Blond guy shrugged modestly. “I always have time for anyone from the university. Sharon. Martin.” He greeted everyone else at the table, shook a few hands, winked at the old lady at the end, then turned back to Charity.
“Sorry to interrupt. I’m sure under normal circumstances you could deal with this problem without breaking a sweat. But the reason we don’t have a deal isn’t the lease reversion or the traffic light.” He moved close and took the pen from her hand. “It’s the four acres the university has been offered by a very wealthy alumni family. They want their name on the building and they’re willing to pay for that privilege.”
He flashed another smile at Charity, then turned back to the board. “I’m going to explain why that’s a bad idea.”
And then he started talking. She had no idea who he was and probably should have told him to leave, but she couldn’t seem to move or speak. It was as if he projected some space-alien force field that kept her immobilized.
Maybe it was his eyes, she thought, gazing into their hazel-green depths. Or his sun-bleached lashes. It might have been the way he moved or the heat she felt every time he walked by her. Or maybe she’d simply inhaled some weird gas when her computer had sparked, flamed out and died.
While she enjoyed a boy-girl encounter as much as the next woman, she’d never been mesmerized by a man before. Certainly not during a professional meeting that she was supposed to be running.
She knew the type, though. Had seen the power of the havoc they brought with them everywhere they went. Self-preservation stated she should stay far, far away. And she would…just as soon as the meeting was over.
She squared her shoulders, determined to regain control of herself and the meeting. Then her mystery invader’s words sunk in. A gift of prime real estate would be hard for any university to refuse. No wonder Mr. Berman hadn’t been interested in her solution. It didn’t address the problem.
“The research you’re talking about is important to all of us,” blond guy concluded. “Which is why the city’s offer is the best one on the table.”
Charity forced her attention to Mr. Berman, who was nodding slowly. “You’ve made some good points, Josh.”
“Just showing you a few things you might not have thought of,” blond guy said modestly. Blond guy who was apparently named Josh. “Charity’s done all the work.”
She frowned. He was taking over her nervous system and her meeting and trying to give her credit?
“Not at all,” she said, relieved the power of speech had returned. “Who could compete with your excellent points?”
Josh actually winked at her, then reached for the folder on the table. “This is the letter of intent. I think the signing has been put off long enough, don’t you, Bernie?”
Mr. Berman nodded slowly, then pulled a pen out of his suit jacket pocket. “You’re right, Josh.” Then, just like that, he signed the paper, giving Charity the victory she’d so desperately wanted.
Somehow she’d hoped it would be a tiny bit sweeter.
In a matter of minutes, everyone had shaken hands, murmured about setting up the next meeting to get the planning going and left. Charity was alone in the conference room, only the lingering smell of burned plastic and a signed document proof that anything had happened at all. She glanced at the clock. It was 9:17 a.m. At the rate things were happening around here, she could cure several diseases and solve world hunger by noon. Well, not her. So far her accomplishments seemed limited to frying innocent electronics.
She collected the paperwork, went out into the hall and picked up her cold, dead computer. Had it really happened? Had some guy blown into her meeting, saved the day, then disappeared? Like a local super hero or something? And if he was so in the loop, why hadn’t he taken care of the problem weeks ago?
There was no way she could have known about a private donation—no matter how much research and prep work she had done. But Charity still had a vague sense of dissatisfaction. She preferred to win through her own actions. Not because of a rescue.
She made her way to her new office on the second floor. She hadn’t had much time to get settled, what with moving to Fool’s Gold over the weekend and the presentation preparation taking up all her free time. She’d brought in a box of personal items and dumped it on her desk shortly before six that morning. By one minute after six, she’d been in the conference room, going over her presentation, wanting it to be perfect. A complete waste of time, she told herself as she entered the second floor. Between the computer death and the mystery guy, she need not have bothered.
That morning, the open space in the old building had been empty and quiet. Now half a dozen women worked at desks. Doors to offices stood open and the sound of conversation spilled out to create murmured background noise.