Page 74 of Love Under the Microscope
Nate’s desk phone rings. He takes the call on speakerphone. “Nate Lowe.”
“Hey, Nate, this is Timothy Rodgers.” The guy is the director of public relations and communications. “The manager of our manufacturing plant informed me that a reporter called him asking if we’re using unregistered labor at the plant.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“I know,” Timothy says without any hesitation. “But he admitted that’s something he heard.”
Nate stares at the ceiling. “Fuck.”
“I’ll email a statement for you and Mr. Z to approve and then release it.”
Nate looks at me, and I mouth, “Before two.”
“Please get that to us sooner rather than later. I want it released at two. Thanks.”
As soon as he hangs up, the phone rings again. Another reporter asking questions, only this time it’s Ashton on the other end of the phone.
Given everything going on, we could do without this hassle, but like everything else, we can’t ignore something that might blow up in the media. That happened when Ashton’s wife, Chloe, worked for us as a temp one Christmas before they dated. Talk about bad press. Thankfully, Nate took charge since it involved his brother, but at times like these, I wonder if being a co-CEO is really worth the trouble.
Jack
When I enter the Zentello building, I’m as amazed by it as the first time I’d stepped into the glass lobby. It looks high-tech, but that’s nothing once you get onto an actual floor with access panels and more glass walls that frost like something from a sci-fi movie.
People in white coats walk with tablets, taking me back to my days at Medi-Lion. The memories, however, are bittersweet. If I hadn’t worked there, I would have never met Aisha. I wonder if I would have continued with my PhD program instead of going into journalism. Or would fate have led me to Aisha anyway?
And now Zelda.
I receive my visitor’s badge from the front desk, and a security guard—a different one from the last time—escorts me into the building. Like everything else, the elevator is glass, so I can see a view of every floor. I have no idea if Zelda and Nate had a say in the design of this building—I wouldn’t put it past her—but the building seems to match Zentello’s vision of a company for the new millennium. I’ll be honest. My cynicism over her company continues to lessen the more time I spend with her.
I arrive on the executive floor and am led to her office. “Right this way, Mr. Parker.”
The man hasn’t said anything else to me. I follow him, eager to see Zelda.
I miss her, even though we ate breakfast together yesterday after our night together. And what a night. Sex with Zelda feels like more than a quick fuck—well, fucks given it was more than once—between two people who are using each other for their own gain. Shit. That sounds bad, but I hope that’s not what’s happening with us.
When have I become so insecure about a woman?
I know the reason. For the first time since losing Aisha, I want someone in my life.
I want Zelda.
The woman has me tied in knots, and the worst part?
I don’t care.
She comes out of her office looking sexy in a red skirt, white blouse, and matching red pumps. A pen sticks out of the hair piled on top of her head.
Fuck. I want to pull out that pen and run my fingers through her hair so badly.
“Hey.” Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Are you okay?”
Wanting to be professional, I hold out my hand for her to shake. “I’m fine, but you’re clearly not.”
“I’ve had a shit morning, fending off reporters.”
“What?” I’ve been working, so I didn’t know a story was going down. “About what?”
“You don’t know?”
