Page 9 of Love Under the Microscope
“You’ve been worse than a stray dog with a steak bone.”
He’s not wrong. I try to keep my features relaxed and my shoulders from bunching, but I’m not sure I’m succeeding. “So tell me more about the feature.”
“You need to know something else first.” A wicked gleam fills Drew’s eyes. He almost looks like he wants to cackle, which would be in character for him. “We’re publishing something spicy in the Lab Notes today.”
It’s not my week to write the column, but I lean forward, eager to show I’m a team player even though I’m more of a lone wolf and prefer it that way. “What?”
“Zentello’s been accused of stealing the idea for Orchid from UnoPharm. Mr. Z seems to be the likely suspect, given what’s known about Nate Lowe. I need the inside scoop, ideally before Orchid’s formal launch announcement.”
Fuck. This is a bombshell and a big one. B-I-G as in career changing. No wonder Drew is giddy. This would be a boon for the magazine and for me. Well, if it’s true.
But if Drew wants me to write a feature, it must be close to true, right?
Still, I can’t forget how he and two other reporters on staff tried to unmask Mr. Z three years ago, but their attempt to blackmail Dr. Bradley Zimmer into giving up his boss failed.
“Is this tip from the same source you mentioned?” I keep my voice steady even though my insides twist like a DNA helix.
“Yes.”
Could that mean the source works at UnoPharm? A former Zentello employee might know this. One of their lead scientists resigned two years ago. Dr. Grant, if my memory serves me correctly. Maybe he’s the source.
I roll my neck to one side as if stretching. “Oh, I forgot to ask. Did you find another source on the inside at Zentello?”
“Still working on it. I know that would help you.” Drew’s expression gives nothing away. I learned early on not to play poker with the guy unless I just want to hand over my money. “Get this feature right, and you’ll keep your job. You might even get a bonus and a promotion.”
My mouth waters. I really don’t want to lose my job, and the pay sucks. Sure, I live frugally, and why not? I really have no life other than researching articles and writing them. I go for an occasional run and lift barbells in my living room because I can’t afford a gym membership, but I really want a promotion.
I hate fighting to get column inches, and only one byline a month is guaranteed with those stupid Lab Notes industry blind items published with even stupider pseudonyms. I want to write under my real name. “By Jack Parker” has a nice ring to it. That would also get my name out there so I could work for a more reputable science publication, one without budget issues and an egomaniacal editor.
This feature will be my ticket out.
I just need to play it cool and not let Drew know how much this assignment means to me. I stretch my legs out in front of me. “Sounds good.”
What I really want to say is it’s about fucking time, you douchebag.
One question, however, needs to be asked. “Am I the only person assigned to write the article, or is it a race?”
Drew rubs his chin. “Only you for now. If you miss your deadline, you’ll be out of a job, and the assignment goes up for grabs.”
Ouch. But that’s better than the assignment being part of a cutthroat competition. My coworkers are a motley crew, but there’s no pirate’s code we follow. We’re more like mercenaries or cannibals. I never turn my back on them. “Got it.”
“I’ll email you what information I have along with a deadline.” Drew’s lips narrow. “Full transparency. There isn’t much.”
I wouldn’t expect any less from him. “I have years of notes.”
Drew’s eyebrows lift as if he’s impressed. “Figured you might.”
“That’s my job.” I don’t want to waste time kissing my editor’s ass when work needs to be done. “Anything else?”
“Keep me posted on your progress.”
“Will do.” As I leave, sweat dampens my hairline. Excitement over the opportunity. That’s all it is. I still have a job and a new assignment with the possibility of getting a bonus and a promotion. Of course, if I fail, I’ll be out on the streets. But I have control of my own destiny, something I didn’t have when I walked into Drew’s office a few minutes ago. I’ll take it.
As I return to the newsroom bullpen, I brainstorm various plans of attack, but only one thing makes sense—going directly to the source.
An interview with the mysterious Mr. Z would get me the information I need. But the man who founded the company and calls all the shots is impossible to track down. I’ve spent years trying to no avail, researching everything from SEC filings to offshore companies. No one at Zentello will even admit to having seen Mr. Z in person, yet his name continues to pop up in industry news, including our articles.
I sit at my desk and pull up my folder on Zentello. Until Drew finds another informant, I’ll have to rely on my contacts.
