Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(76)

We’ve all got different jobs, ones that are all a little more well suited to our strengths, and for that I am grateful. I would gladly work harder if it means escaping the awkward conversations on the streets.

“How are we going to fit another donor table in the ballroom?” Tiffany asks, partially to herself, partially to the rest of us in the little intern bay we’ve all been shoved into.

“Treat my clients well,” Art says with a hint of satisfaction in their voice.

“Just because you guilted them into buying out another table doesn’t make them your clients,” she snaps back. “We have a partially open one in the back that we could move, but then your dear clients would be split across the room. We can’t move this group, because they’re all speakers. We can’t move all of Deloitte back, because they’re our biggest corporate sponsor. This is an impossible puzzle.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Laura says calmly while putting her hand on Tiffany’s shoulder. “Let’s wait until we hear back from Matt’s last two calls today. We might have to completely redraw this map, but it’s a good problem to have, because that means we’ve gotten more donations than we had last year.”

Art’s taken over a few corporate calls. Though Laura’s focusing on new leads herself, Art’s proven that they are great at upselling, so she’s having them go back to see if we can squeeze a few more pennies out of those accounts.

Tiffany’s one request was that she didn’t want to talk to people. Which is a hard job to find when we’ve essentially become a volunteer phone bank. But she’s logical and extremely organized, which made her a perfect fit for her task: assisting the event planner to make sure the logistics of the gala go off without a hitch.

Matt, who was easily the best at getting people’s attention—and their wallets—when canvassing on the street, gets to cold-call some potential donors. Which means he’s basically calling up rich people every day. In a matter of minutes, he’s able to match the donations we all got as a group over the past two months. When Laura heard Art say it made the grassroots stuff seem pointless, she explained that canvassing is as much about brand awareness and cause awareness as it is about getting donations.

But me? I have the best job of them all, though I think everyone feels a little bit sorry for me. Once a corporation or a donor comes through with a donation, I get to handwrite thank-you notes. Now, I might not have the design aesthetic that Reese does, but I can write a mean thank-you note. Each one is well researched, personal, and (I hope) sends a heartfelt message from the organization. No form letters here.

People keep donating to organizations when they feel personally connected to them, and I think that’s something I can do well. Reaching people personally? Totally up my alley. Reaching strangers to shout at them about the trees? Not so much.

Before this is all over, I hope to talk to Laura more about nonprofit fundraising, and I can see what she thinks about a career in it.

As we leave for the day, Matt and I link arms as we walk back to the dorms. Our time here is running short, but we haven’t spoken about it just yet. We’re back to where we were before … before I messed it all up.

“Why don’t we go see another movie after dinner tonight?” I ask. “We can invite Tiffany and Art too.”

“Only if we take a cab this time,” Matt says with a laugh. “What are they showing this week? Something romantic?”

He gives me a goofy look, and I roll my eyes. “Very romantic. Jaws, I think.”

“That park really has a brand. Spielberg movies featuring sharp teeth.”

He walks me to my room, and I hesitate outside my door.

I lean in for a kiss and let my lips linger on his for a moment.

“Will you come in? I don’t think the others will let us make out in front of them tonight, so I’d like to, um, get some of that time in now.”

“Prudes,” he scoffs, then pulls me in tightly for another kiss. “Absolutely.”

As I lead him into the room and lead him onto the bed, I feel … right. I came here to become a new person, but all I really needed to do was find the person who was hiding inside me all along.





CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

HEATH

Diana, Cole, and I share a beach blanket, not unlike all those other days in my first month here, but with one substantial change: it’s awkward. Diana told Cole about everything, and now I’m a little too embarrassed to look his way. But every once in a while, he’ll do something sweet. Every time we hang out now, he’ll bring an ice-cold Gatorade (blue, my favorite flavor) to the beach for us to share, and once, he got me a bag of souvenirs from the beach shop he works at that were being thrown out for being minorly chipped and unsellable, for my friends and family back home.

I don’t need these things, but it reminds me why I felt so comfortable with him. When Diana runs to the arcade to use the bathroom, I take this opportunity to say something.

“Cole—”

“Hey, I wanted to—”

We both stop, then laugh at the awkward silence between us.

“You first,” he says.

“I’m so sorry I ghosted you. I know Diana told you why, but it’s kind of shitty to make out with someone, then fully ignore them for two weeks.”