Chapter 8

Oliver

Monday mornings are always my busiest day of the week, largely due to the fact that they are busiest days for other people, my clients included. Megan had scheduled me for nearly back to back meetings from seven in the morning until four in the afternoon. When four finally rolled around, I quickly walked to the on-site research lab. Anticipation built in my stomach.

I had agreed to Becka’s ridiculous arrangement, which meant that, following our tryst from a few nights ago, we were boss and employee, no longer lovers. I shook my head as I walked down the hall. I can’t stand when I make a bad deal. It makes me edgy and affects my digestion.

I hurried through the safeguards designed to secure the lab, and walked into the huge, open space. I looked around, scanning all of the white coats standing and walking around. I employed several hundred people in the building, but the lab was the most understaffed, so I was able to see Becka right away.

She stood out from the rest of the researchers in a way I couldn’t have described if I’d tried. My eyes trained right on her, and my body immediately began to respond.

I took a deep breath and put my hand in my pocket, trying to keep myself calmed down. Her beauty was staggering, even in a lab coat with her hair pulled back and no makeup. She saw me watching her and smiled.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Weeks,” she said, waving to me.

I gritted my teeth. We were back to Dr. Weeks. I smiled and walked over to her.

“Miss Jasper, a moment?” I pulled her to the side wall. “How are you?” I asked. “Is everything going okay? Do you have everything you need?”

She smiled and I wished that she hadn’t; her smile lit up the room and only made the ache in my groin worse.

“Everything is awesome… Oliver. Thank you for the opportunity, and thank you for respecting my wishes.”

“As long as my sacrifice is worth it,” I said, “I don’t mind… much.” That was a lie. I minded a lot, and it had nothing to do with any advancements she made in my research lab. At least with her in my lab, I could keep an eye on her. “You can go back to work, Becka; I just wanted to say hello.”

She smiled at me and walked away. When she rejoined her group, all peering at iPads, someone nodded his head in my direction and Becka smiled, shook her head no. I watched her work for almost an hour, trying to be discreet by walking around the lab and checking in with the different groups. When I left the lab and returned to my office, I went straight to my private bathroom. I needed a cold shower.

Becka

Working in the Neuotova lab was everything I’d dreamed it would be and more. The science they were working on was incredible, and I knew that I’d be able to use my work in their lab on my dissertation, as well as the work I did with Dr. Evans on Protame. Every day of my first week, Oliver came to check on me. He disguised it as quality assurance, but I knew it was because he missed me.

I knew this, because I missed him, too. The ache I felt in my stomach every time he walked in and out of the lab was both painful and distracting. Each night when I got home, I spent time researching, meditating, really, trying to figure out what to do.

I realized what I was really trying to uncover was a way to get out of my own rule. I’d told Oliver I wouldn’t sleep with him and get paid for the internship. Without the pay, I couldn’t afford to eat. But, I missed being with him more than I could have ever imagined.

The week moved slowly and, by Thursday night, I was at my laptop in my pajamas by seven o’clock in the evening, a glass of wine in my hand. I’d decided to take a different angle on my Neuotova research by looking at their main competitors.

There were two, one in the United States, and the other was in Russia. I’d always thought Russia was an odd country for a food science company, and the majority of business analysts seemed to agree with me. I searched their articles, looking for signs of Oliver or Neuotova.

I was fascinated by everything I was reading. I used my professional access to get at some of the deeper, less accessible articles, and completely lost track of time. My phone pinged at ten o’clock, a reminder for me to write in my journal, and I jumped at the sound. I sighed, took a drink of my forgotten wine, and turned off my reminder alarm.

An article at the bottom of the computer screen caught my eye. I opened it and began scanning. When I saw Oliver’s name I slowed down and leaned in. As I read, an ache of a different kind began to form itself in my stomach. The article named ten CEOs of companies worldwide who had, allegedly, lied under oath in a hearing to determine punishments for animal experimentation in food labs.

I had heard of most of the other CEOs on the list, largely through research for my dissertation. They were unethical, cold businessmen whose sole objective was to pad their pockets with more money. Oliver’s name did not belong on this list. I continued to read the article and stopped, stunned, when I read a quote attributed to Oliver.

“We feel bad about the suffering of animals, but, the truth is, sacrifices must be made on all levels if we’re going to make the strides in nutrition and food science that we need to make as an advanced species.”

I felt nauseous. I looked at my wine and decided against it. I turned my computer off and walked into the kitchen. Lisa had left a note that she was going out for the night and may or may not be back before morning.

I was on my own. I looked at my phone in my hand. Normally, I would text Oliver. Seeing him would make me feel better instantly. But, if I texted him, I felt like I would need answers to questions I hadn’t managed to fully form yet. Oliver had said since the night I first heard him lecture that Neuotova abhorred animal testing and would never participate in it or in anything even remotely similar.

He said that he contributed regularly to PETA and other organizations specifically designed to combat animal cruelty in the world. Yet, this article had named him as an evil figure in the world of animal cruelty. Who was I to believe?

I unlocked my phone to text him, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I poured another glass of wine. Then another, and another. After the fourth glass, I felt ready to text him.

I need to talk to u, Oliver. About our deal, and about some other things. Can we meet for dinner soon?

It was such a different type of correspondence from what I was used to with him. I looked back at our texting history and realized this was the longest we’d gone without texting in the time we’d known each other. While I was reading through our history, he texted back.

Of course. Tomorrow night?

I replied, Yes. Somewhere casual.

Is everything alright?

I looked at his text, my fingers hovering over the keypad. I had no clue how to answer that question. Was everything alright? I genuinely did not know.