Grace fidgeted with the silver bracelet around her wrist, glancing up at the towering building in front of her. The Cross Corporation headquarters loomed over Midtown Manhattan, its sleek, glass exterior reflecting the blue of the sky and the buzz of the city below. She'd barely slept since the gala. Damien Cross had sent an invitation for her to meet him at his office to discuss a potential donation, and although she was excited, a knot of anxiety twisted in her stomach.
She straightened her shoulders, took a breath, and stepped through the polished glass doors. Inside, the lobby was an ocean of marble and modern art, with a reception desk that seemed to stretch for miles. She approached, introducing herself to the impeccably dressed receptionist.
"Mr. Cross will see you now," the woman replied smoothly, guiding her to a private elevator reserved for top-floor meetings.
As the elevator doors closed, Grace took another steadying breath. She reminded herself of why she was here: to secure funding for her nonprofit, to make sure the kids and families who relied on her programs wouldn't have to face more uncertainty. This wasn't about her or her nerves. It was about the people counting on her to make this happen.
When the doors slid open, she found herself in a minimalist office with sweeping views of the city. Damien stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, his silhouette outlined against the brightness outside. He turned as she entered, and a small, polite smile crossed his face.
"Grace," he said, his voice smooth and low. "Thank you for coming."
"Thank you for the invitation," she replied, hoping her voice didn't betray her nerves.
"Please, have a seat."
She took a seat in the plush leather chair across from his, clutching her portfolio like a lifeline. Damien sat down across from her, his eyes studying her with the same intensity she remembered from the gala. He seemed perfectly at ease, his posture relaxed but commanding. He didn't have to say anything; his mere presence seemed to fill the room.
"So," he began, lacing his fingers together, "tell me more about your nonprofit. What do you hope to accomplish?"
Grace relaxed slightly at the question. Talking about her work always put her at ease. "Our primary goal is to provide resources and support for underserved communities, especially for children and young adults. We offer after-school programs, tutoring, career workshops, and mental health resources. A lot of these kids don't have access to these things otherwise, and we're trying to bridge that gap."
He nodded, thoughtful. "And what would you need from me?"
The question took her aback. She hadn't expected him to be so direct. "Well, we're running on a shoestring budget as it is," she began carefully. "A significant donation could help us expand our programs and reach more people. It would allow us to hire more qualified staff, improve our facilities, and maybe even open a second location."
Damien leaned back, his expression unreadable. "And if I were to fund this expansion, what would that look like in terms of an impact?"
Grace blinked, caught off guard by his straightforwardness. Most potential donors were interested in the general mission, but Damien seemed focused on numbers and specifics.
"An investment of that size could potentially double the number of people we serve within the first year," she replied, finding her confidence again. "We've been working with limited resources for so long that even a fraction of your support could change everything."
He listened intently, nodding as she spoke, his gaze sharp and assessing. When she finished, he remained silent for a moment, seeming to weigh her words.
"I can offer you the funds," he said finally. "But I want to be clear about my expectations. If I invest in your organization, I want regular updates, quarterly reports, detailed accounts of how every dollar is spent. And if you expand, I'd like a representative on your board of directors."
Grace felt her excitement waver. His terms were fair, logical even, but the idea of having someone as powerful as Damien involved in the daily operations of her nonprofit made her uneasy.
She swallowed, trying to choose her words carefully. "I appreciate your willingness to support us, but our board has always been composed of community members, people who understand the needs of the people we're serving. I'd be worried that having someone so… far removed from that reality could disrupt our focus."
Damien's lips twitched in what almost looked like a smile. "You think I'm out of touch?"
She felt her cheeks heat. "That's not what I meant," she said quickly. "I just mean… you live in a different world."
His expression remained neutral, but his gaze was piercing. "I grew up in a neighborhood not so different from the ones your nonprofit serves. Believe it or not, I know what it's like to need support and not have it."
Grace's eyes widened, surprised. She hadn't expected that. Damien Cross, billionaire tech mogul, had come from humble beginnings? She felt a surge of curiosity, wondering what else lay behind the enigmatic exterior he presented.
"I didn't know," she said softly. "I'm sorry if I misjudged."
He shrugged, his tone casual. "Most people assume they know everything about me because they know the number in my bank account."
She bit her lip, feeling a twinge of guilt. "If you're willing to make this kind of commitment, I'd be open to including a representative on our board. But I'd like them to be someone who understands our work on a practical level, someone with a real passion for it."
Damien tilted his head, considering. "Agreed," he said, surprising her. "I can find someone who meets those criteria."
Relief washed over her, and she allowed herself a small smile. "Thank you. I think this partnership could really make a difference."
He returned her smile, but there was a glint in his eyes that made her pulse quicken. "I don't doubt it."
They fell into a comfortable rhythm, discussing the specifics of the donation and the projected impact. Damien was thorough, asking questions that most donors wouldn't even think to ask, and Grace found herself impressed by his attention to detail. For someone as wealthy and powerful as he was, he seemed genuinely invested.
As they wrapped up, he stood and extended his hand. "I'll have my assistant send over the preliminary paperwork. I look forward to seeing what you accomplish."
She took his hand, feeling that strange warmth from the gala once again. His grip was firm, steady, and she couldn't help but notice the intensity in his gaze as he looked at her.
"Thank you, Damien," she said, her voice soft. "This means more than you know."
He nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a beat longer than necessary. "I think I have some idea."
With that, she turned and left, the echo of their conversation replaying in her mind. As she walked through the bustling lobby and out into the city, she felt a strange mix of excitement and caution.
Something told her that this was only the beginning, that working with Damien Cross was going to change her life in ways she couldn't yet imagine.