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I need people to know that yes, we broke every official rule when we did what we did. And then I need them to put a freaking sock in it and stop judging so much.
Through the glass windows, I can see how they glance around, their smiles cruelly curious.
Whatever.
People with dull lives thrive on whispers.
It’s just, the scandal is me.
I’m a real person, with feelings, and every little whisper or sideways glance feels like another stab of the knife.
Online, you can ignore it by turning off your phone, blocking messages, swiping away the haters.
It still sticks, but it’s not like this.
Here, I’m a fish in a bowl, and it takes guts to try to get some work done.
So that’s what I do.
For the next few hours I bury my head in the project, looking over slides, data, testimonials. I whip my presentation into the best shape I can.
Then I gather up my things as Mark gives me a wide smile. “Good luck! Bet you’ll kill it. I couldn’t help noticing how polished it looks.”
“Thanks, Mark.”
Amazingly, I’m not annoyed with him today.
Carol also stops by outside the glass, tapping until I look up and see her offering a smile and a thumbs-up.
She doesn’t know the exact details about what I’m presenting, but when I outlined the concept, she was totally encouraging. She loves to see the tech she helped bring to life used for good causes.
With any luck, their well wishes will rub off, and the bigger picture will win out.
This cause is so much bigger than me or Shepherd Foster and one dumb scandal.
Because we’ve got a whole mess of otters to save and time keeps slipping through our fingers like sand.
* * *
I’m waitingoutside the conference room when my phone buzzes and turns me into a little lump of dread.
Daddykinsflashes on the screen, something I knew was coming for days, as soon as he found out.
Do I even want to know?
No, not really.
But do I really want to put this off for later when I’m already a ball of nerves, waiting to find out how fast the board rolls its eyes at my proposal and spits it out?
Holding in a sigh, I swipe the green icon. “Dad, hi.”
“I’ll sue them all,” he snarls in perfect Cole Lancaster fashion. “Every last one of those pricks who thinks my daughter is dog chow for their damn amusement.”
“Hello to you, too. How’re Eliza and the kids?”
The loud squeal behind him tells me Nicole and Elijah are the same explosive little cherubs as always. I might be ancient to them, but I love my little siblings.
“Not relevant, honey. You know that. Destiny, you have to—”
