Close to lunchtime, a notification pings my email. I perk up in my chair. One of the potential donors already emailed me back.
Mr. Winthrop and his wife are known for their generosity in the arts. The email states that they’re getting on a flight to Fiji in thirty minutes and to call as soon as possible.
I scramble for the desk phone that someone, probably Rick, so kindly installed earlier.
“What are you doing?” Brandon’s focus finally breaks.
“Saving the museum before Mr. Winthrop boards a plane to Fiji.”
Mr. Winthrop answers on the third ring.
My voice drips with honey. “Hello, Mr. Winthrop. This is Kate Chen with the Chicago Legacy Art Museum.”
“Okay?” Mr. Winthrop has the haughty tone of someone much wealthier than me. For some reason, my mind paints my dad onto the other end of the line, and I clench the phone receiver.
“How are you?” I ask.
“Fine. Let’s get this over with. Your email was abysmally vague. Why exactly did you insist on calling me?” he demands.
“I—”
Brandon leans over and pushes the speaker phone button on the desk phone.
I recover and duck my head toward the speaker. “I was calling to say that we enjoyed your and your wife’s company at our Felix Andreas gala last year.”
“Okay?” he repeats.
I swallow, smoothing my pencil skirt. “You and Mrs. Winthrop filled out a form saying you may be interested in donating to future exhibitions. We have an incredible one coming up?—”
“A form?” he butts in. “I don’t recall filling out any forms.” His voice muffles. “Charlotte, did you fill out a form at the Felix Andreas gala?”
I can’t make out her response. Brandon’s got that crease between his brows again.
“It appears she did pledge a donation,” Mr. Winthrop mutters. “How much of my money are youladiestrying to take?”
My mouth flaps for a millisecond at his obvious disdain, but it’s Brandon’s voice that answers.
“Hello, Mr. Winthrop. This is Brandon Roberts, Kate’s associate.” The rich, velvet tone he uses makes the honey in mine seem like synthetic maple syrup. “We don’t need to discuss numbers, especiallybefore you board a plane. I hear you’re going to Fiji?” Brandon types something into his phone as he speaks.
“We are.”
“I hear it’s lovely this time of year,” Brandon says silkily. “When you return, Kate and I would love to take you and Charlotte out to dinner. We can discuss the donation then.”
“We won’t be back for three weeks.”
“No worries, Mr. Winthrop. We’ll reach out once you’re back to schedule it. Say, will you two visit the Garden of the Sleeping Giant while you’re there?”
I blink at Brandon like he’s lost his mind.
Mr. Winthrop’s response holds something akin to excitement. “We will.”
“Incredible.” Brandon lets out an easy laugh. “Please, take photos so Kate and I can live vicariously through you both.”
To my utter amazement, Mr. Winthropchuckles. “We will. We can show them to you when we meet for dinner to discuss our donation.”
“Sounds great, Mr. Winthrop. You and Charlotte enjoy your trip.”
Mr. Winthrop thankshimand ends the call.
