Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue #1)

“Wow, this is some heavy shit. OK, neither one of us can cry any more today. We’ve got that meeting at noon. Let’s go walk for a few minutes to get some fresh air and get our acts together,” I resolved as I stood up and ushered us both outside.

We walked to our coffee place and came back to our building. We sat on the front steps and killing time until about a half hour before our meeting. Our boss would be so proud.

“Monica?” I said as we headed inside, failing to break my stare into the distance.

“Yea?”

“That ‘thousand lifetimes’ thing…Do you think that’s kind of…”

“The absolute most gut-wrenchingly romantic thing I’ve ever heard? Yea, I do.” She had a half smile, maybe to encourage me.

“I was going to say intense.” I half-laughed.

“Intense, yes. Romantic, hell yes.” Monica opened the door while shaking her head.

As we walked inside she continued, “I’m really sorry I spilled that to you. I just couldn’t make up another reason Josh wanted to break up with me. But, you should have heard that first from Bo.”

“No, honestly, I’m glad I heard it from you.”

“Why? So you had permission to sit there with that blank look on your face?” Monica elbowed me as we headed to the meeting room to set up.

“Yea, actually. I almost cried. I wanted to cry about the fact that someone who knew me for five minutes felt that way, but more I wanted to cry because…” I trailed off as the L-word fought its way through my throat.

“Because you absolutely feel the same way, Ember.” No inquisition was needed as far as Monica was concerned.

“Yea. . .” I whispered.

“Look. What I said and what your mother said still stands. Feel it, think about it, do it. The “it” is up to you.”

The creak of the main door and the sound of two male voices silenced the conversation that would need to take place later.

“Good afternoon gentlemen,” Monica cheerfully greeted.

“Welcome. Mr. Bryson this is Monica Pierce, and I’m November Harris.”

“Oh, please, call me David.” The silver-haired man stuck out his hand while a warm smile reached his soft eyes.

“Spencer, good to see you again.” Damn he looks good today.

“Oh,” David interrupted, “I guess these young ladies don’t yet know that you’re the famous Bo Cavanaugh; rock star extraordinaire?” He elbowed Bo as he spoke. Bo’s eyebrows nearly hit his hair line.

I looked wide-eyed between Monica, Bo, David, and the floor before stifling a laugh.

“Well, um, we know, but we also know that he uses ‘Spencer’ for business.” Monica swept in like an angel of grace.

Bo finally spoke, “David, I hypnotized these fine women with my music nearly a week ago-see how anxious they are?” He grinned like a cat with a mouse in its mouth and raised an eyebrow in my direction.

The four of us broke in to a relieved laughter; more relieved than David could even know that this little itty bitty cat was out of the bag. We just had to keep the lion at bay a while longer.

During the hour-long meeting, we acquainted ourselves with David, and he with us. He promised to get in contact with our boss to arrange a trip to DROP headquarters in New Hampshire. I glanced quickly at Bo, for the first time during the whole meeting, and caught him looking back at me, smiling at the mention of going to New Hampshire. I was acting a little more distant than I’d planned, but I couldn’t look at him directly in the eyes; not with the weight of a thousand lifetimes resting on my bones.

David’s soft voice broke my stare, “Bo’s father, Spencer, was a good friend of mine. I’m thrilled to help his boy carry out his vision. I’m looking forward to the meeting next week.”

“We’re looking forward to it, as well,” Monica entered. “I do have to ask, though, there are thousands of non-profits up and down the New England coast; how did you stumble upon ours?” I shot Monica an interested look.

I had assumed that they researched articles on various organizations and saw that ours was often featured for Monica’s outstanding efforts at outreach and education, and my ability to seek out and secure funds from various sources for large amounts of money. Maybe she knew this, too, but wanted to hear it.

“Good question,” David answered, “We had our legal team do some research on successful non-profits, and yours was among them. While we have visited several in the area over the last week, yours came highly recommended by a member of the team. Adrian Turner.”

Monica’s gasp filled my ears, and competed with the sound of my pounding heart. I prayed the look on my face didn’t match Monica’s; she was as white as the paper she was holding. Maybe you’ve cracked under Bo’s hot gaze and gone crazy - and Monica has too.

“Um,” I cleared my throat with what little grace I could muster, “did you say Adrian Turner? Princeton University undergrad, and Harvard Law School?” I tried to will the still-unidentified feeling from my face. Fear, anger, general nausea?