“Kendra,” he says, “there’s gotta be a way to scrape together enough for those pieces. Amantha will have to scrap her plans if we can’t. The museum only owns three of the pieces she needs. She can’t build an exhibition with three paintings.”
Kendra’s dark eyes glitter. “There’s nothing I can do, Val. I hope you can trust that I’ve done my best to direct what funds we have.”
Amantha’s gray eyes brim with silent tears, and mine threaten to do the same. I know how much this exhibition means to her, and I can practically hear her heart breaking.
Brandon sits in stony silence, eyes fixed on Kendra.
“What fundsdoI have?” Amantha’s lip quivers, but she sits up taller.
“I can send you the new numbers by the end of day. We’ll discuss your plans moving forward. The Historic Scavenger Hunt for Charity will still proceed as planned next month, but after that…” She blows out a long breath.
I’ve never seen Kendra like this. She looks almost… defeated.
Blythe pipes up from beside me. “Kendra, with all due respect, there’s gotta be something we can do. Sure, donors pulled out, but there’s more fish in the sea. Maybe we can dig up a grant.”
“We will fix this,” Val says. “I’ll help Blythe search for donors and grant applications.”
Kendra says, “I’ve already begun compiling a list of prospects.Contacting potential donors will be dull work, but it just may save someone’s career. Layoffs will be a last resort, but I am being completely transparent when I say the chances are high.”
My stomach twists. Would Kendra really fire me? I guess if she had no choice, she’d probably fire any of us. A sickening picture of me returning home, unemployed, with my tail between my legs makes me shiver.
The potential lawyer-turned-assistant-turned-loser.
Never let them see you sweat.
I meet Amantha’s worried eyes with what I hope is a look of reassurance. Wewillfix this. I don’t know how, but we will. Stubborn lava heats my bones, and I sit up straighter.
I sacrificed so much to be here. This cosmic “I told you so” cannot mean that my parents were right about me being a disappointment all along. It cannot mean the end of all this.
Kendra interrupts my spiraling by turning to Val. “The museum cannot risk you or Blythe splitting your focus, especially with the Historic Scavenger Hunt for Charity coming so soon. The assistants, however…” Her dark eyes swing to me. “Kate, Brandon, I’m assigning you two to work together to procure additional funds for the museum.”
I stare blankly at her, hoping I’m having an aneurysm that distorts words. Reality punches me in the face when a certain rumbling voice across from me speaks up.
“Wecan do that.” Brandon puts far too much emphasis on the word “we.” I cut my eyes to his as an unfortunately-timed pang of hunger makes me clench my fists. His green eyes twinkle above his cockiest smirk to date.
I may look calm on the outside, but a cacophony of filthy curse words ring out in my mind.
“Good.” Kendra nods briskly. “And because you’ll need a quieter area for phone calls than your desks in the common area, I’m temporarily assigning you two the office space across from the copy room. It’s not much bigger than Amantha’s, but it will do just fine.”
The meeting ends without my consent. I stalk past Brandon without another word. He strides behind me, seeming to know exactly where I’m headed. I pick up my pace until I’m practically jog-walking to our newly assigned office space. Brandon’s hot on my tail, though.
I know I’m being immature and that I should act more professional, but it’s not my fault. It’s Brandon’s.
I half slam into the door frame, pin balling off and knocking into Brandon’s stupidly hard chest. We shove each other for purchase in the doorway before eyeing the tiny office space.
Kendra lied. This isn’t bigger than Amantha’s. It’s basically a glorified closet without a window. I blink again, as if it will somehow expand the square footage to accommodate a second desk.
It doesn’t. There isonedesk,onenice office chair, andonescrubby waiting chair tucked sadly into a corner.
We both exclaim, “I call the desk,” and “I get the desk.”
I glare at his smirk.
“Once we come back to work after the holiday break”—Brandon’s tone is patronizing like he’s speaking to a toddler—“whoever gets here first each morning gets the desk. The other can get tetanus from the crappy chair.”
“Hope you’re up to date on your shots, then,” I say sweetly.
Brandon’s laugh sounds husky, and now this office space feels even smaller. He studies me for a moment too long.
