Page 13 of Love Under the Microscope
What Christina said about him is true. He does look like an Abercrombie and Fitch model in his T-shirt and jacket. He must also be athletic, given the way he moves.
Nice eye candy, but so not my type.
Maybe back in the day, but I’m older and wiser now. I prefer geeky scientists with glasses, who can discuss protein folding and misfolding yet also know the intimate workings of a woman’s anatomy, making sex even more fun.
Jack cocks a brow. “Zelda?”
I flash him my most charming smile. “Yes.”
“I’m Ernie Hemingway.”
No, he isn’t, but I’ll play along. Not only do I have the home field advantage, but I also know things about Mr. Parker that he probably forgot about himself. I can’t believe the man I wanted to find two years ago is the same one who sent me flowers and candy on Valentine’s Day. “We finally meet in person.”
He shoots me a wry grin. “It’s about time.”
“You really are a redhead. I thought maybe you were telling me a white lie.”
“I never lie about being a ginger,” he says, his smile widening.
I wonder if that means he lies about other things. Something tells me I should be careful around this reporter. If only I had another option, but unfortunately, he’s it. I motion to the empty chair on the other side of my desk. “Take a seat, Ernie.”
He does and glances around. “Nice digs.”
“Zentello prides itself on providing employees a comfortable work environment.”
“Comfortable isn’t the adjective I’d use to describe the building. High-tech or cutting-edge, maybe.”
I shrug. “Depends on what puts you at ease.”
He glances at my desk. “No family photos.”
“I don’t have a family, but I hope to someday.”
“Goals.”
“They’re important to have.”
He pulls out a recorder and a small notepad. “Do you mind if I take notes?”
I push the NDA forward and remove the pen stuck in my hair. Nate always jokes about wearing writing utensils, but I do so to keep them handy so I don’t have to think about bringing one with me. “Before we talk, I need you to sign this nondisclosure agreement.”
As he glances at the stack of papers, his gaze narrows. “I’m here to interview you.”
Guess he’s going to keep playing that card, but I know better. He’s looking for either info or a way into Zentello, probably both. “On the fourth page, you’ll see interview provisions.”
A vein flicks at his jaw, telling me I caught him off guard, which is the point. I’m also protecting Zentello. I just hope he can tell me if Nigel is trying to bring down the company.
Jack wets his lips, which I must admit are full and kissable.
Not my type. “What do you think?”
He reads, flips the page, and inhales sharply. “This is highly unusual, Zelda.”
He has no idea. “Zentello is an unusual company in a highly competitive industry. We require our employees to take precautions, and if any speak to the press, they must follow guidelines. In your case, you have access to me, who has access to our CEOs. This is to protect the company’s interests, nothing more. Read over the agreement and see what you think.”
I have no doubt he’ll try to wiggle out of signing. If that’s the case, the interview will end before it begins. People look at me and only see Nate’s personal assistant and their limited beliefs of what my job entails. An internet search on Zelda Lowe will yield little information. I kept Nate’s last name after our divorce mainly because I liked it better than my maiden name—Zephyr.
I loved my last name until high school when I got teased about having an exotic dancer or porn star name. Mom told me people were jealous, but the teasing—dare I say bullying—was relentless. College was a little better until that mess during grad school. Let’s just say I still prefer being a Lowe now.
