Low-spirited but convinced she could successfully expand into the sports market, Sage searched for the right words. Her sharp mind and boundless creativity had been her springboard to success and would one day help make Sapphire Agency the best in the business. “What if I sweetened the deal? If, I mean, when, I sign Khari, I’ll split the commission with you.”
Wearing a contemplative expression, Leo stroked his pointy jaw. “I don’t know. I have a lot riding on this. If you blow it, it’ll ruin any chance I have of signing him.”
“I know what I’m doing, Leo. Trust me.” Sage batted her lashes for good measure and flipped her silky hair over her shoulders. Playing the beauty card was beneath her, but she was desperate. “All I need is seven days.”
Several agonizing moments went by. Then, Leo gave her the nod. “Okay, I’ll give you a chance to prove you’ve still got that Collins magic. Don’t mess this up,” he warned, eyeing her sternly. “There’s a ton of money at stake!”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.”
“You have one week and not a second more.”
Sage winked. “That’s all I need.”
Chapter 2
Adjusting her baggy gray cardigan, Sage stared down pitifully at the white blouse underneath. Worried Marshall might recognize her, she’d ditched her designer threads for glasses, polyester pants and penny loafers. Scratching the itch on her forearm, she expelled the bitterness clogging her lungs. Sage didn’t need the Fashion Police to spring from the bushes to know she looked awful. No makeup, no jewelry, hair hidden under a thermal cap. If her girlfriends could see her now, they’d fall over laughing. If it wasn’t mentioned in Vogue, Sage didn’t give it a second glance. But this wasn’t about winning a fashion contest or getting some guy’s attention. She had a job to do, and nothing, not even wearing used clothes and dollar-store perfume, was going to deter her from signing Khari Grant.
According to the scouting report, Marshall Grant was generous with his time and money. In addition to his at-risk youth center, he was the conditioning coach of the Westchester Academy basketball team, did regular talks at inner-city schools and delivered groceries to seniors. Reading about Marshall had sparked her imagination and given her a foolproof plan. All she had to do was deliver her spiel and let him do the rest.
As Sage climbed the steps, she felt her conscience prick her with the pin of truth. Assailed by doubts, she took a moment to rethink what she was about to do. Some might say posing as a volunteer was a cruel, unconscionable scheme. Booting the thought from her mind, she pressed the doorbell. Bringing attention to the plight of needy children could never be a bad thing, even if she did have ulterior motives. Her words breathed confidence. What she was doing was a good thing. A very good thing. Commendable even. Pleased that her plan would benefit the less fortunate, she made a mental note to talk to all of her friends and clients about sponsoring a child in Haiti.
While she waited for someone to answer the door, she took in her surroundings. The lawn was edged with shrubs and trimmed bushes. Mature oak trees shielded the windows from intrusive sunlight and, aside from a few scattered leaves, the lush, landscaped yard was litter-free. Sage could hear dogs barking, but the neighborhood was surprisingly quiet.
Sage patted back a yawn. It hadn’t been easy finding the place. All of the streets in Meridian Hills looked the same, and she’d wasted an hour driving around searching for Marshall’s address. A kindly dog walker had pointed her in the right direction and ten minutes later she pulled her rental car up to 73 Irvington Lane.
Battling a mixture of fear and anxiety, she jabbed the buzzer again. She pulled her finger away, but the bell stuck and continued to chime. “Oh, shoot.” Unzipping her tote bag, she groped around for her car keys. She was trying to pry the buzzer loose when the door swung open and Marshall Grant appeared.
“Can I help you?”
Groaning inwardly, she slipped her keys back into her pocket. Things were not off to a promising start. Marshall was supposed to be impressed with her, not growling at her. Standing ruler-straight, Sage fed him her friendliest smile. “I’m sorry about that, but the buzzer got stuck. You should get that fixed.”
Marshall looked peeved and Sage sensed that he was about to slam the door in her face. “I was hoping to speak to you for a few minutes, but I can come back if now’s not a good time.”
To her surprise, he said, “It’s all right. Go on.”
Sage could tell that he was trying not to be rude. Good, he did have a soft side. That would make her job that much easier. Moving her clipboard aside, she pointed to the World Mission logo on the pocket of her sweater. “My name is Sage Collins and I’m a volunteer for World Mission International. Might I speak to you for a minute about our life-changing sponsorship program?”
His lips relaxed into a grin. There was that dimple again. Today he didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as he had two days ago. Sage didn’t drool over brawny-looking men, but there was something about Marshall Grant that made her heart pitter-patter. He had a powerful chest, big man hands and a voice deeper than the Grand Canyon. Dazzled by the warmth of his smile, she stared up at him, utterly captivated.
“Sure, I have a few minutes to spare.” Leaning against the door frame, he folded his arms across his chest. “You were saying?”
“I…was…ah,” she sputtered like a fish out of water. This was a first. Men didn’t leave her flustered. She left them tongue-tied fools, not the other way around. But the more she tried to focus, the more delicious Marshall Grant looked. Soulful eyes, and a cleft chin that softened his facial features and detracted from his imposing height, he was as cool as he was fine.
Leo’s image flashed in her mind, yanking Sage out of her lustful haze and back to the present. Collecting her thoughts, she glanced down at her clipboard. “Thank you so much for your willingness to make a difference in a child’s life. Six thousand children lose a parent to AIDS every day. At World Mission, we believe that we can make a difference.” Sage held up a picture of Chibu, a seven-year-old Haitian boy with sad eyes. She didn’t know anything about the child, but from what she’d read online, he was an orphan, living in a center with hundreds of other kids. Moved by his story, she had filled out the sponsorship application and committed to paying forty dollars a month to maintain his care. Now Chibu would receive medical care and she would use this real-life story to reach Marshall.
“AIDS ravaged Chibu’s family and left him to fend for himself. He’s been living at the Center of Hope Orphanage, and though his basic needs are being met, he’s unable to attend school. His reading and writing skills are poor, but at World Mission International we believe that with you and the help of others like you, we can bring hope not only to the village of Jacmel, but to the entire country.”
“I can tell by listening to you that this organization is near and dear to your heart.” Admiration filled his eyes. “You’re very passionate about what you do. That’s commendable and I wish there were more people like you.”
“You do?” Reading Chibu’s story had stirred some powerful emotions in her too. She was supposed to learn more about Marshall and Khari, not prattle nonstop about the problems plaguing Haiti, but she couldn’t help herself. “As citizens of the world, it’s important that we all do our part, don’t you think?”
“I do. It’s not easy going door-to-door, especially during the winter.” His voice was awash with nostalgia. “The first job I had was signing people up for the Indianapolis Post. It’s a very difficult job, isn’t it?”
“You’re right. It is.” Or at least she imagined it was. After Sage left Marshall’s house, she wouldn’t be knocking on any more doors. It was back to the Four Seasons to work on the second half of her plan.
“I remember this one elderly woman who lived in Stanford Park. She took one look at me and slammed the door in my face!” Chuckling, he shook his head at the memory. “I had ID, but some homeowners