Page 44 of Not A Whisper

“Girl, your energy is grating,” Jonathan groans. “You’re doing too much on a Monday morning. Sit down and chill.”

“If I could, I would.” I push the cart of books by the desk, shooting him an anxious smile. “You should go with us to this meeting.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “There’s a reason I’m not. As much as I love my job, you love yours more. I don’t put nearly as much energy into this as you do. Once I clock out of here, I’mgone.”

“Yes, I know. It’s a curse being both good at my jobandloving it.”

Jonathan’s laughter follows me as I move away from the desk.

Just before lunch, Ms. Barbara finds me as I round the desk to finally sit down. I guess that won’t be happening now.

“Bri, are you ready to go?” She asks, tapping the flat surface of the desk in front of me as she comes to a stop in front of it. “The meeting is in about ten minutes, we’ll get there with just a few minutes to spare before it starts, if we leave now.”

“Yup.” I nod. “Did you get my email this morning with all the bullet points you’ll need for your speech?”

My boss pats her satchel. “Yes, I have them printed and with me.” She shakes her head. “This is simply barbaric. The fact that they’re making us fight for more funding is just… It’s wrong.” She sucks in a sharp breath. “There are some parts of my job I simply hate. Public speaking and pleading for money are two of them.”

“This isn’t life or death,” I assure her, trying to speak calmly. “If we don’t get it this time, there’s always next time.”

She nods as I step around the desk and then turns to Jonathan. “You’re good here for an hour or so by yourself?”

“I can hold this place down all on my own all day, every day,” he assures her with a bright smile.

Our boss hums. It doesn’t sound like it's an agreement. I stifle my laugh at her skepticism and follow her toward the front stairwell.

We getto the administrative office and head up to the third floor where the meeting rooms are located.

“I’m going to run to the ladies’ room. Grab us a seat?”

I nod and my boss slips away. My footsteps are sure as I move toward the men and women dressed in suits and dresses.As I slip by them and enter the room, I find two familiar faces. Stanely Simons, one of the Science Department heads, and Jenny Cores, a professor within the Arts Department, both look up and wave.

Making my way around the large oval table, I come to join them, allowing Jenny to be sandwiched between Stanely and I.

“Looks like we’ll be competing for the same funds this year,” Jenny murmurs, leaning toward me.

“I hope you prepared well,” Stanely replies with genuine concern just as softly. “STEM over the Arts? You know who will win there.”

He’s not wrong. I feel like the Arts Department always gets the short end of the stick. The men and women, Groveton’s investors, who were outside, begin to file into the room. I try not to fidget as we wait for the meeting to begin.

“Given that Briella is here and not Barbara, you might have just as stiff of competition as I do.” Jenny shoots me a wink. “Barbara was smart to let you do the talking. If anyone knows what the library needs and how to bolster some interest in investors, it’s you. I swear listening to you talk about the library is like listening to a pastor talk to their congregation.”

My face heats at the unexpected compliment. “Oh she’s here. She just wanted me to come along for moral support.”

Stanely smiles at me. “I bet you gave her some pointers.”

I look away, embarrassed. As I do, my eyes land on the last few people entering. Suddenly, the air in the room vacuums out. When I try to gasp, there’s no relief to it.

The third to last person to enter is a man wearing a tweed sports jacket, a matching vest, and a dark green, long-sleeve shirt beneath it. His auburn hair, streaked with silver strands on either side of his temple, is slicked back, and his goatee is neatly trimmed. Taller than everyone else by a few inches, and wellbuilt—Garry Gipson strolls into the room as if he owns it, smiling warmly.

Given how much he donates to the school, there’s a strong chance hedoesown it. At least, partially.

Coming in just behind Garry is a carbon copy of him—minus a few decades and the facial hair—and sporting a cool look of contempt. The dark navy-blue suit Grant wears is tailored perfectly and screams expensive.

Shit, shit, shit.

The blood drains from my face. I hadn’t prepared to face off with Garry today. Honestly, I didn’t think I would ever see him again. I’d kind of hoped that his looming presence in the guys’ life would eventually pass like a storm cloud. It’s a naive way of thinking, especially given that I know how dangerous and intense Garry can be now, but still… A girl can hope right? Unfortunately, here I am with not only Garry, but Grant too, all in the same room.

Ok, this is fine. All I have to do is pretend I don’t know Grant and that Garry Gipson doesn’t scare the absolute shit out of me. I can do this.

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