Page 91 of Love Under the Microscope
I’ve been cleaning for four hours—two hundred forty minutes—and the anger running through my veins hasn’t lessened. If anything, I’m more upset at Jack.
The only positive to all this? Every surface has been scrubbed, every inch of carpet vacuumed, and every pane of glass sparkles. The only chore remaining is to put away my folded laundry. Or maybe I’ll polish my woodwork.
When I open my drawer to put away my underwear, I stop, clear a space, and pop the false bottom to see pieces of paper. I shuffle through them until I find what I’m looking for—the rest of the formula that became Orchid.
I’ve been out of the lab for so long I’d forgotten about my hiding place until telling Jack about what happened to me in grad school. After that, I decided to ensure no one could steal my work again.
That’s why I bought this dresser in an antique store. The entire selling point for me was the story the salesperson told me. The original owner had it custom-made so she could hide her jewelry to keep her husband from giving her things to his various mistresses. Poor woman.
But her loss was my gain. I hold the paper against my chest.
I only hope Nigel’s scientists haven’t figured it out yet.
I stare at the formula and think about Jack. Without him, I’m not sure I would have pulled off getting back the original pages. I also wonder if I’ve been too hasty pushing him away. As a journalist, he could get an exclusive story of Orchid out there for us. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before, but he’d been so focused on Mr. Z, and I’d been more intent on protecting my privacy.
Why not have Jack announce Orchid with what we give him? Nate and I could pretend to be angry that a journalist preempted us, but at least people would know it’s ours no matter what stunt Nigel pulled. Because I have no doubt that he will pull something. But this way, whatever he does will be pointless, and any claims he makes will be ridiculous.
But would Jack—
Strike that. Would I trust Jack to write what we needed?
That’s the real question.
My phone rings. I glance at the screen.
Jack.
My heart lodges in my throat. I don’t know if this is a coincidence or a sign, but I answer the phone. “Yes?”
“I didn’t think you’d answer,” he says brightly. “I thought calling would be better than dropping by your place.”
Hearing his voice makes my head and heart spin. I so wish things could be different, but that doesn’t matter. I have to be strong. I won’t allow anyone else to hurt me again. “A call is better.”
“I have a plan,” we say at the same time.
There’s a tense moment of silence that’s nothing like the comfortable quiet we’ve shared in the past.
“What’s your plan?” he asks.
“I want you to write an article about Zentello and Orchid.”
“That’s what got us here,” he replies, his voice low.
“I want you to announce Orchid before we launch it. I want you to write about everything it’ll do so we can get the information out before Nigel has a chance to pull something.”
“It’s a good plan.” Jack’s quiet again. What the hell is wrong? “But Nigel has already called a press conference.”
My mouth drops open. “What? Why?”
“He’s going to tell the world you’re about to launch his product.”
I gasp and drop my phone. Somehow, I find the nearest chair and plop onto it, feeling as if my world is ending. “I don’t understand. I have the original formula, including the missing part.”
“Baby, it’s not enough.” His voice is soft. If we were in the same room, he would’ve wrapped his strong arms around me. “A piece of paper doesn’t prove anything. If he announces it first, the world will automatically believe him. It’s human nature.”
“Should we call a press conference too? I need to save my drug, my company.” I’ll gladly sacrifice my reputation to do that. “How can I do that?”
“I have a plan too.”
