Felicity wondered if the air had lost some of its oxygenation. Oh. So that’s where that word came from. Breathtaking. Made sense.
“All right, let me get a coffee into me, and I’ll answer any questions you like till the boss gets here.” She grinned again and headed for the kitchenette.
“Right. Yes.”
The woman pressed a button on a wall-mounted urn marked Boiling Water and filled a large mug. Mesmerizing.
Felicity swore at herself. She was being ridiculous. God, she’d dated Phillip for four months and had never been this distracted once.
“Cooper? Sorry I’m late!” came an older female voice from the bottom of the stairs accompanied by a rhythmic clacking noise.
“That’s Mrs. Brooks and the world’s most adorable girl,” Cooper said quietly so only Felicity could hear.
“One of the kids got a stomachache, and I had to make sure she—” The voice stopped as its owner reached the top of the stairs and met Felicity’s curious eyes. She was a Black woman with a round, pleasant face, midlength wavy black hair, and a strong Bronx accent. “Oh, hello.” Mrs. Brooks’s eyes flitted over to Cooper, who was carrying her coffee back to the table. “I didn’t realize you had company.”
Suddenly a knee-high caramel-colored dog burst in and rushed over to Cooper. It was an enthusiastic floppy-eared little thing, the exact kind of no-boundaries whirlwind that made Felicity take a step backward in alarm.
“Hey, girl.” Cooper dropped to a crouch, giving the dog a pleased one-armed hug while holding her coffee out of harm’s way. She laughed, pulling her face away as the animal tried to cover her in sloppy licks. “This is my overeager English cocker spaniel, Brittany.”
Yikes. Far too much slobber. Felicity inched away in case Droolius Caesar over there got ideas of sharing the love. Instead, after a few quick sniffs in Felicity’s direction, the animal seemed perfectly content to hug Cooper’s side. Thank all things holy in heaven.
“And this is Felicity Simmons,” Cooper said to both Mrs. Brooks and the excitable canine as she rose from her crouch. She made her way to a chair with the delighted dog doing loops in and out of her stride. “Felicity’s giving us the once-over for Bartell Corporation. To see if they want to donate.”
Mrs. Brooks’s eyebrows lifted at the mention of Bartell Corp.
She should be impressed. It was a Fortune 500 company. Which I’m going to be in charge of in a month. Well, assuming she didn’t screw up Elena’s secret mission here.
“And this is Cassandra Brooks, who keeps our entire charity on an even keel,” Cooper said, sliding her coffee onto the table and turning to Felicity. “She also sort of dog shares Brittany with me.”
Dog share? Why? They weren’t a couple, were they? Mrs. Brooks looked at least sixty. And Cooper was, what? Late thirties? Early forties?
Her confusion must have shown because Cooper added, “Britt’s mine during the day and Mrs. B kindly keeps her on nights and weekends because her apartment allows dogs, unlike mine.” She scowled. “A situation I’m trying to fix, but it’d be easier if affordable, dog-friendly buildings weren’t so hard to find in New York.”
Felicity nodded neutrally, having precisely zero interest in the sleeping arrangements of Brittany, the slobbery dog.
“So,” Mrs. Brooks said as she put her handbag on her desk, “potential donor, you say?”
Felicity nodded.
“Excellent. You’ll be wanting this, then.” She rummaged through her drawers and pulled out a folder, putting it on the table in front of Felicity. “This is the charity overview we supply to all potential donors. If you have any questions, Mr. Clifford will be in soon enough.”
Cooper sipped her coffee and watched them without a word.
Felicity made no move to take it. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m not looking for the information handed out to other donors. I’m looking for the full picture. The other financial information, if you follow. The information not often shared.”
The room seemed to get chillier.
“Excuse me?” Mrs. Brooks asked. Her mouth fell open. “What are you implying?”
Oh hell. Maybe Felicity really was bad at subtle. Before she could answer, Cooper chimed in.
“This is a legitimate charity! We do excellent work here!” Her eyes widened, and she placed her cup carefully on the table. “Mr. Clifford is scrupulous and ethical. He’d never do anything that wasn’t aboveboard. Same goes for everyone here.”
“Then that’s both excellent and easy to prove,” Felicity said quietly, spreading her hands to try and ease the tension. “Yes? Look, it’s simple. My boss is one of the richest women in the media world, and when she makes an investment in a cause, she wants it to be to a charity above reproach. And I’m here to make sure that’s the case. Surely you understand.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Brooks’s hackles seemed to go down.
“Well, fine, but is there some reason you think we wouldn’t be above reproach?” Cooper asked. “Or do you turn up and insult the integrity of every charity she’s interested in? Is this part of your job description?”
Felicity’s lips thinned. Her hands bunched into fists where they sat on the table. Don’t barge in like Rambo, Elena had said. And here she was…Ramboing up a storm.
“I’m sure this is just standard procedure,” Mrs. Brooks said suddenly, eyes darting to her hands, then to Cooper. Her voice was soothing.
It set Felicity’s teeth on edge, as if she needed managing. She was making such a mess of this.
“I just want answers and that’s it. I’m not accusing anyone of anything,” Felicity said tightly. “But if you don’t want questions about how you run things, maybe don’t feature in stories about how you’re about to shut down.”
“Oh, that.” Cooper said, and all the tension eased from her shoulders. “It’s not true.”
“Then why put it out there?” Felicity asked.
“Harvey does it every year. A story to get in new donors. It means nothing.”
“So you don’t need money?” Felicity’s eyebrow shot up.
“I didn’t say that.” Cooper gave her a hard look. “Do you always twist people’s words like that? Is that the lawyer in you? Or does working for a media empire rub off? A journalist thing?”
How imposing she looked, directing all that angry energy at Felicity, who glared back, refusing to be intimidated. “Look, this isn’t hard. My boss read about you last year and loved Living Ruff’s story so much she wanted to donate. Now with this latest article all about how you’re three seconds from calling in the liquidators, she’s worried that it’s not a sound investment. So which is it?”
