Page 10 of Love Under the Microscope
The first is Bradley Zimmer’s wife, Christina. We met a few times when she was single, but I might’ve come off as rude and heavy-handed. The truth is, I was a dick back then for various reasons—professional and personal. Add in the blackmail situation with Dr. Zimmer at the same time, and I doubt she’d give me the time of day again. Even though I wasn’t involved in that, I don’t blame her.
That leaves Zelda, the only other person I know at Zentello—and I use know loosely, though I’ve enjoyed emailing her. Two years ago, I replied to what amounted to her cease-and-desist letter regarding the last piece of information the magazine bought from Ryan Matthews. Talk about a waste of money—we paid for a fake letter sent to a fake trial participant.
But after Zelda’s email arrived, Drew mentioned he’d heard one of the lead scientists was quitting, so I thought I may as well ask her about it. I honestly didn’t expect to hear back, but I had nothing to lose by trying. I also thought it was funny since she wanted Jack Parker to contact her.
And he did, only he used the pseudonym Ernie Hemingway to do so.
My own inside joke.
Zelda replied to me—well, Ernie—about Dr. Sam Grant’s resignation, and our correspondence carried on from there. I wouldn’t call us pen pals, but maybe Zelda will help me. She’s Nate Lowe’s assistant, so she might know something. Like the first time I emailed her and each time after that, I have nothing to lose—well, other than my job if I can’t pull off this feature.
I stare at my computer screen and pull up my inbox. Nothing needs my attention, which means I can email Zelda, but my fingers freeze over the keyboard. I’m unsure what to say to her. All our contact has been through email, which feels a little old-school. I tried to find her online, but I don’t even know her last name, so my search was futile.
That gives me an idea.
What if I try a backdoor approach? I’ll ask to interview her, not to discover the deep, dark secrets of Zentello—which I still want, don’t get me wrong—but to gain insight on how the company works, especially as they prepare for a new product launch. That might get me inside Zentello, which is the first step to discovering Mr. Z’s identity.
It’s worth a shot.
I compose an email and reread it, hoping I’ve pitched the interview properly. If I’m too unprofessional or jokey, she won’t think I take my work or her seriously, which would be false. But we’ve communicated enough that I don’t want to come across as stuffy. The tone I want is friendly.
I’ve enjoyed my interactions with Zelda these past two years, so my friendliness isn’t fake. Sure, I sent the flowers and chocolates to get on her good side, which she obviously knew, but knowing she enjoyed the gifts made me happy in a way I hadn’t felt in years.
I don’t want to lie or manipulate her, but let’s be real. I’m ready to be as sweet as it takes to find out if Zentello stole their next great product … and to speak to Mr. Z. And strangely, for the first time since I lost Aisha, I have a sense of ebullience—passion—for something. It’s my time to succeed.
PHARMA LAB NOTES #375
BY GIOVANNI BERNARD SHAW
An industry source claims that one of the X, Y, or Z pharmaceutical companies might have stolen the formula for its newly approved for-her-pleasure drug from a rival company. Given the high profile of one CEO, this might explain why the other has been in hiding for years. Could he be trying to avoid prosecution or extradition if he fled the country? This accusation could explain the person’s motivation to remain “in the background.” Only time will tell what happens with the flowery pill or if the originator of the formula will seek justice by stopping the launch or asking for compensation before the product goes to market. Our inquiries to the company have yet to be answered.
CHAPTER 2
ZELDA
What the fuck?
At my desk, I stare at my computer reading today’s Lab Notes column from PharmaNews. Each word sends my heart dropping, lower and lower until it feels like it’s sitting at the bottom of my brown pumps. I clutch the seat of my desk chair, my recently manicured fingernails digging into the leather. Chipping a nail is the least of my worries.
Everyone who reads this piece of trash will know it’s about Zentello. If only that was the worst of it, but who in the hell would say Mr. Z stole Orchid’s formula?
It’s a bald-faced lie.
One I need to stop from spreading.
I’ve had my research stolen in the past, and it cost me so much. The fact someone would accuse the company of doing that …
I reread the column, and my pulse rate and agitation level rise with each sentence. Why would someone write this shit?
The use of rival company raises so many red flags, especially given our biggest rival is UnoPharm. Nigel couldn’t be the one behind this, could he?
My muscles tense, and my blood runs cold at the thought of my ex-boyfriend doing this.
I reread the article for a third time, taking my time with each word.
My temperature shoots up what feels like ten degrees. I grab a notepad and fan myself. It doesn’t cool me off at all. I’m actually sweating, and I hate to sweat. I grab a tissue and rub the back of my neck to sop up any perspiration on my hairline.
Fuck. It most definitely could be Nigel trying to cause trouble.
