Page 18 of Saving Her Heart
"No," I lie, heading toward the elevator. "We should go. I don't want to be late."
He follows, and I can feel him watching me, cataloging tells he still remembers from when we were together. The way I bite my lip when I'm lying. How I fidget with my earrings when I'm nervous.
"Kendall—"
"Leave it alone, Jax."
The elevator ride is silent except for the mechanical hum. When the doors open to the parking garage, I head toward my car out of habit before remembering it's covered in paint.
"I'll drive," Jax says, steering me toward his truck.
We're halfway to the car when I see it—fresh red paint splattered across the windshield of Jax's truck. "STOP PROTECTING HER" drips down the glass.
"Son of a—" Jax pulls out his phone, already calling it in.
"We'll be late," I say.
"This is evidence. We need to document?—"
"Jax, please." I touch his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. "The meeting starts in twenty minutes. If I'm late, Valerie wins by default."
He looks at the paint, then at me, clearly torn between procedure and my plea.
"Fine. But we're taking photos." He snaps pictures quickly, then uses his windshield washer fluid and some paper towels from his truck to clear enough space to see. "This isn't over."
The drive to the community center is tense. Every car that follows us for more than a block makes Jax check his mirrors. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
"You don't have to come in," I say as he pulls into the parking lot.
"Try to stop me."
The community center is packed. Way more packed than a normal board meeting. I spot Kate and Hudson near the front,Grace and Kane to the left, and—my stomach drops—what looks like half the town crammed into folding chairs.
"What is this?" I whisper.
"Backup," Hudson says, appearing at my elbow. "Nobody messes with our people."
"I don't need?—"
"Yes, you do," Kate says firmly. "Valerie's been spreading rumors all day. Time to set the record straight."
The board sits at a long table at the front of the room. Five members, including Valerie, who's positioned herself dead center like she's already won. She's wearing a smug smile and has a stack of papers in front of her that probably contains every typo I've ever made in an email.
"Ms. Greene," Dr. Williams, the board president, calls out. "Please take a seat so we can begin."
There's a single chair positioned in front of the board like I'm on trial. I walk toward it, feeling every eye in the room on me. The red dress suddenly feels like armor instead of a mistake.
"Before we begin," Valerie says, not waiting for Dr. Williams to actually start the meeting, "I'd like to submit these documents into evidence."
"This isn't a trial, Valerie," Mr. Yamamoto says dryly.
"It might as well be. Ms. Greene has shown gross negligence in her duties. This morning's livestock incident was just the latest in a pattern of failures."
She distributes packets to the other board members. I catch glimpses of the contents—photos from this morning, complaint forms that look suspiciously similar to each other, and what appears to be a petition.
"Furthermore," Valerie continues, "I have forty-three signatures from residents demanding Ms. Greene's immediate termination."
"Out of three hundred units," Mrs. Martinez points out. "That's hardly a majority."
