Page 62 of Time Stops With You

The pressure is mounting. I have employees to feed. Team members who left everything behind to follow me.

And I led them straight down a ditch.

You’ll die a failure.

“Mr. Cullen—” Jenna waddles closer to me and concern flares in her blue eyes. “You’re sweating,” she says. As she reaches out to dab at my forehead, I lift my head and sear her with an angry gaze.

“Don’ttouch me.”

Fear twitches her mouth and she drops back, landing on the hard tiles with her arms underneath her for balance.

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling immediate remorse for snapping at her.

“I just need a minute,” I rasp, knowing the paltry explanation won’t make what I did okay.

She scrambles to her feet, her eyes on the ground. “Yeah. Sorry. I’ll leave you alone.”

Great. Now, on top of the self-hatred and panic I feel, I can add guilt to the pile.

Pushing to my feet, I run a hand over my beanie and try to sort through my thoughts.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

I debate ignoring it. I’m pretty sure Richard Sullivan will be on the other end of the line. The news must have reached him by now and, while Sullivan didn’t study software engineering, it doesn’t take a genius to know we’re up a creek without a paddle.

Just imagining that old naysayer Carmichael calling a board meeting to demand an explanation from me makes me want to projectile vomit.

But I don’t have the time or the freedom to wallow. For better or worse, I own this company and if anyone is going to lead us out of this mess, it has to be me.

I grab my phone out, but it’s not Sullivan calling.

It’s Sara.

“Yes?”

“Sorry. I know this is a bad time, but the school just called to remind you about the ground breaking ceremony today. Are you still going to attend?”

“No.” Why is she even asking me that?

“I tried to politely decline, but the principal insisted.”

“Ask her if she’d rather have the money or my attendance,” I snap.

“I know. I know. But she said journalists wrote a story about your donation and the parents made a big fuss. They said they’ve been asking for a science lab and that the school doesn’t need a computer lab.”

I groan and massage the bridge of my nose. The sky is falling all around me, and I have bigger things to worry about than the principal’s reputation or snobby parents throwing tantrums.

“I’m not attending. Tell her if she calls me over this nonsense again, she won’t have to worry about those angry parents because there won’t be a donation for them to fight over.”

“Got it. I’ll let her know.”

You’ll be at the ceremony, right?

Crap. A memory of my conversation with Josiah this morning returns to me.

You promise?

Ididpromise, didn’t I?

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