Page 76 of Dropping the Ball

I follow and message him.

Hey, Drake. Long time, no talk.

I go up to wash my face and put a pitch together in my head. I’m going to get an appointment with him, and I’m going to close the deal.

He answers as I’m standing in my closet, choosing an outfit for the morning.

Lol, if you mean you never talk to me, then yeah. Long time. What’s good, Kaitlyn Armstrong?

Wheeling and dealing, which is your specialty, isn’t it?

You know it. You looking to get into something new?

Definitely looking to hit you up for something. If I call your office tomorrow, will you take it?

Gotta hear this. Call after lunch. My assistant will put you through.

He signs off with a laugh-cry emoji, and I choose a suit and set it on a hook, ready for the morning. Then I put myself to bed wearing a grim smile, because I will absolutely be making a donation happen. A big-ticket item.

I understand Drake Braverman. And I’m going to get what I need.

Yes.

Yes yes yes yes yes.

It is Monday after lunch, and I just hung up with Drake Braverman.

It isn’t a big win; Drake didn’t say yes to a donation on the spot. But he did agree to meet Thursday for drinks, so it’s still a win.

I take a minute to savor it. I’m going to bring him a pair of gorgeous Copperhead boots and a pitch he can’t refuse.

Micah’s words keep running through my head.He’s bought cars that cost more than our house did at the time. That’s what he said about his uncle.

It applies to the Bravermans too. The Bravermans take vacations that cost more than the sports cars they sell.

We’re doing this—all of it—to create opportunities for people who don’t have the luxury of even cheap vacations, much less a car. I can’t say I know how it feels. But I know how I feel when I see it in Bangladesh.

I have to make this happen. I’m going to Drake with a big ask, swinging like I expect a homerun.

“Suz,” I say, popping my head out the door. “Call up to Raj for a pair of men’s Thorntons in size twelve, gray alligator, please?” It’s always better to guess bigger than smaller on a man’s boot size when you’re asking for a favor.

Raj’s whole job is PR, and that includes letting the Armstrongs request boots whenever we want them. Hmmm. Maybe we should create a design exclusively for people who do big charitable favors like this? Call it . . . platinum certified or something elite, and a pair will be one of thoseif you know, you knowkind of status symbols? Wealthy people love owning things money can’t buy.

I walk out to Suz’s desk. “Actually, tell Raj I’m a genius and put a meeting on the books with him later this week.”

“Got it.”

“I’m going to be practicing a pitch for the rest of the afternoon, so hold any calls unless they sound like they want to give us money.”

I don’t get any more meetings over the next two days, and Thursday tries to knock me down all day before I’m supposed to meet with Drake for drinks. Raj calls down to tell me that we’re out of any boots over size ten in the building, but he’ll have more in next week.

I gamble that it will be better to show up with a pair in hand and a promise to exchange them, so I tell Raj to send down the tens.

I spill salad on my blouse at lunch, leaving a grease spot on the blush pink silk, right over my boob.

Two more assistants decline meetings on behalf of their bosses.

By 4:00, my nerves are stretched thin, and I evacuate my office before anything else can go wrong and head home to change. A silver lining, maybe? I can choose something more suited for drinks.

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