Raw (RAW Family #1)(20)
That is awesome! Although we’re government funded, there are tons of non-profit organizations and charities out there who need money to keep doing what they’re doing. The government helps out where they can, but the funds are limited and most of them miss out. Which is truly sad. Services like women’s shelters, and homeless dinner drop-off and drop-in centers for street kids depend on private donations to stay afloat. And if we’re talking a five year commitment, we must be talking big money.
Containing my sudden excitement, I ask quietly, “How much per year?”
Charlie’s smile gleams, “Five-hundred-thousand.”
And I grip the edges on my desk to stop myself from sliding onto the floor in a clean swoon.
That is a lot of dough for one company to give. That’s two-point-five-million dollars over five years! That is incredible…amazing…astounding! This is an amount we can work with to make something big happen. Big money over a period of time means big projects.
I’m giddy!
Standing so quickly my head spins, I walk over to Charlie and place my hands on his forearms, gripping them in excitement. I open my mouth to convey my level of excitement…but nothing comes out. Charlie watches my mouth gape and chuckles softly. “This is why I wanted it to be you that took the details.” His eyes turn soft. “No one cares about people more than you do, Lex.”
Finding my voice, I smile my first genuine smile in a week. “Send them in.”
Charlies smile falters, “Okay. But Lex…” He drifts off and I raise my brows in question. But Charlie shakes his head slowly and utters, “Just…just remember our motto, yeah?”
Turning, he walks out of my office, leaving me confused and wary. Our motto.
Equality over stereotype.
In our field, we deal with all kinds of people from different backgrounds, races, and religions. There is no such thing as normal in our job. And the sad truth is that it’s easy to place a stereotype on a person you don’t know. One look at a person is all it takes for our minds to be made up on the type of person we think they are.
And ninety-nine percent of the time, we are wrong.
Well, now I’m a little nervous. Taking my coffee, I walk towards the door, when my heel catches. I wobble on the spot a moment and manage to steady myself, but not before spilling coffee down my arm and onto the floor.
Lifting my head in silent prayer, I breathe deeply, then walk around my desk, pulling a handful of napkins out of my drawer. Lifting my skirt an inch, I kneel down on the floor and start to mop up the mess.
Someone clears their throat. More specifically, a man.
A foot away from me, a pair of Italian leather dress shoes comes into focus. Nice. Working my way up the black slacks, which encase strong, thick and very male legs, my eyes pass over his crotch, up to his belt…
That belt.
My eyes widen.
That belt!
Skimming over his crisp white shirt, silk black tie, and classy black suit jacket, my eyes move up fast to meet a pair of hooded, soft brown ones.
My heart races.
What is happening here?
Searching his face as he looks down on me, my eyes drift over the small ‘13’ tattooed on his cheekbone, then down lower at the artistic swirls, color, and grey shading peeking out from under his shirt that decorate his neck. We spend a moment watching each other closely. Me, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, and him, trying to gauge my reaction to seeing him in a more…professional sense.
Taking a small step towards me, we’re impossibly close. My breast brushes his knee. His lips twitch, and he gestures to my position kneeling on the floor. Using one tattooed hand to adjust the opposite cufflink, his husky voice washes over me. “I feel we’ve been here before.”
Oh my f*cking God.
This is not happening.
Goddamn.
Seeing the beautiful Alexa Ballentine on her knees in front of me was not how I assumed this meeting would start. And by the look on her stunned face, she didn’t think it would either. But here we are.
Her clear blue eyes drift down to my belt, and her pupils dilate as she inhales quickly.
Fuck, f*ck, f*ck!
She likes the belt. No one likes the belt. It’s a f*cking choker for chrissakes. A growl escapes me and her head snaps upwards. She tries to avoid my gaze. I don’t like that.
Reaching forward, I cup her chin gently but firmly and lift her face. She has no choice but to make eye contact, and when our eyes meet, her face flushes and her lips thin in obvious frustration and annoyance. She whispers, “What are you doing here?”
Never one to make it easy on someone, I reply just as quietly, “You’re already wet, aren’t you, Alexa?”
Hissing in a breath, she closes her eyes. “You shouldn’t be here. I have an appointment.”
Gripping her chin tightly, I mutter in a bored tone, “I know. Falcon Plastics. Donation. Interview. All that jazz.”
Her eyes snap open. She stumbles on her words, “S-so you’re still watching me? I-I haven’t seen you around. Or even f-felt you around. I just assumed you were done—”
Cutting her off, I grip her arm and pull gently. She stands, lowering her skirt back over her knees, and I announce, “I own Falcon Plastics, Lexi.” Her wide-eyed, incredulous face is…priceless. I love this. Awkward tension fills the office. So thick you could cut it with a knife. This is what I like. It’s my favorite thing to do. Making people uncomfortable is fun. “I’m your appointment, babe.” I grin a little too happily.