Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Well, thanks, I guess. This is the first time I’ve sat down since five this morning. My feet have a pulse,” she admitted, flexing her feet up and down.
“What were you doing at five?”
“Meeting a truck. It came in earlier than we expected. Especially with the snow. Someone needed to be there to unload it.”
“Where’d the truck come from?” I asked, figuring this was the kind of shit Lorenzo wanted to know.
“A wholesale toy place. I have been really trying to find the best deals possible. There are so many kids who need gifts.”
Maybe we didn’t need to grease her palms.
Maybe I could just get her to trust me enough to let me be the one to unload the trucks.
It was an idea to float, at least.
“We don’t have a bell or bucket?” I asked as we stood outside a grocery store.
“We have two bells and buckets. Other volunteers are out with those. Upper East and Midtown. So we just have to hustle a little hard—Hi! Would you like to donate to make sure all shelter children get a present this year?” she asked as someone walked out the front door.
“Oh, uh, sure,” the man said, reaching into his wallet to produce a fifty.
And, yeah, for a normal person, that was generous. But unfortunately for this guy, being with the Costas meant I knew my watches.
“Fifty?” I asked as Steph put the cash in her purse. I ignored her wide eyes. “That watch is worth, what, eighteen grand, and fifty is all you can do for homeless kids?”
“Venezio,” Steph whisper-yelled at me.
But the guy was already going back into his wallet, handing over another bunch of fifties and a hundred.
“Better. Happy Holidays and all that shit,” I said, taking the cash.
“Venezio, that was too much.”
“Yeah?” I asked, fanning the cash before passing it to her. “But now that’s sixteen kids getting presents instead of two.”
She looked torn at that.
“Can’t argue with results,” I added.
“Okay. But maybe just… a little gentler.”
“Not really good at kissing ass.”
“Alright. I’ll let you take the lead.”
And stand behind her and silently intimidate people until they emptied their wallets or wrote a check.
CHAPTER FOUR
Stephanie
I’d been working with the same set of volunteers since I took up the mantle of the director. I was honestly impressed they kept showing up at the cold building to spend the whole day freezing their asses off while begging for money from strangers or wrapping gifts with glove-clad hands.
And while people did stop in to drop off gifts or money, we hadn’t had any new walk-ins offering to help with the day-to-day operations. Part of that, I was sure, was because most people had to work.
So seeing someone show up and offer up their time? It was rare, generous, and desperately needed.
Even if nothing about the man who stood in the warehouse said he was the usual do-gooder.
He was on the young side compared to our other volunteers. Maybe late twenties. He was tall and had a frame I felt inclined to call ‘scrappy.’ He carried himself the way a lot of the street guys I used to know did, all swaggering confidence and forward-hunched shoulders, like he was always looking for a fight. He had sharp bone structure, dark hair, and the most unique eyes I’d ever seen—one was fully brown, the other half brown and half green.
Then there were all the tattoos.
Gorgeous.
He was gorgeous.
He was dressed in jeans, a leather jacket, and Timbs that were darkened a bit from the snow outside.
He looked like someone who was about to shake down a convenience store, not wrap presents for unhoused kids.
But, hey, I would take every set of hands I could get.
Especially ones who were willing to do the hard work. Like beg people for money on the streets.
Though, just a few moments into the actual training, it became pretty clear that this Venezio guy was not meant for the act of humbling himself to ask for donations.
The man glowered, scowled, criticized their cheapness, and heckled those who passed by in designer clothes and didn’t even drop in a dime.
As someone who thought and felt the same frustration, it was amazing.
As someone who was running a respectable organization, it became clear pretty quickly that Venezio was not going to be our bell-ringer.
Though, I had to say, his methods made for the best single-day donations we’d gotten in a long time.
And his company was kind of nice.
He wasn’t much of a talker.
He also kind of scoffed at all the things I liked most about this time of year—the Christmas music spilling out from open doors, the gaudy lights, the crowds of wide-eyed tourists just looking for the spirit of the season.
Still, it was nice not to be alone.
Life had been isolating a lot the past couple of years. Changing careers meant I didn’t have coworkers to chat with all day or go out with at night. My mom was gone, and with her my whole family. Sure, I had Andy and Sammy (and Meatball), but they were busy women with their careers and families. And at the charity, I was busy on the phones begging for money, so I didn’t really get to interact with the other volunteers.