Meant for You (The Connor Family 3)

They were a fact of life, though. I’d never intended to move for good, I had just viewed it as a great learning experience. I was a development director, and there were more projects there. But I felt I could make more of a difference here, and that was what mattered after all. Plus, I had the opportunity to get a new project off the ground. I still had to hammer out a few details with my boss, but I’d bring those up once I’d put the jet lag behind me.

That master plan was nixed when my boss knocked at the open door.

“Paige, is this a good time to talk about the education center program?”

It was an awful time. My brain worked backward. But you didn’t tell your boss no.

“Sure.”

“I’ll leave you two,” Ashley said. After she left, Greg got right down to business.

“I was expecting you to be one of those people we lost forever to Paris.”

It was clear from his tone he’d hoped I wouldn’t come back. Greg wasn’t my biggest fan. He saw me as direct competition, even though I’d never wanted his job. The dislike was mutual. He had a misogynistic streak that reared its ugly head from time to time. When I’d started working with him at twenty-one, he’d intimidated me. Seven years later, I’d learned to ignore him.

“I looked over your proposal. It’s bold.”

Translation: crazy.

I wanted to set up an education center for people who’d grown up homeless. Theoretically, that shouldn’t happen, but enough of them slipped through the cracks of the social system, reaching adulthood without any meaningful education or skills to get a job, which continued to keep them on the streets. It was a vicious circle. We could change that, teach them employable skills. I’d toyed with this idea since the last time I’d been home for a visit, when I’d ran into a group of homeless teenagers. They had hopes and dreams like everyone else, but absolutely no means to make them happen. My parents had always worked hard so my siblings and I would have everything we needed. Where would we be if they hadn’t? I knew I shouldn’t be so involved, but I couldn’t help it. It felt personal.

“I can pull it off, though. No one thought I could set up the cross-European program in France, but I did.”

“You drive a hard bargain. I see Paris hasn’t mellowed you.”

“Not

one bit.”

“I’d rather you focused your efforts elsewhere.”

“This isn’t the only project I’ll be working on.” But it was the one I cared most about.

“No grant funding for this one.”

“Why not?”

“Because we have a quota for those, and I’d rather you use it for other projects. Focus on private donors.”

That made my job significantly harder.

“Tell you what. Get letters of intent for at least 25 percent of the financing from private donors, and then I’ll reconsider. You know the drill.”

I did, which was why I instantly knew that Greg wouldn’t be swayed by 25 percent. I’d need at least 50 percent to convince him this wouldn’t be a waste of time.

“I’ll leave you to settle. Keep me updated.”

“I will.”

Ashley returned after Greg left and hovered around my desk, bringing me up to speed. In the afternoon, I started feeling human again. I drew up a list of companies I could approach for funding. I’d already worked with most of the firms on my list. I’d kept in touch with them, because I’d learned early on how important connections were. I’d have to tailor my pitch for each of them. Some would be interested in the cause itself, others only in how much PR they could milk from their contribution. That didn’t bother me. Most companies donated because it would look good in their annual report and on their website, but money was money.

I headed to one of my favorite coffee shops in Venice Beach to work on the pitches. It was far away from the boardwalk and the tourists. Greg didn’t much care where the work was done—one of the only things I appreciated about him—and now that I was back in LA, I planned to take as much advantage of the sun as possible, soak it all in. I relished feeling the fine sand under my feet, smearing sunscreen on my arms and ankles. Sitting in the outdoor section of the coffee shop, a large hat on my head, I tinkered with the pitch presentations for hours. I’d finished three of twenty-one by the time I had to leave to meet Will. I had my work cut out for me for the rest of the week.

I stopped by the restroom first, taking in my appearance. Despite the hat, the tip of my nose was pink. That was the first step in getting a tan. In the second step, I’d look like a lobster for about a week before my skin turned golden brown.

I refreshed my makeup, dabbing some mascara. I’d forgotten my comb at home, so I ran my hands through my tresses.

Will was in front of the store when I arrived, leaning casually against a wall. I took in every detail. That defined jaw covered by a faint stubble, the planes of his cheeks....