“Aside from the fact it took place in a lab and therefore consisted of highly unprofessional behavior that would prompt HR to put you through years of additional sexual harassment training.” Tisha took a relishing bite, and I pointed my fork at her.

“Last year you dated that guy from legal, and had sex with him in at least three conference rooms.”

“Man, this is good,” she said around a mouthful of tofu.

“It would be best for me not to know about the abundance of fornication that goes on in my labs.” Florence sounded pained. “Really, Rue, I wouldn’t dream to tell you who to . . . You can do whatever you like.” It was still there, that tinge of hurt and worry in her tone. “But.”

“It could be your Mata Hari moment, Rue,” Tisha added.

“My what?”

“That hot spy in World War One? Or Two? Or the Sack of Rome—I don’t know history. What I mean is, you could sleep with Eli in exchange for information.”

“Deeply unethical.” Florence shook her head, amused. I was ready to let the matter drop, but she added, “You should be careful, Rue. Because of the kind of person he is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well.” She took a sip of her bubble tea, collecting her thoughts. “Eli and his friends are Harkness, and you know what Harkness is doing to Kline. I simply think that anyone who feels free to take what’s others’ without consent in one context might just be willing to do the same in another.”

My eyes widened at the implications. Would Eli really—

“Why did he seek you out? Did he want to know anything in particular?” Florence asked.

“Just an overview of my project. Generic info on Kline that he could have found online, or by asking literally anyone else.” But he’d come to me. And hours later I still felt him buzzing in my skull, as if my brain wanted to hold on to precious fragments of him.

The way he pulled at the hem of his shirt to wipe his glasses clean.

His large hand around mine.

The acquisitiveness in his eyes.

And then Florence’s interruption. She’d looked so surprised and hurt to see us together, and Eli had made things worse by staring defiantly at her until she’d averted her eyes. Retreating was such an un-Florence-like behavior, I couldn’t make sense of it, nor could I understand why Harkness seemed to be treating Kline like their own personal playground.

And earlier today I’d decided to find out.

After work I’d opened the dating app and scrolled through men’s profiles in search of someone who wasn’t Eli—and then I’d given up without messaging anyone. It had felt wrong on some base, instinctive level, like a nagging prickle that I was forgetting something, like starting a new book before finishing the one already checked out from the library—something truncated that wouldn’t allow me to move on yet.

So I’d moved on to do what I really wanted: to figure out Eli Killgore’s deal. And the research had proven fruitful.

“Did you guys know that Minami Oka has a doctorate in chemical engineering from Cornell?” I asked. “She was at UT at some point, too.”

Tisha gasped. “No shit.”

“Did Eli tell you?” Florence asked, sounding a little alarmed. Maybe at the thought of us exchanging small talk. Or perhaps at the prospect of being invited, three months down the line, to a barefoot, lakeside ceremony in which I’d wed the guy who’d pilfered her life’s work.

She might even be asked to officiate.

“No. I looked it all up online.”

“Was Minami there when we were there?” Tisha asked.

“I’m not sure. UT is listed as a past institution on her profile, but it doesn’t give years.” I glanced at Florence. “Did she overlap with your faculty time there?”

She gave it a good think. “I can’t remember. But it’s a large department, and it’s been years. If she was an undergrad . . . there are so many of them.”

“Too many,” Tisha muttered darkly, clearly flashing back to her TA years.

“Eli seems to know his way around a lab,” I added. Despite having majored in finance at St. Cloud State University. He didn’t list an MBA, which I thought odd. Then again, what did I know about the credentials necessary to start a Pac-Man company whose only purpose was to eat other, yellow-pebbled companies?

“For real?” Tisha was curious.

“More than some of the engineering undergrads I dealt with at UT, for sure.”

“Well. Bars and lows and all that.”

“Rue,” Florence interjected, changing the topic, “anything new on the coating patent front?”

“Still on track to file the application next week.” I gave Florence a small smile. “The agent suggested that I collect a couple new humidity data points. Other than that, we’re doing great.”

Florence’s smile was much brighter. “Let me know if there’s anything you need from me.”

“What about what I need from you?” Tisha asked.

Florence’s eyes widened in concern. “If there’s anything—”

“Nutter Butter in the vending machines. It’s been ages and I’m still waiting.”

I nibbled on my green bean, and while Tish and Florence bickered over the worthiness of various types of snacks, I forced myself to enjoy the rest of the evening.

9

YOU SIMP

ELI

He’d lost his mind earlier that morning, and the results had been a bit of a fuckup.

Or a lot.

When he’d gotten in his car to meet Rue at Kline, he’d not meant to come on to her. But her physical presence in his space was heady, a little hypnotic. The room had been small, and she’d smelled amazing, like the shower she’d just had, and buffer solutions, and something sweet and personal and her underneath it all.

Not Eli’s best moment.

But it was contained now. Her refusal had cooled things enough to knock some sense into him, and he was very relieved not to be tempted to drive to her house just for the privilege of doing something appalling, like . . . staring at her dark balcony windows and ordering himself to not masturbate furiously, probably.

Distance. He needed spatial, temporal, physical distance from her, and he was determined to carve it out.

“Good boy,” he told Tiny when he brought back a stick Eli had never thrown. He tossed it, then smiled fondly as Tiny ran in the wrong direction to fetch it.

My best friend in the whole world, ladies and gentlemen.

As if aware of his dethronement by a dog who needed expensive drugs just to get his nails trimmed, Hark chose that moment to return Eli’s earlier call. “What’s up?” he asked.

The sun was about to set, but the sweltering heat still pressed down every cell of his body, and the dog park was infested with gnats. Tiny abandoned not quite fetching and began following trails left by other dogs with gusto. Pee-mails, Maya called them, and that’s how Eli had started to think of them, too.

Maybe there was such a thing as hanging out too much with his sister.

“Eli?” Hark prodded.

“Sorry.” He wiped sweat off his forehead. “I have news. What do you want first, the good or the bad?” Eli asked.

“I hate it when you do that,” a voice screamed through the phone, fainter than Hark’s.

Eli smiled. “Hi, Minami.” He heard an approaching shuffle, and when she next spoke, she sounded much closer.

“If I know bad news is coming, I’m never going to be able to enjoy the good one. Best approach is: Tell me the good, allow me five minutes of happiness, and then break the bad. How many times have I explained this to you?”

The dry “feels like hundreds” in the background was quintessentially Sul’s.