Dropping the Ball: a Holiday Rom-Com
Dropping the Ball: Chapter 27

Against all odds, when I get home at almost 9:00 and call Drake to explain getting trapped in an elevator, he laughs and agrees to another meeting.

“Come by the Ford dealership first thing in the morning,” he says. “After that, I take off for Thanksgiving with my parents in Vail.”

“I’ll bring apology pastries,” I promise before we hang up.

I’m too keyed up to study, so I try to relax before bed by watching Real Housewives for an hour. Madison has the worst taste in television, and like any addict, she has dragged me into the mind rot with her. But even the loud spray tans of New Jersey can’t keep my mind from flashing back to the night with Micah.

Every look. Every touch. Every time I caught the scent of citrus and evergreen.

The judgment on his face when I said I wouldn’t tell my family.

We’ve only had a couple of years of figuring out how to show up for each other for real. Should I be able to trust my own family not to be disappointed in me over the auction? Yes. But they should be able to trust me to deliver on my part of this job.

I pass a restless night, sleeping in uneasy fits between racing thoughts about the way I spoke to Micah in the elevator and what I’ll say to Drake in the morning.

When I arrive at the dealership ten minutes early with coffee and pastries, I’ve hidden the stress and sleeplessness beneath perfectly applied makeup, a Chanel pink-and-gray plaid dress, and Oxfords with a three-inch heel. It says professional, feminine, and expensive. It says Give me what I’m asking for.

The receptionist sends me up to the second floor. I take the stairs.

Drake Braverman looks at ease behind his enormous walnut desk when I pause in his doorway. He comes around to greet me, a smile on his face.

I brace for the hello hug he offers. He keeps it friendly and short before escorting me to a chair and retaking his seat.

“Bold of you to drive up in an Audi we didn’t sell you,” he says, leaning back and smoothing his tie.

“You know what I drive?”

“One of my guys called up when you parked,” he says. “Have to know what you’re in so we can figure out what to convince you to get next.”

I smile at him. “What are you going to try to convince me to get?”

“Pfft. Nothing. That’s a beautiful car. Drive it until it doesn’t speak to your soul anymore.”

That makes me laugh. “It really does speak to my soul. I bought it this summer as a present to myself for finishing law school.”

“Hey, congrats,” he says. “I’d say it’s a big deal, but I bet you did it without breaking a sweat.”

“It’s a huge deal, and I’ll take all the credit, thank you.” That makes him laugh. “I’m glad you want to talk cars, because that’s what brings me in.”

“Right. You have a foundation, you said?”

“Yes. Madison has been interested in issues of fair trade and impact entrepreneurship for several years. Two years ago, she finished her MBA by starting a company in Bangladesh that does microfinancing. It will be profitable by the end of next year.”

“Impressive,” he says. “Good for her.”

He means it, and I pause to give him another smile. It’s good to remember that most of us do grow up.

“Because we’ve had a unique long-term perspective from our place inside the Bangladesh economy, she also founded a nonprofit organization dedicated to help Bangladeshi garment workers who want to change or advance in their careers.”

This is where potential donors smile or give encouraging nods, or say something like “That’s great. Love to hear it.” Drake’s eyes narrow in a speculative way, but his expression doesn’t otherwise offer any clues about what he’s thinking.

“I’d love to show you how Threadwork does our work.” I reach into my bag for my iPad and hold it up, an unspoken question. When he nods, I set it on the desk, moving through the slide deck in five perfectly paced minutes.

“Any questions so far?” I ask as I close the iPad.

“Just one. What do you need from me?”

Again, it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. His tone is pleasant but neutral.

“We’re hosting our first annual New Year’s gala, a high fashion luxury experience.” I explain the highlights of the night, concluding, “It sold out months ago. But we anticipate raising an additional two million dollars during our live auction with the help of our generous guests.” I draw two tickets from my handbag. “For the generous donors who help us round out our auction offerings, we would be honored to also have you as our guests with our compliments.”

His eyes shift from the tickets to me. “What kind of donation are you hoping for?”

“You know this crowd. They’d love to win a public auction by overpaying for a luxury car, generously donated by your family.” I summon the smile I’ve been practicing, one I’ve borrowed from Madison and injected with as much of her shamelessness as I can fake. “Maybe an extra Porsche you have lying around?”

Drake smiles back. “Respect for the big ask, Kaitlyn. But I have to say no.”

My smile doesn’t dim by a single watt. “It’s a good thing we’d be happy taking something like a Mustang. There will be parents in our crowd planning to send their first kids off to college next fall who would love to know the money they spent on that college car went to a good cause.”

I expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. His smile fades, and he’s already shaking his head. No. Don’t say no, I will him with my mind. But the word is already coming out of his mouth.

“We can’t do that,” he says. “We’re committed to philanthropy, but we’ve also committed our funds for the year. If we were to go beyond that, it would have to be the right cause, and I don’t think this is it.”

I don’t want to feel the disappointment trying to engulf me, so I don’t. I push it away with my smile, the Kaitlyn Armstrong special. Serene, graceful, slightly enigmatic. “I’m sorry to hear that, but I understand philanthropic priorities. I appreciate you making the time to see me, even after an elevator made me ghost you last night.”

His smile is back, and he stands, signaling the end of our meeting. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the answer you wanted, but I’m not sorry I got to see you again, Kaitlyn. Glad you’re doing well. I’ll walk you out.”

A Texas gentleman. He had to grow up some to get there, but that’s what he is, through and through. He leads me through the outer office, but as he reaches for the glass door to the hall, I remember something.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I had a pair of Copperhead alligator boots in gray for you last night, but I forgot to bring them with me this morning. I’ll make sure to send them over.”

He smiles and makes a big show of looking down at his feet. I follow his gaze to his black Copperhead Thorntons. “Come on, Kaitlyn. You didn’t think I was going to meet with an Armstrong in anything but my best boots, did you?”

I shake my head, laughing despite my disappointment. “You’re a good egg, Drake. Have a great time in Vail.”

“Will do.”

My smile stays painted on until the door to the stairwell closes behind me. I replay the meeting as I take the two flights down, but when I reach the bottom, I pause.

I’d given him my best presentation so far. Impassioned but professional. Results-focused so he could see where his donation would go. It’s clear he has a good opinion of me. I suspect we’d be friends if we made more of an effort to cross paths.

That pitch should have worked, and I believe Drake will be honest about why it didn’t.

I march back up the stairs. Drake is pulling on his suit coat when I tap on his open door, and he looks at me in surprise as he tugs the sleeves down. “Hey.”

“Can I ask why you said no? I’m not trying to change your mind. I’ve done everything I can to make this a compelling proposal, and I need to know what I’m missing. I’m hoping you’ll tell me.”

He gives a single nod, like he gets it. “Threadwork Discovery Gala, presented by Armstrong Industries.”

“You don’t like the name?”

“I don’t love the cause. I respect the hell out of you and Madison trying to make up for the damage the company did. I understand why you’d feel like you need the company to sponsor the fundraiser. A lot of people would say it’s a smart PR move.”

“But not you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know why Gordon himself isn’t doing more to clean up a mess he made, and I’m not interested in trying to improve his image. I admire the work your foundation is doing, but when it comes to our charitable giving, we’ve already got partnerships with local causes. We’re Austin strong. We bleed burnt orange, run on Torchy’s Tacos, and give back in our community.”

“I can’t be mad at that.” But in some ways, it’s the worst answer he could give me, because his concern is fundamental, not something I can fix with a tweak to the slide deck. “Thanks for being honest with me.”

“No problem. I’ll walk you all the way out this time, since I’m leaving too.”

“Is it okay if we take the stairs?”

He laughs and gestures for me to lead the way.