“Yes. I’m here to see Max.”
Her eyes go wide again and she clears her throat. “Dr. Ramsey,” she says with a note of censure in her voice, “isn’t available right now.”
Okay. Note to self: Dr. Ramsey is the correct nomenclature when dealing with his minions.
“We have an appointment.”
Her smile falters. “Yes, well, he actually asked if I could meet with you instead. Because he’s not available.”
Wait a second. He made the appointment.
“He’s not available?” I ask.
I glance around the lab and immediately see the briefcase he was carrying the other day sitting in the chair next to his computer. Clearly, he’s at least been here.
I take a step further into the room so that I can see through the double glass windows from here into the clean room on the other side of the lab.
Sure enough, through the windows I can see the back of a tall, broad-shouldered man with a mane of thick, sable hair.
Ramsey.
In my mind, I whisper his name like a curse.
I practically had to apply thumb screws to get him to agree to this appointment, but I let him pick the day and time. I had to rearrange my schedule to accommodate his. And now he’s trying to foist me off on his underling?
My right eye starts to twitch.
I force a smile that makes my cheeks feel as hard as peanut brittle. “Isn’t that him right there?”
Gwen follows my gaze, and then her eyes snap back to mine.
“Um, yes?” Her hand goes to her head, and she gives a tug on one of her braids. “But he’s unavailable?”
She says both of those things like a question, clearly unsure as to whether or not I’m going to bite.
Needless to say, I don’t. “So, he made the appointment, and he’s here, but he’s somehow unavailable?”
“He . . .” She gives her braid another tug. “Well, you see what happened is that an unexpected shipment of soil samples came in. Late last night. And they have to be analyzed right away. Obviously.” She chuckles, tugs her braid, and then pushes an errant curl off her forehead. “Because, you know what it’s like. With soil samples. Right?”
Good gravy! This poor girl could not be more nervous. I feel my peanut brittle cheeks softening into a genuine smile. My labradoodle Lou has more chill than this girl.
And yes, I fully recognize that in the past five minutes, I’ve started to think of this grown woman as a girl. I don’t mean to infantilize her, but while she may have me in brains and height, she is clearly a flustered mess.
I can sympathize. I’m a flustered mess half the time.
I’ve just developed the skills to hide it. If I could teach those same skills to this girl, she would be a force to be reckoned with. It’s almost a shame I don’t have the time and energy to mentor two people in this lab.
“Max told you why I was here?”
“Yes. Dr. Ramsey said you were here to help with the McPherson grant.”
“You know I lecture in the Communications Department, right?” I ask.
“Yes?”
“Can I give you a tip?” Okay, maybe I have a little time to nudge Gwen towards some people skills.
“Yes?” she asks.
