Chapter 4
JORDAN
Baylee and I run the Redhaven Foundation out of my house.
Since we want everything to go to our friends and neighbors back home, we don’t rent extra space we don’t need for looks.
I have a home office just off the entry to the house that Baylee has decorated, making it into a nice, welcoming space when we need to meet with donors here, which isn’t often.
Since Baylee has lived here with me since losing her own house to Bryce’s scam, it makes it easy on both of us.
It’s also one of the reasons she refuses to take more than her tiny paycheck for running Redhaven, since she lives here rent free.
That’s where I find Baylee, sitting behind one of the small desks that face each other in the middle of the room, when I get home from my lunch with Libby Bennet.
I scoot around the sitting area at the front of the office with a small couch and two chairs and head right to her desk, waving the check around in front of her face.
“What’s this?” Baylee asks, taking it from me and scowling at it.
“Ten million dollars from Libby Bennet.” I grin. It hasn’t left my face since Libby gave me the check. I can’t believe my luck that Mrs. Carter introduced me to Libby at that fundraiser.
A blessing, Mama would say. It wasn’t luck; it’s a blessing. She and Dad have been insisting that other people in Redhaven get help before them, but the first thing we’re doing with this check is getting my parents’ house back. She can’t argue. This check is going to get everyone’s house back.
Baylee keeps scowling at the check. She blinks a few times. “Is this a joke, Jord?” she asks, looking up at me.
I shake my head. My grin is probably about ready to break through my cheeks at this point, it’s so wide.
“It’s real. So very real. She asked me at the benefit how much we needed, and I told her, thinking maybe she could get her family to take care of a big chunk, but she…
” I point at the check again, laughing at how crazy this all is. “She just wrote a check.”
Baylee turns her scowl on me. It’s a confused scowl, not a mad one. “She just wrote a check?”
I laugh again and round the desks to drop into my chair. “She asked me for a favor in return, but it’s so worth it. More than worth it—something I’m going to genuinely enjoy doing.”
“Jordan…” Baylee draws my name out. Worry dashes through her expression.
I hold up a hand. Baylee has done enough worrying the last year. “It’s nothing bad, Baylee. Accepting a job.”
Her expression relaxes. She leans forward, more curious now. “What kind of job?”
Libby had me sign a preliminary contract at lunch today—I can still back out if I need to.
She wanted to give me plenty of time to think about it.
But the contract states that I can’t talk about what she offered and the details she gave me.
It’s becoming clear that Libby Bennet is a very careful woman.
Baylee can keep a secret. Still, I preface with a warning. “You can’t tell anyone about this yet. Not even Mama and Dad. Legally, I shouldn’t be saying anything, even to you.”
She nods. “Okay.”
“She wants me to be her personal consultant. She’s buying a minor-league hockey team in Denver, and she wants me to advise her on how to run it—players she needs to acquire, coaching staff, all of it.”
Baylee grins. “That does sound right up your alley.” She looks at the check and shakes her head again. “This seems way too good to be true.”
I laugh. I can’t get over it either. “It’s real.
She promised me.” She called her bank, right there in front of me at lunch, and had them confirm that the check was real and I could cash it at any time.
They even offered to wire the funds over instead, which I accepted.
This check is for show now. I tap some things on my phone and bring up the banking app we use for the foundation.
I turn around and show the numbers to Baylee.
“It’s already deposited. Right there, Bay. Ten million dollars.”
Baylee gives a squeal of delight and jumps out of her chair, grabbing the phone from me. She dances around. “We did it!” she cries.
I stand with her, hugging her and swinging her around. “We did it,” I agree. I set her down and pull out my phone. “Let’s call Mama. We’re getting their house back.”
I call Libby that night to officially accept her offer. “You can have as long as you need to think about it,” she says, reiterating what she told me at lunch. “It’s a serious commitment. I don’t expect you to make it lightly.”
I chuckle. “The minute you put that check on the table, the decision was made. I already told my mama she was getting her house back.” I chuckle, but my chest warms at the way Mama cried out when we told her.
It’s over an hour’s drive from Houston to Redhaven, but we drove out this afternoon to give them the news in person.
I remember the way Mama clutched at her chest and then threw herself in Dad’s arms. She grew up in that house, and her mama before that.
It broke her heart when the bank took it.
Libby lets out a soft, “Oh,” and then adds louder, “I wouldn’t have taken the money back. Even if you’d said no. I know guys like Bryce Hayes.”
I looked her up too. She runs a firm that helps victims of domestic and sexual abuse.
I bet she knows plenty of guys like Bryce.
“It’s still a no-brainer. I haven’t started looking for jobs yet, but what you offered is better than anything I would have gotten starting out.
The chance to impact a whole team organization. ”
“Minor league,” she says, downplaying it.
“Are you regretting hiring me?” I tease. “Trying to get me to back out.”
“No!” she cries. “Of course not.” I laugh to show her I’m joking, and she chuckles too. “I lived with cameras for a big chunk of my life. I know how disruptive it can be. And I’m asking you to move across the country. To Colorado.”
“It sounds like you’re the one who’s about to back out.
” I find myself wishing I could have this conversation with Libby in person, watch her smile and laugh.
She’s beautiful and obviously kind, the way she’s making sure I don’t get in over my head because she gave my foundation ten million dollars.
I’m going to enjoy working with her. I can already tell.
She lets out a breathy laugh. “It feels like you’re saying yes so easily.”
I sober. “I’m saying yes for my family. For my neighbors. For coaches and teachers who shaped my life. That is an easy choice for me.”
“Oh, Jordan Atkinson,” she says softly. She murmurs something that I don’t catch and then huffs. “You’re too good to be true. I’m going to have to keep my eye on you.”
And she sounds completely serious.
I hang up a few minutes later, grinning at the phone. Guess I’d better look into moving to Denver.