-low, but I need names.” She went through her mental list of things she wouldn’t have access to find. “Has the board made blueprints or hired architecture to design the new wing Malcolm wants to add?”

Amanda shook her head. “I don’t believe they have.” Her hand slid her computer mouse around and she clicked it a bunch of times.  Pages started printing out of the massive computer behind her. “Dr. Parker started collecting data when he was pretty sure you would agree to help us out.”

The printer continued printing out page after page after page.  That was a good sign. More meant a lot of options and possibilities. “Has Malc—Dr. Parker or any other doctor worked on athletes as well? Anyone from the Braves, or Hawks or the Falcons?”

“I’m sure there are quite a few.”

“Does every doctor have a seat on the board?”

Amanda shook her head. “I don’t believe so.”

Her father was a stickler for every person having their say. He was adamant about all doctors meeting at least twice a year to discuss hospital issues. His hospital would be a success and never be in need of someone like her. It made her very proud of him.

“We’ll need to set up a meeting with everyone.” She ignored the slightly annoyed look on Amanda’s face. Charity had two years to turn this place into a success story, and she needed everyone willing to work with her. She knew what needed to be done, and it was never easy at first, but that would change. “How about you send me everyone’s email address?”

“You can’t get everyone to meet at the same time. The hospital would have to close for the day.”

Charity smiled. She knew better than to argue. “You’re right. I’ll have to come up with something that works for everyone.” She stood and checked her watch. “I’ve got errands to run for my office that I want to do tomorrow, and my stuff is supposed to be delivered to my apartment sometime after five today. Gotta jet.”

Amanda scooted her chair back and grabbed the massive stack of printed paper. “Do you want me to bind these for you?”

“That would be awesome. I’ll start going through them tomorrow then.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks. I think I’m going to need it.”

“And Charity?” Amanda set her glasses on the top of her head.

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Amanda was full of surprises. Charity grinned. “Me, too.”

T
rying to balance her groceries and case of water in one hand, Charity slipped the key into her apartment door with the other. She had met the moving company earlier. It hadn’t taken long to unpack, and all that was left were five clothing suitcases in her bedroom. She then ran out to grab food for dinner and breakfast in the morning.

She kicked the door shut with her foot and glanced around. It was a studio apartment with a double sized living room, which opened to a modern kitchen. Light gray stained wood covered the floors, and the two rooms were painted a soft white.

Very bright. And very empty.

That had been done on purpose. A leather antique psychologist coach was set against the far wall; mirrors covered another wall, and a high tech stereo system took up most of the space on the last wall. The only remaining wall had windows and a door to a simple balcony.

Charity slipped off her shoes and padded on bare feet to the kitchen. She set the case of water down on the breakfast bar and quickly put away the groceries. Before putting the water under the table, she grabbed the remote beside the case and turned the stereo on. The tall speakers came to life and Charity reached for a bottle from the case. As she strolled to her bedroom, her fingers tapped the music’s beat against the plastic water container. By the time she reached her room, she was full-out dancing.

She changed into tights and a sport top, then headed back to the living room. She had been dancing since she was six. Her mom had encouraged her to try every form of dance, and she loved them all. Somehow, all the different types of dancing had rolled into her own artistic interpretation, and she was phenomenal at it, but very few people knew. It came in handy during the galas and dinners if someone asked her to dance and she could surprise guests. 

Dancing was her workout, her stress reducer, her fun time and her down time.

An hour and a shower later, she started cooking dinner. Munching on a carrot, the little red light flashing on the phone caught her attention. She flipped her screen on and saw several emails from Amanda with attachments, an email confirming the paint and furniture for her office would be delivered in the morning, and her father had called about ten minutes prior.

He hadn’t left a message so she pressed the button to call him, putting him on speaker so she could continue cutting vegetables.

“Dr. Thompson.”

“Dad, it’s me.” Charity tried not to roll her eyes. He had caller ID, so he knew it was her.

“Charity. How can I help you?”

She shook her head. “You phoned me earlier and tried again a bit ago. I was in the shower and just saw the missed call. I assume you wanted to talk to me.” No ‘how are you doing?’ or ‘how’s Atlanta?’.

“Oh, yes. I did. I was going to have my secretary call, but I knew you’d say no if she asked.”

Charity set the knife down. She didn’t want to stab her phone. “Nice, Dad. I appreciate you starting a phone conversation on the negative. Why don’t you just ask me what you need, and I’ll let you know what I think?”

“Fine. I’m turning sixty-five next year.” He paused.

“I know.” A strange thought crossed her mind. She never assumed he would, but what if... “Are you retiring?”

“Hell no! I’m more than competent as a doctor, probably still better than most of the doctors I know.”

No lie there. He was one of the best doctors in the country, even had a hospital named after him. “I didn’t think you would, but why the phone call just over six months before your birthday?”

“The hospital wants to make a big deal with it. I guess they need to. I said I would take care of it since I don’t want it to be about me. I want the focus on something else.”

She had no idea where he was going with this.

“I was wondering...” He swallowed, and a quick sigh echoed through the phone. “We’d like to hire you to do the party.”

She blinked in surprise. He hated her job and always made sure she knew how disappointed he was that she’d dropped out of med school. “I’m not a party planner.”

“You don’t organize parties and plan big events?”

Good point. “I do but they are for hospitals wings, additions, equipment. The galas are to raise money for non-profit issues hospitals need.” Not some retirement party where the birthday dude wasn’t even retiring.

“Exactly. That’s what I—what we want to hire your for. To make money for some new equipment at the hospital. My milestone age marker is just the excuse to do it.”

Charity tapped her fingers against her lip as she thought. It was a very good idea. Everyone knew and liked her father. He never made a fuss about himself publicly so a lot of doctors from all over the country would fly in for the night. Plus the countless patients whose lives he had saved. It was a great idea.

So why her?

“I’ve just signed a two-year contract down here in Atlanta. I can’t drop everything for them for six months and help you. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“I’m not expecting anything spectacular. It’s fine. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

Giving up that easy? That wasn’t her father. That competitive side of her kicked in. He didn’t think she could do spectacular? Boy was he in for a surprise. “How much money are you hoping to raise?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“How much?”

“A hundred thousand would cover half the price of the equipment in the emergency room.”

“Your gala could easily raise quadruple that.”

He scoffed. “Really?”

“Easy.” She thought about going back home. Did she want to? Part of her did. The kid in her wanted to prove to her father that she was good at her job. That she deserved to be patted on the head and told, she’d done a good job. That her career change hadn’t been a bad choice. “Look. If you can handle working on the weekends for this, I can do it. The flight to NY from Atlanta is direct. It’s only a one night gala. I can work online from here and fly up twice a month or whatever to get it set there.” Six months wasn’t that long.

“You’ll do it?” The surprise in his voice made her smile.

“Sure. I’ll have to come up this weekend to find a location. It’s going to be a time crunch, but it’ll work.”

“Perfect.” Scribbling of a pen made its way through the phone. “I need to go. Duty calls.”

“Life of a doctor. I’ll meet you at the hospital Friday afternoon sometime. I’ll email you my flight details.”

“I can send someone to pick you up.”

“Don’t worry. It’ll be easier if I rent a car.”

“Sounds good.” He paused. “And thanks, Charity.”

“You’re welcome.”

She stared at the phone after her father hung up. What had she just gotten herself into?

O
nce off the plane Charity waited for her bags and then picked up her rental car. The mid-size car she hired wasn’t available, so the young teller bumped her up to a Mustang. Blue. Sapphire blue. She laughed out loud in the parking lot when she tossed her suitcase and bag in the trunk. The weekend might actually turn out to be fun.

The week itself had been busy. She’d painted the office, had it decorated, went through the email list, and set up a luncheon with Malcolm for Monday. They needed to go over a few plans and she also needed to meet with the board next week. Juggling the two jobs would be interesting.

She drove straight to the hospital and parked in the visitor parking section. The newly designed hospital almost looked inviting. They had torn down the older hospital two blocks away months ago. The gray outer walls had loads of windows and sections of it spread like rays of the sun around the nucleus.

The warm heated air brushed the cold autumn air away as she stepped though the sliding doors. She headed for the elevator but slipped into a restroom just before. She washed her hands and looked in the mirror. Her ponytail had slipped down, so she grabbed two chunks of hair to tighten it. The pony band snapped and shot off like an elastic.