Page 9 of That Geeky Feeling

The small part of my brain not currently focused on stopping the panic and the tears, kicks into gear and finds some business savvy. Maybe there’s some potential for leverage here.

A sense of calm settles over me as Max remains silent, giving me a moment to gather myself.

My voice is steady, my words slow and deliberate as I find my voice. “Did you say that if the First Byte launch doesn’t come together in time, Elliot and Owen will lose their sponsor?”

“Yes. Netto. Frankly, it’s amazing they got them in the first place.”

I sit a little straighter in my chair. “Prestigious.” I nod slowly. There is definitely a bargaining chip to be played here. “And I assume they’ll provide all the computers and everything for the kids to learn to use?”

“That’s the deal, yes.”

“So, losing Netto would be highly embarrassing. I imagine all the publicity for the project and the opening date and that Netto is the sponsor is already out there?”

“Yup.”

“If I recall correctly, Elliot and Owen had been looking for the right sponsor for a while, right?”

“More than a year, yes.”

“So this thing needs to happen. For the sake of the future of the whole nonprofit idea, and so Two Coast Tech doesn’t look incredibly foolish to all its clients and future clients.” The shake in my hands is gone now. “I mean, who’d want to do business with a company that let down a bunch of underprivileged kids because it couldn’t get its act together to open a classroom in time?”

“Yes. That’s about the gist of it.” He sighs. “What’s your point?”

“My point, Max”—I get to my feet and straighten my skirt—“is that what Elliot needs right now is the only superhuman organizer either of you knows to superhumanly organize the ever-loving shit out of this and pull off a miracle to prevent a whole bunch of kids from being massively disappointed.”

The stinging behind my eyes and the tremor in my heart are gone. In their place is the fire in my belly. “It needs to be a roaring success so they can open more First Byte hubs around the country. So they can give more kids access to technology they wouldn’t otherwise get their hands on, so they don’t get left behind and, who knows, so they maybe forge entire careers based on passions and skills they picked up there.”

“I see where you’re going, Miss Lipton.” Max leans back in his chair and gives me a wry smile. “I’ve trained you well. What do you want?”

I rest my hands on the edge of his desk and lean toward him.

“Something to run. I don’t care if it’s small. Tiny. The most microscopic business entity you’ve ever purchased. Just something that’s mine. Something I can work on to prove to you I deserve the chance to do more than order your sticky notes and tell people you’re out when you’re not. Instead of you loaning me out, I’ll do that in the other half of my hours. Hell, I’ll do it as a whole full-time job on top of the part-time one as your assistant.”

He nods like a proud father. “You make a good case. So, if you bring Elliot’s launch in on time and it’s a success, you want me to give you a project to manage?”

“Yup.” I straighten and fold my arms.

“Or else what?”

“I continue as your part-time assistant. And get a second job cleaning, bartending, stripping, or whatever the hell makes the most money the fastest so I can buy out my tuition and quit to work somewhere that sees my value and promotes me.”

Christ, it had better not come to that. “But, more importantly, you’d have to look for a new assistant. And we all know you’d rather have your teeth pulled with rusty pliers and no anesthetic than do that.”

“You know me too well.” He tosses the pen on the desk where it lands with a clatter, and drums his fingertips together. “Christ, you’re annoying.”

“The only part of me that’s annoying is the part where you know you can’t cope without me now.”

“Okay.” He throws up his arms. “Consider this your first deal negotiation victory. You give Elliot the best nonprofit launch he could ever wish for, make Netto happier than any sponsor could ever hope to be, and yes.” He rolls his eyes. “Deal.”

“You won’t regret this, Mr. Dashwood,” I say with exaggerated reverence as I offer my hand across the desk. “I promise you.”

He shakes my hand. “Now get the hell out of here and make me some fresh coffee.”

Finally, I do let myself do a little happy dance—or is it a victory dance?—toward the door.

“Good God.” Max sighs. “I’ve created a fucking monster, haven’t I?”

4

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