Getting off the elevator and making her way down a subtly lit hallway lined with dark green carpeting that muffled her steps, Alana gave herself a pep talk. She reminded herself that the kids were a great group but no one knew their needs. It was up to her to raise the funding for the projects the kids desperately needed.
“Alana Mason to see Salvatore Attracelli,” she said calmly to the first receptionist she came to.
The receptionist behind a large, curving desk ran a tapered fingernail slowly down a sheet filled with names, then finally nodded. “Mr. Attracelli is expecting you, Ms. Mason. His office is the last one on the right. It is just past the conference room,” she explained, pointing in the general direction of another long hallway.
“Thank you,” Alana said and smiled her thanks. Alana continued down the hallway, taking deep breaths in an effort to calm down. She really hated these kinds of appointments. She felt like a beggar.
But it was the only way to keep the funds flowing.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Mason,” a courteous female voice greeted Alana from the doorway. “Mr. Attracelli is running slightly behind. Would you mind waiting just a moment?” she asked. Alana located the body that was attached to the voice and smiled at the woman who appeared to be in her mid forties, with horn rimmed glasses, a perfectly tailored, black wool suit and one inch heels. She seemed to be a very efficient, no-nonsense kind of woman. Alana made a mental note of the kind of woman Salvatorre Attracelli preferred for a secretary. She used that kind of information to set the tone for her presentation.
“No problem,” Alana replied and took a seat in one of the chairs outside a large office and conference room. The walls of the conference room were glass so she had an unfettered view of the occupants. She was trying not to eaves drop, but the man inside instantly captured her attention with his deep voice and she was unable to tear her gaze away.
It was the golfer, she thought. She had a clear view of his back and she recognized the broad shoulders and was again mesmerized by the muscles rippling along their breadth. She could also see that his hair was a little too long, it curled along the edge of his collar. His tie was loose and his sleeves were rolled up. She watched with fascination at his hands as he motioned to another occupant to talk. He had long, slender fingers and well muscled forearms.
She didn’t hear what the other man was saying, too preoccupied with the golfer’s physique. This was definitely odd, she thought to herself. She had never been attracted to a man because of his superficial qualities. It generally took a lot for her to even become interested in a man. And to have this strong of a reaction was just silly since she had only heard his voice and seen his back.
Was she completely losing her sense of decorum? She was sensible and reasonable. She did not lose her concentration and purpose simply because of muscles and a sexy, deep voice.
She turned her knees so her body faced another direction, but her mind refused to relinquish it’s fascination with the man.
“Okay, what’s the end item responsibility, Pete?” the man said.
Alana felt his deep, resonant voice slide along her skin, wrapping around her and warming her soul like a velvet blanket. She leaned forward, wanting to hear more, but “Pete” apparently had the floor and had started speaking while her mystery man was simply listening and nodding his head.
“Where would that put us in the industry?” he asked and another occupant answered.
“What are the alternatives?” he asked.
Of their own accord, Alana’s knees slowly turned back so she was facing the conference room and her eyes were again able to feast on the man’s physique, or what she could see of it, anyway. Alana stared at his back and enjoyed the sound of his voice, liking his confidence and the respect he paid to the others as they spoke. He was obviously in charge of the meeting and extremely knowledgeable on the subject, whatever it was.
“Ms. Mason?”
Alana snapped around at the sound her name being called and noticed the secretary standing in front of a doorway, waiting impatiently for Alana to respond. Alana guessed that the woman had called to her more than once if her raised eyebrows were any indication.
Alana fought the blush creeping up her neck as she picked up her small purse and followed behind the woman into a large, airy office with a tall, handsome man coming around a desk to greet her.
“Ms. Mason?” he was asking.
“Yes. Please call me Alana,” she said, taking the man’s offered hand.
“I’m Sal,” he said.
Alana smiled. “It is nice to finally meet you, Mr. Attracelli. Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me. I know you have a very busy schedule so I’ll get right to the point,” she said and took out a glossy brochure that detailed the events and programs of the girls and boys’ orphanages for the next six months.
Sal waived to a sofa and two chairs and the two of them sat down to discuss Alana’s cause.
She talked for almost twenty minutes about the children and how important their future was, for the city and for the industries around the city. But Alana couldn’t tell if she was getting through to this man. He nodded in all the appropriate points but no other expression crossed his face.
At the end of her pitch, she waited anxiously as Sal flipped through the pages of the brochure. She had put high hopes into getting ATI to support the kids but she had a feeling she had failed miserably. She didn’t even know if ATI supported these kinds of efforts. There was no record of their charitable contributions but it was a large conglomerate. Surely they had some sort of community payback that set aside funds for charitable efforts.
“Well, this sounds like a nice proposition. I’ll give it some thought and will get back to you,” he said.
Alana understood her cue to leave and she quickly stood up. “I appreciate your time,” she said and shook Sal’s hand again.
Sal shook her hand and started walking her to the elevators down the hallway. “I’ve seen you at the various functions around town. You throw some very interesting parties,” he said.
Alana laughed self-consciously. “Actually, it is my father who is the social whirlwind. I only act as his hostess.”
“You’re more than that,” he said, chuckling. “You sold me to my wife about two years ago,” he said, walking with her to the door.
Alana’s eyes widened. “You’re married to Laci?” she asked, remembering the Children’s Charity ball several years ago. It had been one of the largest fundraisers.