Ship Outta Luck by Brittany Kelley EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Brittany Kelley
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 3 MB
- Price: Free
JUNE
I BLINK TWICE, my best polite smile starting to slide, much like the sweat dripping
down my collarbone. The fan clicks lazily overhead. It doesn’t so much cool the room
as simply push the stagnant South Texas air around.
A white silk button-down? In the summer? No deodorant could make this right.
I chose… poorly. Though at this rate, I wouldn’t mind disintegrating à la an
Indiana Jones enemy if it meant relief from this heat.
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The mere thought of Indiana Jones sends a shockwave of grief cresting through
me. It was my dad’s favorite movie franchise. There were so many late Sunday nights
spent watching them with him on the couch, but they’ll never be enough.
It’s been three weeks since my dad’s funeral. Three weeks of trying to piece
myself back together, only to find everything crashing down around me.
I fan myself, rewarded with puffs of stale air as I try not to cry.
“Dr. Legarde, are you paying attention? You look like my undergrads when I ask
if they’ve read the syllabus.” Dr. Weaselton, my boss, snorts at his own joke. As the
history and archaeology department chair at our small state university, he holds the
future of my research in his hands, and he regards me over horn-rimmed glasses that
went out of style three decades ago.
A faint smile stretches my lips at the joke, my throat bobbing as I nod once.
“Yes, sir,” I say, stretching my fingers across the hem of my skirt. “But I fail to
understand your reasoning. My research is air-tight, but to continue it, I need
assistance. Financially.”
The wooden chair creaks as I try to scooch forward, my thighs glued to the seat.
Dr. Weaselton narrows his eyes at me, and I half-listen as he drones on about
budget cuts.
“I understand,” I finally bite out.
I’m not an idiot. I don’t need my hard-earned PhD to understand he isn’t going
to sign off on my grant application. That there are other professors that have much
less risky research projects. That they need the meager funds just as much as I do,
if not more.
Hunting for a long-lost sunken treasure might sound exciting, but the chances of
finding it are slim to none, and my colleagues’ chances of finding the texts they need
in libraries overseas are much, much stronger.
Awareness prickles the back of my neck, and I glance over my shoulder. Unless
the ceramic bust of Herodotus sitting on the bookshelf is staring daggers at me, I’m
imagining it. Again.
Still. I can’t shake the feeling someone has been watching me for days. Other than
Herodotus, that is. And my father taught me to never ignore my gut.
“Dr. Legarde, I hope you can understand that this isn’t personal, although I know
your current focus is personal to you. We were all saddened by your loss, and we do
wish you the best.”
A tart reply sits on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it.
I sigh as my Dr. Weaselton closes the manila folder with my paper application in
it, unsigned. Paper, of course, because even kind dinosaurslike Weaselton are nothing
if not set in their ways.
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