Page 61 of Cross My Heart
A little mystery never hurt anyone.
Besides, I have plenty of academic work to be busy with, and Hugh’s intriguing new offer to explore. The next day, I spend the morning cramming my reading in the library, then take the train down to London again, and follow his directions to the Ambrose Foundation offices, which, to my surprise, are housed in a funky warehouse in Shoreditch, a buzzing neighborhood on the East side of the city.
“Not what you were expecting, huh?” Hugh greets me in the large, open-plan lower level, giving a friendly smile and a kiss on my cheek.
“Well… Nope,” I admit, looking around. I was planning to smile and nod through whatever pitch he had, while scoping for information about Max Lancaster and any potential secret society, but now, I’m paying attention for a different reason. There are concrete floors, bare brick walls, and the old vent system and piping running all across the walls and ceiling. A few dozen people work on open desks, and in glass-walled rooms. There’s a buzz of pleasant activity in the air.
“We used to be over in Mayfair,” Hugh explains, “but when the lease was up, I thought the change would be good for us. I’m trying to shake things up,” he adds. He’s dressed casually in jeans and a button-down, his blond hair curling over his collar, in need of a trim. “Come on, let me give you a tour.”
He takes me around the sweeping space, pointing out different meetings and hubs of activity. “It’s all hands on deck right now,” he explains, enthusiastic. “We’re juggling a bunch of projects: logistics for vaccine distribution in South Sudan, a scholarship program for girls in Pakistan, plus our work right here in the UK with food banks and the cost-of-living crisis…”
I take it all in, impressed.
“You see, I took over as chairman a few years ago, and it was clear to me right away, we could be doing so much more.” Hugh adds, looking enthused. “My aunt was in charge before then, and don’t get me wrong, she did a wonderful job, but she very much was part of the old school brigade.” Hugh gives me a look. “Those thousand-pound a plate fundraising dinners, sending money to the historical preservation society to buy a new Roman bust. I want to do things differently. I’ve been bringing in new faces, new ideas… I think you’d be a great fit.”
“Doing what, exactly?” I venture. The Foundation offices are great, and I love the vibe here, but I’m still fuzzy about what this job would even be.
“All of this takes money,” he says simply. “And yes, our endowment is great, but I want more. Our fundraising team could always use fresh ideas, and it seems like you have experience in that area.”
“I wouldn’t say that—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“But new ideas are more important than experience. And you definitively have them.”
“I just don’t think I have time for an internship right now,” I say, feeling a pang of regret.
“Internship?” Hugh frowns. “No, it would be a real job. Our salary is competitive, whether you want to be part-time or otherwise. Listen, I have to jump on a call now, but the team is getting together for a meeting. Why don’t you sit in, and see how you like it?”
Before I can object, Hugh is steering me up a wrought iron staircase to the mezzanine level, where there are more gleaming, glass-walled rooms. The meeting room has comfy couches, and views over the bustling street below, with bold abstract art and photos from some of their charitable causes. “This is Priya, our head of fundraising,” he says, introducing a dark-haired woman in her forties, with amazing fuchsia lipstick. “This is Tessa, the woman I was telling you about. She’s going to sit in and get a feel for things.”
“Great,” Priya shakes my hand. “Take a seat, grab some snacks and coffee. We finally got Ambrose here to spring for the good stuff,” she adds with a wink. “I’ve been telling him, great cold brew is essential for team morale.”
I laugh, liking her immediately. “Just pretend I’m not here,” I say, grabbing a can of coffee and taking a seat in the corner. The meeting gets underway, and I can see that Priya is a natural leader: steering everyone through their upcoming schedule, brainstorming new fundraising ideas, and taking the time to give everyone praise and feedback over their work.
“We need to be thinking outside of the box,” she urges them. “Our older patrons are inundated with requests, and frankly, the way the markets are performing right now, many of them will be pulling back on their charitable giving. We need to be finding new ways to bring attention—and money—to our work.”
She wraps things up, and everyone heads back downstairs, but I linger, hesitant. “Priya?” I venture.
She looks up from her tablet with a smile. “Yes, Tessa, what did you think?”
“I think you’re doing great work here. But… I did have an idea,” I say shyly. All the brainstorming in the meeting got my wheels turning in my mind, but I didn’t want to speak up, out of turn. “You talked about finding new avenues for fundraising and raising awareness. Have you looked much into social media influencer outreach?”
“It’s been on my to-do list,” Priya says, looking frazzled. “But to be honest, I don’t know enough to get started. We talked to an agency once, but the fees they would charge were atrocious...”
"You wouldn’t need a middleman," I say immediately. “You could go directly to the influencers themselves. I’m sure there would be a ton of them interested in promoting some of your projects, and it would get you attention from a different generation. The dollar amounts donated might be smaller than their parents could give, but—”
“—It would get us a whole new audience,” Priya finishes for me. “Sounds great. Get it done.”
I blink. “Excuse me?” I ask.
“Initiate the project,” she smiles. “Make the lists, contact the influencers, go ahead and run with it.”
I open my mouth to argue, and tell her that I don’t even work here, but I bite my tongue. Because a flash of excitement runs through me at the idea of doing this.
Maybe it’s selfish, when I’m supposed to be working 24/7 to find Wren’s attacker and bring them to justice, but after weeks now of feeling out of place, like I’m playing a part and faking enthusiasm for my studies, this feels real. Likeme. The woman I was before Wren’s death changed everything.
And I haven’t felt this way in a long time.
Priya setsme up with a spare laptop and workstation, and I get started researching the project. I tell myself, it’s just for a little while, until Hugh finishes his call and I can say my goodbyes and head back to Oxford, but the hours fly by, and I’m surprised when I hear my name being called.