Page 93 of Body Shot

I read it a third time, disbelief tightening my face. Then I slump into my chair and stare blankly across the office.

We didn’t get the grant.

I cover my mouth with one hand and close my eyes at the sting of tears.

Well, shit. Damn. Fuck.Fuck.

My mind goes utterly blank for a moment as I fight back the wave of disappointment that swamps me. A ten-million-dollar wave of disappointment.

What are we going to do?

I just pitched to Bäcker today, and we won’t hear back from them for possibly a month. We have funding to carry us that long, but if that’s also a no . . . we’re in trouble.

Goddammit!

Now I lean forward, shoving aside my salad and resting my head on folded arms on the desk. I want to cry. A heaviness spreads through my body and my chest aches. I sit like that for a long while, thoughts cycling through my head.

How could this happen? What went wrong? Was it my fault for not preparing properly? I was so sure our project was a good match for this research partnership.

Eventually I lift my head and read through the formal notification attached to the email. Apparently we aren’t such a good match.

Still, I can’t help but blame myself. I’m the one in charge here, the one who leads the team. I let them down. Was I crazy to get my hopes up that we could actually be awarded such a big grant?

I swallow through a tight, achy throat and look around my office. I feel weighed down. Unable to even rise out of my chair. Then I suck in a long breath and slowly let it out.

I’ve experienced failures and disappointments before. Failure is a beginning, not an end. I can handle this. This just means I’ll start over, exploring more funding opportunities, working harder than ever. This is a part of this mad mission I’m on.

I spent the last month screwing around with Beck, having hot sex in crazy places and blowing off my work to go paddleboarding and mountain biking. Doing tequila body shots, for the love of Godiva!

I can’t do that anymore. Shit just got real. This is a wake-up call that I need to focus more on my goals. Not on a tattooed, bearded bad boy who can charm the panties off a nun.

Regret now adds to the heaviness in my chest. My lips push out and I squeeze my eyes shut. I have to do this.

I pull myself together to schedule a quick team meeting for this afternoon so I can deliver the bad news and regroup. I manage to maintain my composure through that, updating them on my meeting earlier today also. And we talk about next steps.

Beck is bringing dinner over tonight. My belly tightens, thinking about the conversation we need to have.

Beck

“This isn’t just about profit,” Danny says.

I sit in the office with Marco and Cade, and Danny and Sid. We’re finally getting around to talking about our food menu.

“The city requires us to sell at least fifty percent food and fifty percent alcohol,” Danny continues.

I nod. We learned that from the days we were applying for the various licenses and permits required to open, but I forgot it.

“So if we don’t sell enough food, we can be shut down,” Danny says.

“Fuck that.” Cade scowls.

“I know. Okay, I don’t think they’d shut us down immediately. A few months ago, a restaurant did get closed down because they decided to not sell food at all, since they weren’t making much money from it. But we do need to do something to increase food sales.”

“That’s a stupid law.” I lean back in my chair.

“I tend to agree,” Danny says. “But it’s still the law. I personally don’t think it’s necessary.”

“It implies that we can’t responsibly serve alcohol,” Marco says. “And we’re very responsible about that.”

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