Season of Joy. Virginia Carmichael

More than all of that, she had a gift for business. Calista took another deep breath and shook her head.

      But this mission gig had her stomach in knots. Definitely out of the comfort zone, right where God wanted her.

      The short walk to the front doors of the lobby seemed to take forever but finally Calista stepped into the warmth. She headed for Lana’s desk, unbuttoning her bright red wool peacoat on the way.

      The secretary glanced up and raised a hand. “Glad to see you. You’re early. I just love early people.”

      Calista felt her heart lift. Lana sounded like she really was glad to see her. “I was raised in a family of chronically late people so I rebel by arriving just a bit early,” Calista said, trying not to look toward Grant’s office. She wondered if he was at the mission, or if he was in a meeting somewhere, and then was irritated at herself for wondering.

      “Just a bit early is perfect. Then there are those people who come twenty minutes early for everything.” Lana rubbed the spiky ends of her hair, and Calista recognized the gesture from her last visit.

      “What do you need me to do today?”

      “Thanksgiving is a really busy time for us. Not just for meals. There’s lots of paperwork. It would be a relief to have someone do a little filing. We have a skeleton crew for the office right now, since two of our part-timers left for other positions.”

      “You’re at the front desk a lot of the time?”

      “Right, so when I’m out here, I can’t be in there,” she said, waving a hand toward the locked door on the right.

      Calista’s mouth went dry and she cleared her throat. “So, I’ll be working with you at the desk, or back in the offices?” She added hastily, “I can answer phones, too. If you show me your system.” She actually hadn’t worked a switchboard since college but the thought of working in close quarters with Grant sent a thrill of alarm through her.

      “Because of privacy issues, you should probably work in the office area. We can have you organize files into specific cabinets, without having to look at the papers, since they’re all color-coded.”

      Calista nodded, resigned to the fact she was going to bump into the man. She would just have to get a grip. “I’m ready,” she chirped, hoping she was convincing enough.

      Lana must have thought so, because she pushed a button on her phone and said, “Grant, Calista’s here.”

      “Be right out.” The answering voice was familiar, in a tinny way.

      Lana let go of the button. “Thanks again for the help. You’re saving me a headache.”

      She smiled automatically but her mind was whirling. “Jose’s not here? I would think Grant’s way too busy to show me the filing system.”

      “He’s here, but the director asked to be the one to show you around the offices.” Lana’s words were followed by the appearance of the man himself.

      Calista heard the door, and turned her head in time to see him open the door with speed. He looked a little harried, his red tie crooked and crisp white shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms.

      He was happy to see her. At least, his expression changed from something like worry to pleasure. His lips quirked up and his eyes radiated warmth. She couldn’t stop herself from responding. It had been so long since anyone had looked happy to see her. She let her eyes drift over him for the briefest moment and then clamped down hard on any desire to give a closer examination.

      “Glad you’re back. Come on in,” he said, motioning her through the door.

      It was just a common phrase, but her smile only got bigger. It was like she’d swallowed a happy pill.

      “I’ll show you the offices first, then the general meeting rooms and the break room.” He strode down a carpeted hallway and stopped at the first door, knocking lightly.

      The affirmative answer from the inside sounded muffled, and she saw why when Grant pushed open the door. Jose was crouched near the desk, piles of power cords in his hands.

      “This power strip is dead. I’ll have to get another from the supply closet. Maybe they only last a few—” His sentence trailed off as he finally caught a glimpse of his audience. “Hey, Calista. Glad to see you back.”

      “Hi there,” she responded, grinning. Three people had welcomed her in less than ten minutes. She felt all warm and fuzzy inside. It had been a very long time since anybody had said “hey” to her. People didn’t say “hey” to the CEO.

      “Jose’s office. He oversees the group that works with the food boxes distributed to needy families. He also organizes social activities for the residents.”

      “Yup. And I say we spring for a real Santa this year. The kids are starting to suspect the truth when Santa has a Tex-Mex accent.” He grabbed his stomach and tried a few “ho ho ho” sounds.

      Grant laughed and waved a hand. “You know you love it. All right, on to the next stop.”

      The next door was an empty office that had a high window with a pulled shade. “One of our three empty offices. Soon to be filled, God willing. The person here handles class scheduling and addiction support. The main counselors and teachers are doing well right now, but it helps to have a manager type to handle any conflicts.”

      Another short walk to the next door and Grant pushed it open without knocking. “My office. Lana started calling it my ‘man cave’ after Jose brought in a small fridge.”

      “Got it stocked with beer for those slow afternoons?” She chuckled to herself the split second before she realized her mistake. “Oh, Grant. Sorry. That was stupid.” His mother was an alcoholic, Grant didn’t drink, and she’d just made a beer joke. She wanted to fall through the floor.

      To her relief he seemed to shrug off the insensitive comment. “No big deal. And no beer.”

      Calista gazed around the space and wondered why Grant didn’t have a nicer office. As the director, he needed to give the impression that he was the head of a thriving organization. People donated to the cause they thought would succeed—it was human nature. Maybe it was because the donors always met in the conference rooms. Or maybe with nonprofits, it might not work as well to flash too much wealth. In her world, understated luxury was the only way to go.

      His office was more than understated; it was shabby. An older-than-Methuselah desk, a battered chair, a few framed photos, his diplomas and the small fridge.

      “How long have you been here?”

      “Five years as director, about eight altogether.”

      “And you don’t even have a plant?” She turned to him with a curious look.

      To her surprise, he flushed. “I should make it a little homier, considering all the time I spend in here.”

      Calista nodded. “I don’t know much about charities, but if you’re bringing donors through this hallway to get to the boardroom, you had better keep this door closed.”

      He let out a sound that was more of a startled cough. “I don’t think it’s all that bad, personally.”

      “It’s not bad. But it doesn’t look good. And donors will judge the entire mission on you and your space.” She surveyed the room once more. “Maybe a nice framed photo of the staff, right here, that you could see when you passed down the hallway.”

      Grant frowned. Putting money into furnishings when there were people who didn’t even have shoes was unthinkable. And a photo? He hated anything done for show. It smacked of insincerity to have a photo taken of his staff, even though they were his friends, just to show it off to donors. But he tried to take a mental step back and look at her advice with a cool head. He knew better than anybody that donors saw him and the mission as inseparable. He was the human face they could put on the problems of hunger and homelessness in their community.