Chapter 2
Mia
Never Say Never
Levi’s housemate has a screw lose. Maybe two. He’s right about taking too many hits to the head. I shake my head, trying to clear it of the cringe-worthy conversation I just had with him.
“Were you talking to Otto?” Emma asks excitedly when she catches me hiding in the corner. Any sniff of a potential matchmaking opportunity, Emma’s on it. She’s like a birddog tracking a pheasant, even though she’s the worst matchmaker I’ve ever encountered.
I hold up a restraining hand. “Let me paraphrase Taylor Swift. I will never, ever, ever, ever go out with that man.”
“Why? He’s really cute,” Emma whispers behind her hand, as if we’re discussing confidential information.
“He and I have nothing in common,” I shout whisper back.
As I sneak a peek at Otto in the kitchen talking to Levi, I feel a small twinge of guilt knowing that I’m the reason why he fled the main party. Admittedly, the guy is cute, in a tall, well-built way. His tastefully styled brunette hair and designer blue jeans, which hug his frame just right, indicate that he’s got class. But, you’d never know it with his lame conversation and date ideas. Who goes bowling on a first date?
“According to Bailey, the guy’s super smart. He’s got a perfect GPA.”
I snort. “What’s his major? Basketweaving?”
Emma throws me a disappointed look. “Just because he plays hockey doesn’t mean you should stereotype him.”
Another niggle of guilt hits. “My bad. What is his major?” I ask, with genuine interest in my voice.
“Business administration, and apparently he’s only a few credits short of getting his MBA.”
That is impressive. However, his lack of communication skills in our brief encounter doesn’t jive with his career path. Was he nervous around me? That thought pumps up my ego a notch.
Setting aside the awkward interaction with Otto and that I possibly misjudged him, I say, “I’m too busy with school and working at the bakery to entertain the idea of dating someone.”
“That’s just a convenient excuse, Mia,” Emma says, then strolls away.
She’s right. Rather than put myself out there, I hunker down in my room, studying endless hours, keeping up my perfect GPA. The last time I dated someone was in freshman year and he ghosted me after the first date, squashing any confidence I had about attracting the opposite sex. I hope when I’m old and gray that I’ll be satisfied with my ten cats and a law degree because I’m on the path to spinsterhood.
~*~
Before entering the dean’s office, I straighten my pencil skirt and make sure my blouse is neatly tucked. I must keep up my image of a sharp, successful law student. When the dean asked to meet with me about a special project, my spirits soared. Me! Mia Robinson! Selected from hundreds of law students to represent the university! Never mind that I have no idea what the project is.
Knock! Knock!
I rap my knuckles on the door frame. Dean Smith looks up through her half glasses from her position behind an oversized wood desk.
“Mia! Come in and take a seat!” she says with a welcoming smile.
I settle in one of the chairs in front of her desk, smooth my skirt and gracefully cross my legs at my ankles, just like I was taught to do in Mrs. Snowdon’s finishing classes that my mother insisted I take. Glancing down, I make sure that my skirt is demurely covering my knees.
“I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here,” the dean says as she focuses her eyes on me from across her desk.
I nod with just the right touch of enthusiasm and restraint. “Yes, I’m excited to learn more about this special project.”
Her expression becomes serious. “When was the last time you did a community outreach project?” she asks.
My brows draw together. “I’m not quite sure what you mean.”
Folding her hands on the desktop, she removes her glasses, then leans towards me. “Mia, you’re one of our top students. However, the law school not only values good grades, we also value community involvement. Our top students are expected to excel at both.”
Her statement hits like a bucket of cold water and my heart sinks. Blinking back my disappointment at her inferred criticism, I say, “I’m open to community involvement. What did you have in mind?”
She slides a paper across the desk. “The business school is joining with the law school to raise money for an inclusive park that welcomes people of all abilities. It’s an exciting project and will be the first park of this kind in the area. I’d like you to head up the fundraiser, along with the business school’s representative.”
Not knowing anything about parks, inclusive or otherwise, I pick up the paper and start to read. It describes how traditional parks often present barriers to people with disabilities, limiting their ability to enjoy the space. There’s an entire design business dedicated to accessible infrastructure and adaptive playground equipment. The concept sounds very altruistic. But I’m not enthusiastic about getting closer to nature, especially if that involves getting dirty. Hopefully all I need to be involved with is the fundraising aspect.
“When is the fundraiser? How much money do we need to raise?” I ask while still scanning the paper.
Dean Smith chuckles. “You’re always focused on the goal, aren’t you?”
Not sure whether to take that as a compliment or a criticism, I simply nod.
“The goal is to raise a million dollars and the fundraiser will be held in eight weeks. I’ve scheduled a kick-off meeting tomorrow afternoon at one o’clock with the dean of the business school and their representative. I hope you can clear your calendar so you can attend.”
A little peeved that she didn’t consult me first about my schedule, I plaster on a smile and reply, “Of course! I’ll be there. Can you email me the details?”
Swiveling in her chair, she types on her keyboard for a few seconds. “There you go!” Dean Smith stands and extends her hand. “Thank you, Mia, for heading up this project for us. You’ll find community outreach to be rewarding and having a project like this on your CV will help impress any future employer.”
We shake and I exit the office. My head is spinning with how I’m going to balance my studies, my job at the bakery, and this project.
~*~
After getting a good night’s sleep, I’m refreshed and looking forward to leading the inclusive park fundraiser for the law school. I’m confident that I can excel at this project because planning a fundraiser is in my wheelhouse.
Assisting with the design of splashy flyers – easy peasy!
Planning and organizing the fundraiser gala – I’m a pro!
Attending the gala and schmoozing with all the bigwig guests – piece of cake!
Wearing my most professional business suit in a muted navy blue, I arrive precisely eight minutes ahead of schedule at the law school conference room where the meeting is being held. A quick peek into the room confirms I’m the first attendee to arrive. This gives me a chance to sit where I want and put on the pretense of being busy. I enter the conference room, choose my seat, snap open my laptop and glue my eyes on my email Inbox, hoping to dissuade chit-chat with some talkative business student who also arrives early.
When I hear voices in the hall, I stand and plaster on a professional smile. Glancing down, I make sure that my suit jacket and skirt are perfectly aligned and that the sides of my blouse’s neckline are demurely together rather than gapping open. Not even fussy Mrs. Snowdon could find any issues with my outfit.
Dean Smith laughs at something as the group draws nearer, their shoes clicking on the polished marble floor. Two male voices mingle with the dean’s female voice as my ears pick up on snippets of their conversation.
“Drafted by the Anaheim Ducks. . .”
“Arcadia University’s first number one pick...”
“Nyberg jerseys are selling out fast...”
Wow! Levi’s accomplishment is truly newsworthy if this illustrious group are chatting about it. Getting drafted into the NHL is a big deal, but being the number one pick is an even bigger deal. A small pang of sadness hits. I’m going to miss Bailey, but I’m happy for her. She found her soulmate.
As the trio strides through the door, my jaw drops and my face heats. Otto stops in his tracks for a brief instant when his eyes meet mine. He quickly recovers, putting on a professional smile, although I detect a smirk in his eyes. He’s wearing a charcoal gray suit that looks like it was tailored just for him. My heart does an unwanted somersault inside my chest.
“Mia! Let me introduce you to Dean Hutchinson,” Dean Smith says as she approaches the conference table where my feet are glued in place. I manage to shake myself out of my Otto-induced fog and extend my hand to greet the dean.
“Mia is one of our top students. She’s very efficient, well organized, and will add a stabilizing component to the team,” Dean Smith says with a cackle as I grind my molars at the less than complimentary description.
Translation: I’m boring but will make sure the project gets done on time and under budget.
Otto’s lips twitch while he hovers in the background.
“This is Otto Stagmeier,” Dean Hutchinson says, motioning for Otto to step forward. “This guy is a creative genius! He’s a fountain of ideas, each one better than the next. If you ask him to raise a million dollars, he’ll outdo himself and raise a million and a half,” he says with a chuckle. The man beams while spouting out his glowing recommendation like a proud father would.
Translation: Otto’s brilliance and creativity will attract the A-listers and make sure we exceed our goal.
My smile slips. After listening to our respective descriptions, Otto sounds like the champion, fleet of foot thoroughbred and me the plodding, reliable workhorse.
Otto and I shake hands, his eyes twinkle with mirth while mine burn with embarrassment.
“Please sit and we’ll get started,” Dean Smith says, gesturing towards the oversized leather seats. It’s clear where my seat is, because of my open laptop. However, the rest of the group takes their seats in a cozy configuration at the other end of the conference table. I stalk over to my seat. As I flop rather unceremoniously into it, the leather emits an embarrassingly loud squeak . I hear a noise coming from the other end of the room and when I look up, Otto looks like he’s trying to disguise a bout of laughter with a coughing fit.
When everyone is situated around the table, the two deans start sharing their perspectives on the park fundraising project, while Otto and I listen. After a minute or so, I can’t stand the fact that no one’s capturing our discussion. “Mind if I take notes?” I ask. The deans nod in agreement. Otto unsuccessfully tries to hide his snort, prompting me to shoot him a glare across the table. With my fingers poised over my keyboard, I signal for Dean Smith to continue.
She lays out the fundraising goal, project timeline, and budget in detail. My fingers fly over the keyboard, documenting all the particulars. “I’m sure Mia will translate all this into a wonderfully laid-out project spreadsheet,” Dean Smith teases at the conclusion of her speech.
My chest puffs with pride. I don’t need to be the flashy racehorse.
“You two are in charge. It’s up to you to decide how often you want to meet and who takes on what tasks. Just make sure the fundraising gala happens in eight weeks,” Dean Hutchinson says. “Submit expenses to me via the business school’s re-imbursement website. Otto can show you how the tool works, Mia.”
I throw Otto a side-eye glare indicating that I won’t need his tutoring on the tool, but he ignores me.
“We’ll leave you two to sort things out. If you need our input, just let us know. I’m sure the both of you will do a terrific job!” Dean Smith says. She stands and saunters out of the room with Dean Hutchinson on her heels.
Silence fills the room after the pair of deans depart. My lips purse like I just sucked on a lemon. I rue my misfortune of being teamed up with the one guy I never, ever wanted to see again. There are over five hundred business students at this school, and I’m assigned to this project with Mr. Hockey Stick. I still have a bad taste in my mouth from his criticism of my outfit and his outrageous dating suggestions.
Granted, this isn’t dating, but it’s the next thing to it. I don’t want to spend ten minutes with Otto, let alone eight weeks of planning and working elbow to elbow with him. Sneaking a peek across the table, attraction hits me like a ton of bricks—Otto looks like a million bucks in that suit and it’s going to be difficult to not get swept into his orbit.
My heart rate accelerates and my palms start to sweat. Shoring up my defenses, I say in what I hope is a professional sounding tone, “Shall we layout the tasks and make assignments?”