Who Wants to Marry A Billionaire?(3)
“Oh, I’ve got great news! I’ve been accepted into the summer French honors program in Provence!”
Finally, something nice, Nina thought. “I’m so proud of you! That’s part of your scholarship, right?”
Rita picked a slice of cucumber out of the salad bowl and munched on it. “Oh, no, it’s going to cost you four grand. But it’ll help me get a great job when I graduate.”
Just then Nina’s phone rang. It was her mother.
“Hey honey—I was wondering if you could loan your mom a hundred and fifty bucks so I can get my heating oil tank filled?”
Nina turned towards her spaghetti sauce giving it a vigorous stir that was rougher than necessary. "Mom, I just work at the DeVere Foundation. I'm not a fully cashed up member of the family! I'll call you back; I'm just about to serve up dinner."
Absently spooning the spaghetti onto two plates she wondered when she would ever get a break financially. Of course, she didn't mind helping her family – even if they sometimes seemed a little ungrateful, but sometimes it felt like all work, work and not much left for Nina.
Chapter Three
The next day at work, Nina felt like a sleepwalker as she drifted from her office in the DeVere Foundation, to a meeting in the conference room on the twenty-ninth floor, and then back again to her office on the twelfth floor. Somehow, though, she seemed to have more work to do than anyone else: a report on a project related to hurricane relief, a stack of resumes to review from students wanting to intern, and a book sized document to read and condense into a brief about their new projects in Central America. Normally, she wouldn’t have minded any of the tasks, but it was hard to focus when it felt like her own life was a disaster. She pecked away at her keyboard, trying to stay focused.
“Nina!” The harsh voice was unmistakable. It was her boss, Elsa, who normally didn’t deign to leave her lofty office on the thirtieth floor.
“Elsa—what a surprise.” Nina tried to force her face into a simulation of a pleasant expression. “What can I do for you?”
“Mr. DeVere wants to see you at 4:00pm.”
“Mr. DeVere? Why on earth would Wilson DeVere want to see me?”
Elsa rolled her eyes. “You know, to be a graduate from an elite, liberal arts college like Williams, you can be a little dull.”
Nina swallowed. The tough girl who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks in blue collar, Lowell, Massachusetts was feeling testy. “I’m sorry, what exactly am I missing?”
Elsa was already clicking across the parquet floor toward the door, tossing off over her shoulder, “Daniel DeVere wants to see you in his office. Four o’clock sharp—don’t be late.”
Pushing her thick, wavy hair back over one shoulder, Nina checked the time at the top of her computer screen; it was two o’clock now, so she had two hours. Daniel DeVere? That was almost as puzzling as the notion of Wilson DeVere wanting to see her. Daniel had made a few rounds through the Foundation offices, ostensibly to help on various projects, but mostly he just used his star power at fundraising galas, or served, Nina suspected, as the mouthpiece of his father. Daniel’s mother, Dominique, actually did contribute to the charitable work of the Foundation with real ideas and real work, but Daniel? Nina hadn’t been very impressed.
Setting her computer alarm clock for 3:45, Nina tried not to think too much about Daniel as she went back to work. But somehow those startling green eyes and that perfect smile kept intruding into her workspace—that, and a recollection of him having a really cute butt.
Chapter Four
On the elevator up to the thirtieth floor, Nina caught a glance at herself in the mirrored walls. She looked a lot more like her Brazilian father than she did her blonde, American mother - masses of unruly, wavy, hair, dark brown eyes, a bit of olive tinge to her complexion. She quickly tried to tame her hair, and wished that she’d taken a moment to freshen her minimal make-up. Her outfit, she thought, was professional, but a little boring - dark brown pants, sensible low-heeled shoes, a cream colored turtleneck sweater, and a knock off of a Hermes scarf that she had bought at a discount store.
The elevator dinged to signal her arrival and the doors slid open to reveal a spacious reception area with expensive Italian leather sofas, enormous arrangements of fresh flowers, and carpet about a hundred times nicer than what they had on the lower levels. There was a hush to the space that made her nervous, and the fact that the receptionist was missing from the desk was not helping her anxiety. She didn’t want to be late, but her employee badge wouldn’t open the doors leading back to the executive offices. Suddenly a thought that had never entered Nina’s mind hit her. Was she going to be fired? Was this her exit from the DeVere Foundation?
She thought about Reuben’s tuition, Rita’s study abroad program, her Mom—and of course, her notice from the IRS. Her heart started racing.
The receptionist magically reappeared behind the desk, with Nina hardly hearing her arrival.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Alves; Mr. DeVere will see you now.” She pushed a hidden button, and the door to the executive offices to her left swung open. “Straight ahead, last office on the right.”
Nina gulped, tried to gather herself and remembered her mother’s one admonition to her as a girl: to always stand up straight.