Chapter 11

Becka

Oliver walked into his office looking like the cat that had eaten the canary, looking me up and down and smiling victoriously. I glared at him, but I knew full well that I had worn my most flattering pants and a sweater that bordered on office inappropriate. We were both playing the game; I couldn’t fault him… much.

“Good morning, Dr. Weeks,” I said.

“Good morning, Miss Jasper. Do you have any questions about where anything is?” His smile was pleasant; anyone walking by would think the exchange was nothing more than a boss checking in with his assistant. My body knew otherwise, though, as each step closer Oliver took to me was ratcheting up my arousal significantly.

“No, Sir, I think I’m okay for now. You have a phone conference in about ten minutes. Do you need coffee or breakfast?” I had read through Megan’s calendars and knew that she brought Oliver coffee religiously at 8:45 am unless he was physically meeting with clients at the time.

“I’m fine for now, thank you. For the sake of office comfort, let’s dispense with some of the formalities; is that all right with you, Becka?”

Hearing his voice sent a shiver through me. “Yes… Oliver.” I said.

“Excellent. I’m going to email you a list of people I need you to contact for me to set up meetings; please work with their schedules and accommodate them. As you can see, my schedule for next week is fairly open; I had a business trip get cancelled.”

“Certainly, S-Oliver.”

As soon as he went into his office, I opened the company documents file on my desktop. That file was the reason I was sitting in that chair; Oliver had promised me greater access to the company’s background, research, and projects.

I was hoping I would find something that would either fill in some of the holes in my own research, or, best case scenario, I would find something that would exonerate Oliver from my suspicions that somewhere in this company, this building or an external warehouse, animals were being used for experimentation.

I also had some lessons to plan. Dr. Evans had contacted me about picking up a class for the new term. It would be a fairly basic class; a food science ethics class for students in their first year of the program. The students would be juniors, and all had declared food science as their major.

“I think you’ll bring something fresh to the class,” Dr. Evans had said as she’d handed me a zip drive with all of the class’s files on it. I had to admit, I was a bit excited to teach. It would break up the monotony of working for Neuotova and would, perhaps, help my dissertation.

I spent the day trying to ignore the fact that I was on the other side of Oliver’s door. He, for his part, did not leave his office often. We communicated primarily by email and intercom; I announced to him when clients were ready for their meetings, and once when one of the research team leaders had stopped by wondering if he had some time.

At five o’clock, I gathered my things. I knocked on Oliver’s door quietly.

“Come in,” he said, and I pushed the door open.

“I’m leaving for the night, unless you can think of anything else you have for me to do,” I said, and I felt a blush creep up into my face. I was sure he could think of lots of things he had for me to do; the same went for me. But, it was a necessary question for an assistant to ask her boss.

His eyes were bright and he smiled, his lips pressing out into a smooth line. “That will be all for today, Becka. Great job on your first day. What are your plans for tonight?”

“I’m actually going straight back to campus; I’m teaching an ethics class this term as part of my criteria for my degree.”

“Ethics? Well, that sounds stimulating,” Oliver said. He drummed his fingers on his desk, pressing his fingertips into the exact spot my ass had been when he’d been fucking me only days earlier. My blush deepened.

“I’m hoping it’s a good class,” I said. “I’ve been preparing what I think are interesting lessons…”

“A secretary and a teacher,” he said. “You’re quite the fantasy woman.”

I shook my head. “Bad, bad influence,” I whispered, breaking character from the standoffish, disinterested assistant for just a moment to let him see exactly how much he was torturing me.

He smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Becka. I hope you have a good class tonight. Maybe I’ll come sit in on it.”

I rolled my eyes and closed his door. He would never.

***

Three hours later, I stood in front of a podium as my students filtered into the room. I was in a lecture hall type of classroom, but the class wasn’t full by any stretch; there were only about fifteen students.

“I think the first thing I’m going to do is try to get us a smaller classroom,” I said. “What do you all think?” The students nodded in agreement. I invited them to all come down to sit together in the first two rows, and I pushed the podium aside, opting instead to sit at the table in front of the group.

Ethan caught my eye almost immediately. I liked to think it was because he sat front and center, but, truthfully, I think it was because he was absolutely gorgeous. Easily so; he sat back, completely unaware, or pretending to be, of the students around him falling all over themselves to sit beside him.

I didn’t know his name until I called roll, and, even then, he barely responded. He was looking at me, and he nodded his head just slightly, a gesture that reminded me of how Oliver might act at a meeting.

“Welcome, Ethan,” I said. “Andrea?” I called out the next name.

After class, Ethan approached me as I was gathering up my things and answering logistical questions for a few remaining students.

“Hi, Professor Jasper,” he said. “Good class.”

“Thank you… Ethan?” I asked, pretending to be unsure of his name. Pretending I hadn’t spent most of the class admiring his thick, brown hair and piercing green eyes. His jawline, and the way his shoulders and chest filled his oxford shirt that hung untucked over jeans.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“You can call me Becka,” I said. I wasn’t technically a professor, though none of my students needed to know that. My bio had been artfully written to show that I was, if anything, more of a consultant.

“I read that you work at Neuotova,” he said. “Is that true?”

“It is,” I said, throwing my bag over my shoulder. “I’ve worked there for a few months in their research department.”

“So are you doing animal testing and experimentation as a part of your research?” He asked the question so matter of factly, so easily, I almost missed it entirely. I stared at him.

“What?” I asked.

“I think you heard me. Neuotova is on a watch list for several animal rights organizations because of allegations of animal cruelty. How can you teach a food science ethics class and admit that you work for Neuotova?”

“Allegations are not fact, Ethan. As a researcher of anything, it’s important to avoid making assumptions when the facts are readily available. There has been no direct evidence linking Neuotova to any type of experimentation, testing, cruelty, or anything illegal involving animals. Believe me, if there was, I would have found it.”

I couldn’t believe I’d said that last statement, and I was hoping Ethan had missed it, though by the way his eyes widened, he hadn’t.

“So, you do know of the allegations. And you’ve been checking them out? Are you working from the inside?”

“Ethan,” I said, beginning to walk to the door. “This is not a conspiracy or a television show. Of course, I’m aware of the allegations. Every food science company is accused of animal experimentation at one time or another.”

I was focusing my energy on keeping my voice level and calm as I hurried toward the exit. “It goes with the territory. I’m not working from the inside, spying, or doing anything other than researching for my dissertation.” And fucking the CEO, my brain squealed gleefully.

“I would suggest that you spend your time studying the facts, then making assumptions based on what those facts reveal, rather than turning faulty assumptions into the facts themselves. You are, after all, going to be a researcher.”

“Of course, Becka,” he said, his tone still easy and smooth as can be. I was rattled on the inside, but, if he was, he wasn’t showing it. “Thank you for your insights. I’m really looking forward to learning from you. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I nodded and smiled, then pushed through the door into the parking lot. I walked to my car without looking back, though I was sure I could still feel Ethan’s eyes boring a hole into my back. I started my car and sat back, leaning my head against the head rest.

I felt heat moving through my body, but I couldn’t tell if it was arousal or nervousness. Actually, that wasn’t true; it was arousal. I shook my head, unwilling to admit that Ethan had been able to get under my skin so quickly.

There was something about him, something unique, that reminded me a little bit of Oliver, but, even more, it was something unnerving. He was so confident, so calm. He was only 21, give or take, and he moved, spoke, and acted as though he knew all the secrets of the universe.

On the way home, I formulated a plan. Perhaps Ethan was my gateway into a conversation with Oliver. Maybe, if I told Oliver about how Ethan had approached me, and maybe if I… I don’t know, exaggerated? how aggressive his accusations had been, maybe Oliver would show me the evidence I needed, not just for Ethan, but for myself.

I parked my car and walked into my apartment. Lisa was gone again; I swore I hadn’t seen her in ages. I took out my phone to text Oliver, but he had beaten me to it. While I was driving home, he had sent me a message.

How was class? it said. Perfect, I thought.

It was interesting, I typed back. A student approached me about Neuotova’s position on the ethical treatment of animals.

Oh?

I said as far as I knew, Neuotova adamantly opposed animal experimentation of any kind. But he was pretty insistent that Neuotova is on some type of list with animal rights people that say the company basically boils bunnies.

I shot him the Fatal Attraction reference to keep the mood light. My stomach was crawling with anxiety; I couldn’t believe I was pushing at this directly with Oliver.

If he somehow found out that this was not my first level of interest, if he found out I’d actually been researching for weeks and finding that Ethan’s claims were not completely fictional… well, I didn’t know what the consequences would be.

What are you doing right now? he texted.

I’m at home, why?

Meet me. Billy’s Grill. Twenty minutes.

I stared at my phone. Billy’s was the restaurant we’d eaten at during our last date, which wasn’t supposed to be a date at all because of our agreement. We hadn’t had sex, but the heat between us had been undeniable. And, of course, since then we had had sex. My body began to pulse with desire for him.

See u soon, I texted, then rushed to the bathroom to freshen my makeup and hair. Considering I’d worked all day and then taught class all evening, I didn’t think I looked half-bad. But, looking at my watch, I needed to get going or I’d be late.

It turned out that I was a little late, anyway. Or Oliver was early. Either way, he was waiting for me in a private booth in the back corner of Billy’s. He had ordered some appetizers, a detail I let slide as I sat down. He smiled at me, his same, easy grin lighting up his face.

“It’s a little late for dinner,” I said, nodding at the food.

“If you think of this as dinner,” he quipped, “I’m not sure you should be qualified as a food scientist anytime soon. I’m not even sure this is food.” He held up a buffalo wing dripping with orange hot sauce and made a face. I laughed.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I didn’t mean to upset you with the comments my student made. He was just trying to impress the teacher on the first day, I’m sure.”

“What was his name?”

“His name?” I asked, confused. “Ethan. Why?”

Oliver’s face tightened and I saw his jaw flex. He exhaled and took a sip of the beer the server had just delivered. “Ethan what?”

“What?”

“What’s Ethan’s last name, Becka.” His tone was low and steady. Calm to anyone else, but I could tell he was seething with anger.

“Um…” I thought, straining to remember. “Hernandez.” It came into my mind in a flash, along with his green eyes and confident slouch. I shifted in my seat.

“He’s a student in your ethics class?” Oliver’s eyes narrowed and he stared at me. I shifted again, this time out of discomfort. His gaze was hard and penetrating; I felt like I was on the stand in a courtroom, being cross examined.

“Yes, he’s a student, Oliver, what’s going on?”

Oliver looked around, looking for anyone who might hear. He dropped his voice lower, and I had to lean forward and strain to hear him.

“Ethan Hernandez is a con man. He’s been trying to take down Neuotova for more than three years. At first, we thought he was just an innocent teenager; we first heard about him when he was in high school. He calls himself an activist, but, really, he goes after corporations and accuses them of animal rights violations.

He creates evidence, or what he calls evidence, that threatens the success of the company. Companies are forced to pay him to keep silent. Essentially, he’s an extortionist.”

As I listened to Oliver, I felt my brain pull in two directions. This was not at all what I had expected him to say. Was he telling the truth? Or was he, like me, using Ethan as a way to convince me of his version of the truth, just like I was trying to use Ethan to get more information about Neuotova’s potential involvement in unethical animal experimentation?

My attention came back in a flash as Oliver slammed his beer on the table. “Dammit,” he cursed under his breath. “Think carefully,” he said. “What did you tell him? Word for word.”

My mind blanked for a moment, but then I was able to recall the gist of what I had told Ethan. I was grateful that I could tell Oliver the truth, that I had taken his side in my conversation with Ethan.

“And I basically finished by telling him that he needed to get his facts straight and not make accusations based on assumptions.”

“Good girl, Becka,” Oliver said, finally smiling a genuine smile. “I may need to hire you as a negotiator one of these days.” He saw my ready objection and smiled. “I’m kidding,” he said, “though you would be extremely good at it.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I had no idea that he existed, or that there was anything to his claims. I just thought he was a cocky kid trying to impress me.” I left out the part where I thought he was so attractive I’d spent at least a part of the class imagining him between my legs.

“You did very well, Becka, not that I’m surprised in the least.”