I blinked at him. “Why are you telling me this?”

His mouth quirked. “Just confessing something terrible to you. I thought it might be our thing.”

I remembered the car. My admission that I’d wished Vincent would just disappear. How jealous of his sister he’d been. Then, inexplicably, I heard myself say, “I once accidentally crushed a mouse’s skull while putting him in ear bars.” I swallowed. “The postdoc who was supervising me said that it wasn’t a big deal, and I pretended I didn’t care, but I couldn’t handle it. I haven’t worked with lab animals since.”

He didn’t say anything, like he hadn’t in the car, nor did he react in any other way. We just stared at each other with no disappointment and no recrimination, two terrible people with horrible stories, two terrible people who maybe were more interested in judging themselves than each other, until I couldn’t bear it anymore. I quickly grabbed an apple, and didn’t protest when he followed me to the humidity chamber. “Hot in here,” he commented. “Is the seal broken? I can take a look.”

“It’s just a small space. And a constantly running motor. You ready?” I started my timer before he could respond.

Admittedly, he was a good assistant. He knew how, and where, and what to log, did not ask me to repeat myself, and never once looked bored while I took my measurements. He asked questions about my research, about the company culture, about the work I’d done before coming to Kline, but he seemed to know instinctively not to bother me when I was harvesting samples or diluting them with buffers.

For the most part, I answered. I was certain that his intentions were sketchy, but couldn’t figure how sharing any of this information was going to harm Florence. The work we did was important. Florence was a fantastic leader. Maybe it was perverse of me, but I wanted Eli to know how much Kline had accomplished. Whatever Harkness was trying to achieve may have been legal, but it wasn’t moral, and I wanted him to feel like a villain for it.

But he didn’t seem upset, only happy to listen and ask questions. Above all, he seemed fully in his element. Like a lab was where he belonged.

“How long has it been?” I asked, grabbing a fresh pipette tip.

“Less than five minutes—”

“I mean, since you were last in a lab.”

He looked up from the clipboard, his face so blank, it had to be deliberate. “I haven’t kept track.”

“No?” He had. To the day. I was certain. “Why did you stop?”

“Don’t remember.” There were only two or three feet between us. His eyes were a light, predatory blue. Close enough that I could touch the lie.

“You don’t remember why you decided that you’d rather be a hedge fund manager than a scientist?”

“You really don’t know much about private equities, do you?”

My hand tightened on the pipette. “You know a lot about food engineering, though.”

“And where does that leave us?”

“I don’t think there is an us.” My hand tightened even more—so hard, I accidentally pressed my thumb against the pipette’s ejector, dropping the tip. “Shit.” I knelt to the floor, bending my head in the cramped space.

“Here,” Eli said. When I lifted my eyes, the tip was in the center of his open palm. When I lifted them higher, he was crouching in front of me.

Close.

Closer than he’d been since the other night.

“Thank you,” I said, without reaching for the tip. Not sure whether I could trust myself.

Eli stared as though my skull were made of glass, and he could see the exact mess passing through my head. He took my free hand, gently pried it open, and deposited the tip on my palm.

Then, just as gently, a lot more slowly, he closed his fingers around mine.

There were two layers of gloves between our skin. I could barely feel his heat, but his grip was possessive, at once taking and making an offer. My heart beat in my throat, and heat rushed to my cheeks.

“Have you been thinking about this as much as I have?” Eli’s voice was low and husky, scratchy with something I didn’t dare to name, but could have easily picked out in a lineup.

“I don’t know. How much have you been thinking about this?”

He let out a soft laugh. “A lot.”

“Then, yes.” I licked my lips, then almost begged him not to look at my mouth that way. “I wish there was a way to stop it.”

“Rue.” His Adam’s apple moved. “I think there is.”

“What’s that?”

“You know.”

I did. It was unfinished between us. What we’d started the other night was there, suspended, oscillating wildly. I could feel it in my teeth. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Is it not?”

“You’re with Harkness. I’m with Kline.”

“Yeah, well.” He sounded self-deprecating, as though he wasn’t a fan of his own feelings. “Right now, I don’t give a fuck about Harkness. Or Kline. Or anything else except for . . .”

You. This. Us. My brain wanted him to say the words, and I hated that about myself. “I don’t think I like you as a person. I certainly don’t like what you’re doing, nor do I respect it.”

If he was hurt, he didn’t show it. “Thankfully, that’s not a condition for anything.”

He was right, and I closed my eyes. Imagined saying yes. Imagined the process of working this thing out of myself, the act of sweating him out. How good it would feel, and the peace and satisfaction I’d feel later. I imagined hearing his name, seeing his face, and not having an instant, uncontrollable, incendiary gut reaction.

I could do it. If I had him, I could stop wanting him. It’s what always happened. No repeats.

But. “Florence wouldn’t like it.”

For the first time, Eli seemed genuinely upset. “And that’s what matters most to you? Florence’s approval?”

“Not her approval. Her well-being.”

He inched back his head. “Okay.” This time he looked disappointed, maybe in me. But his tone was casual, the discrepancy jarring even as his fingers tightened lightly around mine one last time. “Then maybe you should know that—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Because the door opened without warning, and when we glanced up, Florence and Jay were staring down at us.

8

LIKE STARTING A NEW BOOK BEFORE FINISHING THE ONE ALREADY CHECKED OUT FROM THE LIBRARY

RUE

It wasn’t what you think,” I said later that night, spearing a green bean and dropping it onto the edge of the plate so abruptly, the clink echoed throughout the living room. My monthly dinners with Florence and Tisha were something I usually looked forward to, and fun, and pleasantly compatible with my onslaught of dysfunctions surrounding food and social situations.

Except that tonight I wasn’t having much fun.

“It wasn’t anything at all.” I made my tone even, to avoid sounding like a five-year-old who’d wet the mattress after assuring her mom that no, she did not need to go potty before bed.

“What I heard is”—Tisha wagged a crab rangoon at me—“that you and Eli Killgore were engaged in a passionate, child-making embrace on the floor of the humidity chamber lab.”

Jay. And his nosy, gossipy mouth. Even the guy who came to refill the vending machines once a week had undoubtedly been apprised of today’s events. The Kline WhatsApp group that I’d never bothered joining had probably already commissioned the fan art.

“There were no embraces.”

“Child-making without embraces.” Tisha stroked her chin. “The plot thickens.”

“No child-making, either. We were looking for a pipette tip.”

She deflated. “Sadly, the plot thins.”

“You’re a fully grown adult, Rue.” Florence’s voice was warm with understanding, but I could hear an edge of displeasure that she wasn’t quite able to hide. “You don’t have to justify yourself.”