He rattled off a string of alphanumeric characters that made it sound like he was having a stroke, and Faith typed them all with trembling fingers. Eleven fifty-eight.
She hit the Enter key, and an error message popped up. “Oh God, I entered it wrong.”
Thea’s murmured “Shit” did nothing to steady her nerves as Aiden patiently went through the password again, this time emphasizing which were uppercase and which were lowercase. It worked on the second try, and Faith gave a little sob.
“Okay. Here we go.” She refreshed the page and confirmed that the main application and the funding breakdown were uploaded, as were the letters of support from community stakeholders. All that was left to upload was her personal statement. She clicked the button, selected her document, and held her breath as the pinwheel made its appearance again. “Come on, comeon.”
The spinning stopped, and a confirmation page popped up. She exhaled hard, her head falling forward in relief.
But wait. That wasn’t a confirmation page. It was an error message.
“It’s 12:01,” she said woodenly. “I missed the deadline.”
The room fell silent until Thea tentatively asked, “What are you going to do?”
Faith straightened, wiped her tears with the hem of her T-shirt, and closed the laptop with a snap.
“I’m going to fix it.”
* * *
The elevator doors slid open,and Faith pressed her sweaty palms against her thighs before stepping onto the busy floor.
She could do this. She’d already talked her way past security and secured a visitor’s badge that permitted her to be on floor eighteen of the Digham corporate headquarters. They probably shouldn’t have let somebody with this much unholy fire in their eyes onto the premises, but at a young age she’d learned the art of acting like you had every right to do what you intended to do, and those lessons died hard. Now she just had to convince one more person to do her a tiny favor, and she’d be set.
Did she regret not trying to make herself look a touch more presentable before storming Big Dig HQ? Sure. But what was the point? She was full-on mid-July moving-day gross, so pausing for a cute french braid and some mascara wasn’t going to make much of a difference either way. Time to get this handled.
She stepped off the elevator and surveyed the enormous cubicle farm in the middle of the open floor, flanked on both sides by rows of glass-walled offices.
“Can I help you?” A sixty-something man holding a cup of coffee appeared at her elbow, unsubtly taking in the stretch of legs exposed by her beat-up running shorts. Faith recognized that look. It was the one that said her shorts were too short, although she knew damn well that if she were a size 2, the look in his eyes would be completely different.
Joke was on him though; she gave exactly zero fucks what he thought about her exposing her plus-size self to the fluorescents of his office building. She also knew how to handle this type of guy. She’d grown up around a million just like him, all with the same smug entitlement oozing from every pore of their doughy faces.
She cocked a hip and gave him Angelina-at-the-Oscars attitude. “I’m looking for the Digham Foundation offices. Could you point the way?”
The posture adjustment combined with a tone that suggested she was telling, not asking, did the trick. The man straightened slightly, self-importance in his tight smile. “You’re in luck. I’m the president of the foundation. What can I do for you?”
Shit. If this was the guy she’d have to suck up to, she really should have changed back into the pink tweed. Not that she was going to let him see her sweat. Well, sweat any more than she already had today. God, a shower would be amazing right now.
Focus, Faith.
She graced him with a small smile. It’s what Angie would do. “Fantastic. I need to speak with someone about a grant.”
His judgmental little eyes swept over her again before he turned and stalked off, leaving Faith to scurry after him.
“You found the right man,” he said as they speed-walked past the maze of cubicles in the center of the office. “I’ve been in charge of Digham’s charitable giving for going on thirty years now.”
“Thirty years! That’s impressive.” This guy obviously wanted to talk about his big important job, and Faith picked up the pace so they were walking side by side and she could fawn appropriately. She’d apparently taken the correct approach because he nodded crisply.
“I have a grant manager who oversees the foundation employees in the field in Mexico, India, and China, along with a liaison in Washington, D.C. Plus there’s our engagement manager and our administrative assistant.”
“And the person who handles the grants for projects here in Beaucoeur, right?” she asked.
That was the only person she cared about at the moment, but somehow it was the wrong thing to say. The anticipation on his face vanished, and he scowled. “Yes. Him too.”
His already pinched voice got even more nasally, and Faith dialed her perkiness up to eleven to try to get him back on her side. “That’s, what, eight people? You must stay busy.”
He raised a hand in greeting at one of the cubicle dwellers they power-walked past. “I’m just back from New York this morning, actually. I’m the recording secretary for the National Counsel of Corporate Foundations. Lin-Manuel Miranda was the guest of honor at our annual meeting.”
