“Wait.” Ivy placed her hand on Mrs. Lindsey’s arm. “He invited me to coffee. Like Starbucks. Or Dunkin’ Donuts.”
Mrs. Lindsey looked down at her hand with a sneer, as if Ivy’s fingers might have left marks on her sleeve. “Mr. Burke requested your company in the ballroom. The coffee service is on the right. Once you’ve poured a cup, please take a seat near the back. You’re late and they’ve already started.”
“Started what?” Ivy demanded as Mrs. Lindsey withdrew her arm.
Carter’s assistant blazed a path through the lobby to the elevators. Inside, she pressed the button for the ballroom level.
“A real fairy godmother would tell me,” Ivy muttered as the elevator rose.
Mrs. Lindsey tilted her chin up a notch. “I work for Mr. Burke.”
Don’t I know it. Just like Friday night wasn’t my gateway to happily ever after, she thought. It just felt like it.
Ivy followed Carter’s assistant out of the elevator and into the hallway leading to the ballroom. She’d been such a mix of nerves and determination Friday night when she’d marched up this staircase and into the pillar-less space.
Friday night’s fairy-filled trees had vanished along with the women dressed in gowns and the men in tuxedos. All traces of the Shakespearean fairy tale were gone, almost as if they’d never existed. In their place stood dozens of large, round tables flanked by men and women in business attire.
“Now, I give you the man you came from across the country—and for some, across the ocean—to see,” a woman’s voice filled the foyer. Ivy turned her attention to the podium where an elegant woman in a white suit stood in front of a large screen.
“Carter Burke!” the woman called into the microphone. She stepped back. The man Ivy had waltzed through the gala with on Friday night rose from a pair of chairs set to the right of the podium. He scanned the crowd as he headed for the microphone. When he spotted her, he paused and grinned.
Ivy looked away, focusing her attention on the large screen at his back. It read: Burke Initiative Bi-Annual Shareholders’ Meeting. She glanced around for an empty seat.
What was he thinking? Inviting me to “coffee” with his shareholders? Just so he can reject my funding again?
She bit her bottom lip as Carter took his place behind the podium and adjusted the microphone. Was he trying to prove his point? Was he determined to drive home the fact that he couldn’t fund her research?
She pulled a chair from a half-filled table in the rear of the room. Then she paused. Part of her wanted to storm out of here. She’d received the message loud and clear the other night. He had his work, his priorities, and she had hers. They didn’t overlap anymore.
On the other hand, she couldn’t see the man who’d carried her into Central Park, who’d danced on the Belvedere Castle terrace with her, inviting her to an elaborate showing of “I’m Right, You’re Wrong.”
Ivy sat.
“First, I would like to thank my mother for introducing me,” he said. “I asked her to attend today’s meeting because she recently pushed me to do something I’ve always shied away from—ask for your help.”
He paused and a hushed murmur spread from table to table. Ivy glanced around, counting tables and chairs. She quickly did the math—about one hundred of the Burke Initiative’s shareholders were here.
“Twice a year, I stand in front of you and run through the numbers. I share our successes—and we’ve had a lot—” A smattering of applause interrupted and Carter raised his hand. “I’m proud of the wins, too. When I look at my spreadsheets and see the profits, when I sign the checks that prove I’m holding true to my promise to invest your money as I would my own, when I think of the children you hope to send to college with your slice of our growing pie—”
“Hear, hear!” a man called from a neighboring table.
Carter laughed. “That’s right, Greg. I think about how much you’re going to owe Princeton over the next four years. And congratulations, by the way, on your son’s early acceptance.”
There was another round of applause, and this time, Carter waited for it to die down before speaking again.
“When I look at my balance sheets, the profit and loss statements, I see your stories. But until recently, I wasn’t looking at our investments in the same light.” He paused and took a sip of water.
Ivy leaned forward and rested her arms on the table. Her elbow landed on the business end of a teaspoon. T
he utensil flipped off the table and catapulted into her neighbor’s lap. Ivy issued a quick apology, and then turned her attention back to the stage. Right now, she didn’t care if she embarrassed herself. Whether she fit in—or not—the question no longer mattered. With every word out of his beautiful, kissable mouth, her hope kicked up another notch.
He’s going to keep the lab open. Please, please, please, tell me that is why I’m here.
“Now, I’m not talking about layoffs here,” Carter continued. “I’m referencing the people—the families—we impact when the scientists we support get it right. And why we owe it to them to keep all of our labs open.”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Ivy whispered. The man who’d caught her flying spoon glanced over at her. She raised one hand to her lips and covered her mouth.
“Yes, we can fund cancer research,” Carter said. “I’m committed to up-keeping that lab and increasing our investment. But not at the expense of the other research endeavors. Even if those projects fail in their quest for a cure. Even if they succeed, but the result only saves a handful of lives versus millions—I’m willing to take that risk.”