Page 119 of Sucker For You

Since Isabel stared while the call rang a third time and threatened to send Dr. Kaplan-Horner to voicemail, Wes eventually reached for the device. He extended it to her. “Do you want to answer?”

“Why do you think she’s calling?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” he said.

“I know.” She swallowed, and nodded. Then, chin lifting, Isabel tucked her hair behind her ears with damp fingers and swiped her thumb over the screen to accept Dr. Kaplan-Horner’s call on speakerphone. “Hello, Dr. Kaplan-Horner.”

“Is this Dr. Wright?”

“This is Isabel Wright speaking. But I don’t have a—”

“Isabel, good. I’m glad I’ve reached you so early, and on a Saturday.” Dr. Kaplan-Horner didn’t hesitate over Isabel’s confession regarding her credentials, but continued on with the crispness of authority—and the briskness of whatever weekend plans likely waited for her after this conversation, too. “I wanted to express my and the institute’s gratitude for your apprehension of the pharmaceutical operative posing as our interim facilities manager. Be assured that MORI’s background-check policies will undergo a rigorous review, prior to onboarding any new hires.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Yes. I also understand from Mehar that your volunteer work in our wet lab has been exemplary.”

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. It’s a fact. Now, why I’m calling on a Saturday: given Dr. Dominique Solomon’s commendations regarding your knowledge of octopuses, in addition to your general marine lab experience, MORI would be pleased to offer you a benefits-eligible position in our cephalopod research unit, effective immediately. I’ve wanted to hire additional staff to support Dr. Solomon for months. Her hours are becoming a health-and-safety problem. She’s been resistant to all potential candidates up until now, but she seems to approve of you. Clearly, you’re also able to work with her, and you’re aware of the challenges there. So: are you interested?”

“. . . oh,” a second time.

Silence.

Fifteen breathless seconds ticked by on the clocktopus.Twenty. But then. . . then, in a lightning flash, Isabel’s smile reappeared, brilliant with hope. “Yes, I—I’m honored to be considered for a role at MORI, Dr. Kaplan-Horner. You should know that I’m a Canadian citizen, though. I’ll require a United States work permit. Would the role include sponsorship for a nonimmigrant NAFTA Professional visa?”

“I’m sure that can be arranged. Especially given these unusual circumstances! I appreciate your transparency, Isabel. On that front, however, you should likewise be aware that for at least two years—until MORI receives funding to expand our Moss Landing footprint and we have desk and lab space for you—your role would functionally be a field position, with significant travel outside the United States and away from the greater Monterey area. We’d need you to collect behavioral data and specimens, then bring them back for onsite analysis. Does that still interest you?”

“Interest me? Y-yes.Yes!I—” She paused with visible difficulty, then continued more slowly, “I’d be happy to accept a field position.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Are you available to review a contract and benefits package on Monday, and to sign the employment paperwork if everything’s acceptable?”

She was.

“Welcome aboard, Isabel,” and the line clicked off.

For a minute, quiet settled again over the room as sunshine filtered through the stained-glass windows, as static buzzed in Wes’s ears, as Isabel gripped her blank phone—until she abruptly chucked the device away onto the couch. She chucked out Wes’sbreath, too, when she collided with him, her arms curling around his neck, laughing.

How could he help laughing with her? “Damn, Buttercup!”

“I know! I never expected anything like. . .this. I’ll sign my papers on Monday, and then—”

Oh. Right.

Once she signed the Monterey Oceanic Research Institute’s employment documents, she wouldn’t need to apply for an immigrant spousal visa. Her work with MORI would keep her as a California resident and on her Ceretobicin clinical trial. She wouldn’t need to marry him.

“Uh.” He cleared his throat through her excitement. But:don’t ruin this for her. Don’t make her feel guilty. Keep smiling. Keephersmiling.“So, this job at MORI? After you’ve got all your paperwork together, we can put a pause on the county clerk’s final documents, can’t we? Since you’ll be free to get out of town. To work up some wanderlust, maybe even buy your own boat, to—”

“—to choose.” Now Isabel wasn’t laughing. She drew back, her palms skimming down the ink, scarring, and old sunburns on his arms. But the bright, unshadowed hurricane of her gaze shone up at him. A moment later she’d threaded their fingers together tighter than any maritime knot. She tugged, towing him like a hopeful, willing anchor into the kitchen, where she swung open the refrigerator door and extracted Erin and Ethan’s neglected champagne.Plonk, went the bottle onto the speckled Formica counter. She told him, “I’m free to chooseyou.”

“You. . . are? I mean—you do?”

“If you still choose me, yes. If I won’t tie you down, if you want—”

Obviously, he did.

Equally obviously, he kissed her until they were both breathless, laughing in a shaft of light. Then he reached for the champagne and pressed Baby’s keys into Isabel’s hand for her to cut the foil protecting the cork. He murmured, “You already have my heart. Why not take my Jeep, too? Since I’m never, ever going anywhere without you, Buttercup.”