Page 36 of Love Under the Microscope
“I should head home,” I say as we hit the cool air outside. I pull out my phone to request a ride.
“You sure you don’t want to go to another salubrious bar?” Jack grins. “I frequent lots of them.”
“I’m sure you do.” I laugh and tap on the app. “It’s getting late, and I have work in the morning.”
“Okay, no problem.” He cups my elbow with his hand. “I’ll wait with you.”
“You want to share?”
He shakes his head. “I only live a couple of blocks away.”
A minute later, a car pulls up to the curb, and a guy leans out of the window.
“Zelda? I’m Tyson.”
I double-check the app with the make, model, and driver’s name. All three match.
“That’s me.” I kiss Jack’s cheek. “Thanks again for attending the gala. I only wish we’d gotten to play a game of pool.”
“Another time.”
I’m not so sure about that, but I find myself nodding.
“Let me know if you find out what’s missing,” he adds.
Shit. The papers. As a dark cloud settles around me, I slide into the back seat of the car. The door closes, and Jack taps on the roof. I nod in his direction. That’s all I can muster. I feel as if I’ve had a power drain, and no amount of recharging will fill my battery. It’s not one thing but a combination—two men from my past, Nate and Nigel, and one from my present, Jack. At least his name doesn’t start with N. Yet I feel whatever’s going on could destroy … everything.
As the car pulls away, Jack bends slightly so I can see him through the window, and he waves. I resist the temptation to tell the driver to stop. Going home with Jack Parker wouldn’t be smart, and as he said, I am strong and smart. I only wish I didn’t feel so powerless right now.
Instead of doing what would physically feel amazing based on our kisses, I face forward, so I’m not tempted to look in his direction again.
No matter how much I want to experience a heart-pounding romance, the kind you read about in books, or even just hot sex with an equally hot guy, that’s not happening in my life. At least not now.
Maybe not ever.
I blow out a breath.
Sometimes being responsible sucks.
At home, I check my bookcase. All the old notebooks and lab journals are there, even some empty pink folders I used to use, but when I flip through the things from the early days of Zentello, pages are missing.
That fucking asshole.
But why would he have taken random pages?
Unfortunately, I don’t know exactly what was written on those pages, but I have an idea—the initial formula that led to the creation of the Happy Pill project. The one that Bradley and Max ended up turning into Orchid.
Bad. Bad. Bad.
I know Zentello must have some version of the formula, but I’m worried Nigel has the original one with the earliest date. Perhaps people would see the pages were stolen from my notebook, but that would only raise more questions.
Ugh! I need to figure out what to do, and I know exactly what will help.
A shower.
I do my best thinking while showering.
Then I can get ready for bed.
