Do You Take This Man (99)
We walked into the ballroom, filled with people who didn’t need to talk about money because they sounded like money. Abby had volunteered for OurCode for over a year, mentoring a high school student interested in a career in tech. She’d tried for months to convince me to volunteer. She’d pushed me as far as signing up and going through the initial background check, but I always begged off from finishing the training—I didn’t have the time, and I didn’t particularly like teenagers. I hadn’t liked them when I was a teenager. The least I could do was attend this ridiculously opulent fundraiser with her and donate, because the donating, I was happy to do.
I brushed my forehead, an old nervous habit, only my hair was shorter now and pushed back off my face. I glanced around and stifled the urge to shove my hand in my pocket. Mingling and cocktail chatter were part of my life now, and luckily my date was skilled at the talking part, moving from group to group, introducing me, and then leading the conversation. Screens hanging from the ceiling showed pictures of girls in the program along with quotes. It wasn’t as if the dearth of women in coding and programming was new to me. Before moving into a management role, I’d been in the trenches—usually trenches full of guys who looked like me.
“And Cord is—” Abby’s voice cut into my thoughts, and I jerked my head back to the conversation she was having with two women and an older man. She gave me one of her chiding looks—that was about as critical as her looks ever got. This one meant pay attention. “Cord heads up FitMi, the fitness app.” She glanced from person to person, reading their faces.
I nodded, unsure if I was supposed to respond. “Yep, that’s me.”
“I’ve been trying to get him involved with OurCode for ages, right, honey?”
I hated the pet name, and my tie felt too tight around my neck. “Yeah.”
The three people all pounced in a chorus of “Yes!” and “You should!” and I smiled awkwardly, wishing for an escape hatch.
A hand clapped my shoulder. “Matthews, I thought I saw you come in.”
Kevin Corbin stood behind me. We’d started around the same time, two green software developers at the bottom of the hierarchy. We’d never been friends, exactly, but we shared beers every now and again.
“Hey, man. How are you?”
“Can I borrow you for a minute, Cord?” Kevin and I stepped to the side, and he held up his glass. “You want anything?”
I waved it off. “What’s up?”
“You remember when I took the fall for the issues with the FreeWall project back in the day?”
I laughed. Four of us had taken some risks that hadn’t paid off, and Kevin had taken the bullet when management came down on us for our massive mistake, born of overconfidence and misplaced dreams of glory. “You finally calling in your favor?”
He took a swig from his glass and nodded. “In a big way. I need you to join the board for this thing,” he said, motioning around the room.
I followed his hand as if it would give me more information. “For OurCode? Why?”
“Keep this between us, okay?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
“I had to fire the executive director this afternoon. She was screwing a board member.”
“You fired her on the spot for that?”
“There are . . . additional factors that tipped my hand. I need someone on the board with good connections and who is reliable to make sure the ship sails straight through this.”
I took in his expression, the exhaustion around the eyes. I’d been looking for something outside of work to refill my cup, but glancing around at the over-the-top self-congratulating happening around the room, I was pretty sure this wasn’t it. “Oh, wow. I . . . don’t know if I have time.”
Kevin scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I’m begging. I learned a lot in the last few days about how it’s been mismanaged. How can I convince you? The press loves this stuff—being attached to it will look good for you and FitMi.” He grinned and lowered his voice. “That most eligible bachelor in tech thing must be wearing off, right? Though it looks like you need no help in that department.” He motioned to Abby, and I wished I had a drink in my hand.
“Don’t remind me about that article,” I joked, ignoring his comment about Abby. That had been the first and last time I ever let our PR people talk me into talking about my personal life. “I’m sure the involvement would be good PR, but . . .” That he assumed the way to get me to support a charity was to tell me it looked good bothered me. I didn’t want to be that guy. I glanced down at my tuxedo. I hope I’m not already that guy.
“Excuse me,” he said, clapping my shoulder again and nodding to Abby, who’d walked toward us. “Think about it, okay?”
Kevin stepped to the stage as the lights fell, and he introduced himself and began a brief history of the program. During the speech, I made mental notes about possible excuses: FitMi was in the middle of expanding, I needed to spend more time with Abby, and Kevin should consider asking a woman. If he was worried about optics, that would be better in the long run anyway. I crafted what I’d say to let him down easy, brainstorming ideas for who I’d recommend in my stead.
Everyone applauded, and Kevin stepped back as the speaker for the evening stepped from the wings. Noticing the line of her calf as it peeked through the low slit in her dress, I froze. Pearl’s voice filled the room, and it immediately brought me back to that elevator and being certain I’d just met the one.