Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue #1)

Oh, so he and his sister are the two multi-million dollar backers. Neat. I kept my game face on while our boss, Carrie, called the meeting to end.

“Thank you, Mr. Cavanaugh. Ember, I’d like it if you and Monica could set up some more meetings with Mr. Cavanaugh, his community educator, and financial person to see if this is a collaboration that would work on the nuts and bolts level. It all seems very promising, so I’m leaving this project to the two of you.” She left, followed by her secretary, and Don, our IT guy. Monica, Bo, and I were left in the empty meeting room to discuss a time for our “next meeting.”

When the door shut, Monica spoke, “Bo, what the hell?”

“Monica,” I interrupted, “did any of us talk about our jobs over the last two days?” I knew what she was thinking.

“Well, no. But this is weird . . . and great!”

Bo cleared his throat, “This is weird. We’ll figure it out, I’m sure. For now, though, do you all want to go for lunch?” The question wasn’t directed toward Monica.

“I can’t,” she retorted, “I have to go pester your community educator via email. You two have fun.” Reason number two why we’re best friends; the girl knows when to make an exit.

Over lunch, Bo and I managed to discuss the business that my boss intended us to talk about. I told him about my work at Hope, and that I was really pleased with the role I’ve had in the growth of the organization. He admitted that while he found my list of accomplishments impressive on a business level, he also found it very attractive.

“Well, I have to tell you that you look mighty fine in your day job couture, Mr. Cavanaugh.” I reached out across the table and grabbed his hand. It was the first physical contact we’d had since Saturday night, and just as electrifying.

“Ms. Harris, I don’t know if this is appropriate,” he joked. He pulled his hand away when he saw my smile vanish. “What?”

“This isn’t appropriate. Shit.” My pulse raced as I ran through the list of implications.

“November, it’s fine.” Nervousness colored his eyes.

“It’s actually not so fine. The grant writer for one NPO and the millionaire founder and backer for another . . .”

This sounds worse by the minute.

“Listen, just relax. We’ll just play it safe until we know what sort of collaboration, if any, our organizations will have. Then we’ll sort it out from there.

“Damn, does this mean our plans for Friday night will have to wait?” I wanted to slam my fists on the table in protest.

“I don’t think so, but I’d like to get together for dinner tonight, if you’re free.” He did little to mask the undercurrent of urgency in his voice.

“That sounds good. Let’s do it at my place - I’ll cook.” I wanted to soak up as much time with him as possible before it might be shortened due to ethical obligations.

“Sounds great,” he said as he claimed my hand in his, “I’ll see you tonight.”

He kissed my hand, paid for our lunch, and we went back to The Hope Foundation. He spoke with my boss, and I didn’t say one word about tonight’s dinner plans to Monica - and she didn’t ask.





Chapter Six

I finished chopping the vegetables just as I heard a knock on my door. The butterflies that hibernated in my stomach all day flew to life. I opened the door and found Bo standing there in light khakis and a grey t-shirt that stretched across his chest.

“Hey,” I breathed out, barely above a whisper.

“Hey.”

He walked in, shut the door, and pulled me in to a hard, exploding kiss. “God, I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he said when he finally pulled away from me.

“Good, me too,” I admitted as I staggered back to the kitchen.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Stir-fried veggies. Chicken for you, tempeh for me. And, Riesling.”

“Tempeh, huh? What if I’m vegetarian?” He casually placed his hands in his pockets as he walked toward me.

“You’re not. You had the steak sandwich at lunch. Take a seat in the living room; I’ll bring your food in.” I did my best to hide my grin.

“You’re good, Harris. OK, hand me the corkscrew.” He grabbed two wine glasses, the wine, the corkscrew, and headed to the living room.

Over dinner we talked about singing, food, wine, and the music he wanted to play on Saturday. I told him I’d love to hear more of his original work before I brought up the meeting.

“I’m really sorry about your sister and your parents, Bo. I can’t imagine what a stressful few years it’s been for you.” I looked into my wine and shook my head.

“Thank you, really, but I’m OK. Rachel struggled more after they died than I did. I went into protection mode and she fell back into drugs for a while.”

“But she’s okay now?”

“She is. She’s studying at UNH and devotes as much free time as she can to DROP. She was really a mess the year after our parents died.” He took a deep breath and grabbed my hand. “If I can help one family to not go through what we went through with Rachel, I’ve succeeded.”

He kissed my hand gently, then stood up and began gathering our dinner dishes.