She peers at me out of the corner of her eye. “You just look a little tired. That’s all.”
I shrug because I don’t know what else to say.
Drake’s office is dark as we pass. Juni said he took a personal day and might be in this afternoon.I want so badly to check on him, to hear his voice, and make sure everything is okay with Big Ed.
No, what I really want to do is run out of this building and fly to his apartment and jump into his arms with the biggest apology the world has ever seen.
Francine leaves me to my thoughts on the elevator ride to the top floor. I stare straight ahead, not trusting myself to make eye contact with her. I don’t need her judgment or want her pity. And I definitely don’t want to be compelled to explain.
I open the conference room door and let Francine enter first. She breaks the ice with the suits, allowing me to duck behind her with a quick hello and an even quicker wave.
“Thank you for joining us,” Mr. Brevard says from his place at the head of the table. He’s a big guy with no muscle tone and soft hands—a discount version of Big Ed.
No, Gianna. Focus.
“Of course,” I say, relieved that my voice doesn’t crack. “I’m happy to be here.”
Mr. Johnson, Mr. Brevard’s sidekick for all I can gather, leans back in his chair, smoothing his tie down his chest. “Shall we get started?”
“We’re ready,” Francine says, side-eyeing me.
“Let’s go ahead,” Mr. Brevard says. “They said they might not make it.”
Before I can consider who they’re talking about, the door swings open. Mario enters, followed by Drake.
Our gazes collide, and I’m sure the others in the room can feel the zing. His eyes narrow as he takes me in with my swollen eyes and puffy lips. I tried to hide it with makeup, but clearly failed. Francine and Drake have both noticed.
I give him a soft smile, trying to let him know that I’m okay. It doesn’t suffice. The vein on the side of his throat throbs as if he’s pissed.
Is he angry withme?
My palms start to sweat as I realize that maybe I don’t know what’s going to happen. Maybe Drake is getting screwed over and thinks I’m the reason, although I don’t think that’s true. Or, perhaps he’s upset that I’m upset and didn’t call him.He didn’t give me time.
The truth is, I don’t know the answer because I was a fool. That plummets my spirits even farther.
“There they are,” Mr. Brevard says. “I’m happy we could all meet and get this taken care of in one swoop.”
“We’re glad to be here,” Mario says.
Drake’s eyes bore into me from across the table. I can’t look at him anymore, or I’ll cry again. Somehow, over the past few days, I’ve become a crybaby. I hate it.
“I’m going to get right to it, if that’s okay,” Mr. Johnson says, not waiting to see if it is, in fact, okay. “I’m sure you know that we’ve been discussing who might be the best fit to replace the true crime podcast on Thursdays.”
“We’re aware,” Francine says, as Mario mutters a version of the same.
“We’ve been very impressed with both of you, Drake and Gianna, especially over the past couple of months,” Mr. Johnson says. “You’re both quick on your feet. Creative. You have a knack for marketing. People, especially in your target demographic, Gianna, have flocked to Canoodle Media this quarter, and we have the two of you to thank.”
Mr. Brevard turns to Drake. “We think thatSports Takeis the better fit for Thursdays.”
Francine pats my hand beneath the table as if I need consoling.
I don’t know what to feel about this. My gaze lifts to Drake’s. He’s not smiling or blinking—just staring at me. Mario is doing the talking, thanking them for choosing their podcast and for believing in them. But my insides are a tangled mess of emotions anyway. I’m not sure that I can process anything else today.
“We’ll meet with you two separately on Monday about moving forward,” Mr. Brevard says. “I’m going out of town tomorrow for the weekend and wanted to get this part behind us before I leave.”
“Gianna, we want to talk with you and Francine, however, about doing something a little different with theGianna Knows Thingsbrand,” Mr. Johnson says, leaning forward and clasping his hands in front of him. “How would you like to help us develop your GKT brand into something new? Something bigger.”
I take a deep breath and tear my attention away from Drake. As distracted as I am, this is important. I’ve worked for thisopportunity for far too long, and I owe it to myself to advocate on my behalf.
