Page 8 of Love Under the Microscope
I straighten. Okay, he has my attention.
Zentello is one of the most successful pharmaceutical companies in the world, and it just happens to be headquartered here in Seattle. They’ve been working on the project for years, but we had trouble finding information about it until the FDA application became public. Unfortunately, we’re still missing the story behind the story, especially where one of the co-CEOs is concerned.
“The FDA approved their New Drug Application?” I ask, wanting to make sure I heard Drew correctly. For all I know, Zentello submitted a Biological License Application instead. I should investigate that more closely.
“That’s the rumor from a highly credible source.”
A part of my brain goes into overdrive, and my breath hitches. I wonder if it’s the same source who’s been giving us info since Ryan got fired. But an image of all the women who’ll happily take Orchid pills without a care in the world fills my brain, and I find myself wanting to spiral.
Focus, Parker.
I’ve worked too hard to lose it now. But dammit, Zelda gave me a heads-up that something from the FDA would be coming in late summer or early fall. That was in…July. Shit. Two months ago. Where has the time gone?
Drew leans forward. “Feeling okay?”
Not trusting my voice, I nod.
We’ve been publishing stories about a product Zentello initially called the Happy Pill and is now known as Orchid, a female sexual enhancement drug. Something that’ll be huge when it hits the market, if—and it’s a big if—the product is safe. In theory, the pill wouldn’t be approved if it’s dangerous, and an impending launch means the FDA has given their thumbs-up, but I have doubts about new pharmaceutical products based on my experience working at Medi-Lion.
Not everything is as safe as the public thinks. Sometimes the warnings—the possible side effects—do occur.
A weight presses against my chest, and an all-too-familiar lump forms in my throat. I’m intimately acquainted with the phases of grief, and though the feelings don’t hit as often or as hard these days, I have to force myself to swallow.
Fuck. I miss Aisha so much.
Stop thinking about the past.
“How credible?” I ask.
“Very.” Drew’s gaze narrows.
Zentello is an obsession of his. The same as mine, but mine extends to the entire industry because of Aisha. I’ve done a few things over the years that made me hesitate for the sake of writing articles, but given that the truth might save lives, I’ve embraced the adage that the means justify the end.
Do I like some of the unsavory ways my colleagues and I have gotten information?
Nope, but I’ve done what my job requires—investigative reporting. I shouldn’t complain. I have an office to go to each day, which makes me get up each morning, shower, dress, and leave my apartment. That’s a huge improvement from living in the same pair of sweats for weeks on end and not showering or shaving or eating after Aisha died. I’d sold a couple of freelance articles to PharmaNews, including my exposé on my former company, which led to the lead scientist losing his job and being disgraced. That revenge hadn’t helped me as much as I hoped, and I’d been floundering until Drew hired me full-time. Now I’m not, but I would love to work on something groundbreaking and significant.
“Is the source on the inside at Zentello?” I ask offhandedly, trying to sound blasé.
“No, but they’ve provided us with good leads in the past.”
Whoa. I didn’t know Drew had a source outside of Zentello, and I want to know more. Hell, I want to get an introduction. Just an email or number would do.
The tightening in my gut tells me there are more stories out there, and if so, I want them. I keep my features schooled and my voice steady. I need to play this lowkey and pretend I’m not as interested as I really am. “A former employee or someone who works at a competitor?”
“Let’s just say they’re involved in the industry.”
That doesn’t answer my question, but it explains how the magazine continues to receive tips after losing our last informant. I guess Drew is good for something, but I’m pissed he hasn’t shared this source with me before. It would have come in handy. Still, water under the bridge if I wind up with a feature. I can find out the source’s identity later.
“Sounds good.” My smile is more natural now, and I’m sweating less. “What do I need to know?”
“You’ve been poking around Zentello, trying to sniff out a story for years.”
“Yes.” Call it a hunch, but a big story wants to be told inside that shiny glass building. “I was getting closer until Ryan Matthews got caught.”
Drew found the guy who worked in Zentello’s mailroom and Dr. Jennings, our very first informant, but I don’t believe the magazine bankrolled the payouts. I’m not sure how corporate spying works, but those two “moles” were paid cash. Maybe Drew’s dad covered the payments because I was allowed to offer Christina Jenkins money when she participated in a drug trial three years ago.
“I’m still not ready to let go of Zentello yet,” I admit.
