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I should find out just who this critic is.
CHAPTER 5
JASE
“Morning, Calvin.” I throw my briefcase on the sofa and roll up my shirt sleeves. “I don’t think we’ll need to redo stage two despite the lower age of the test pool. We’ll continue to run the study but separate our variable group into two branches with one matching the age of the control pool and one being the older group.”
“Sounds good. Science America was wondering if you wanted to guest edit the fall quarterly, and the Hubbell Foundation is inviting you to give the keynote at their charity fundraising ball.”
“Both of those things sound terrible, but maybe I’ll do the keynote.”
“You will?” Calvin’s eyebrows shoot up all the way to his hairline.
“I can’t be a complete recluse. It would be bad for the reception of our study.” I take a seat and roll up to the edge of the desk.
“You said that the reception should be based on the strength of the study, not the authors behind it.”
“Let’s be flexible.”
“You?” Calvin nearly shouts. “Flexible?” His hand slaps across my forehead. “Are you sick? Did you have something bad to eat? Should I call for an ambulance?”
I shove his arm out of my face. “No to all of those. I ate at that place down the street, and you were right. It was delicious.”
“The place—I never recommended any place. I put leftovers—I mean, takeout, in the break room for you.”
I don’t miss that Calvin was feeding me leftovers, but I’m not mad. I can’t be. My stomach is full of good food. I heated up the pasta with red sauce this morning for breakfast. I mean, who said we had to eat eggs or cereal? Other countries don’t limit themselves this way. “Sorry, it was Nurse Bri, and it was a place near my home.”
“Oh, that sounds nice.”
I wave Calvin off. “I’ll contact the Hubbell people myself.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
Calvin stands in front of my desk, shifting from foot to foot for a few awkward moments, but after being ignored, he slinks out.
“You were in there a long time,” I hear my secretary say. “Was he upset about something?”
“No.” Calvin sounds dazed. “He’s in a good mood. He said he ate somewhere good last night.”
“Dr. Ali?” My secretary is incredulous.
“I know. To be honest, I don’t know if he’s making this up to cover for something that he doesn’t want to share with me or if he really did go to a restaurant by himself.”
“I’ve never seen Dr. Ali go out to eat in the two years I’ve worked here,” says my secretary.
I wasn’t aware she kept such close tabs on me. I guess she would. She is my secretary, after all. I dial up the Hubbell Foundation. “It’s Dr. Ali. Can I speak to Bette Bolton? It’s about the annual charity ball.”
“Please hold.” Elevator music replaces the voice.
Outside my office, the conversation continues.
“Maybe you should check it out.”
“Me?” Calvin asks.
I agree. Why should Calvin need to go to the restaurant? I find I don’t like that idea. Calvin, and all other men, should stay away from that restaurant. In fact, if he asks, I’m not going to tell him where it is. Bette gets on the phone and squeals so loudly at my acceptance that I think one of my eardrums is permanently damaged. After taking care of that, I get to work. By the time it’s dinner, I’m hungry again. This time I know exactly where I’m headed.
My secretary is gone, but Calvin is just outside my door.
“Did you wait here the whole time?” I ask with narrowed eyes.
“No. I just happened to walk by.” He blinks innocently, but I’m not buying it.
“You should go home. Too much work and…” I pause because I don’t know what the saying is. Can there really be too much work?
“It’s too much work and not enough play makes Jack a dull boy,” Calvin supplies helpfully.
“Who’s Jack?”
Calvin shrugs. “Whoever made up the saying is Jack, I guess. Are you going home?”
“After I eat.”
“You going to the restaurant again?”
“Why?” This seems suspicious.
“You seemed different this morning. I want to make sure our star researcher isn’t being drugged or something.” He grabs for my briefcase. “Besides, I would like to eat some good food too.”
“How long have we worked together?”
“Ten years.”
I stare at my assistant. It has been that long? I heave a sigh. “Fine. Let’s go.”
“What’s your favorite dish?” Calvin asks after we are seated.
“Don’t know. All of them.”
“Hello, welcome to Mancini,” croons a woman I vaguely remember seeing here last night. “The food was so good you had to return for an encore, and you brought a friend.”
“I’m Calvin.” My assistant holds out his hand. A drop of moisture appears at the corner of his mouth.
I brush my thumb against my cheek to give him a sign, but Calvin doesn’t get the hint. He’s too busy shaking the busty woman’s hand. My eyes fall to her four-inch heels. How does she walk in those? Seems like a bad shoe choice for a food service position. Scientifically, humans are better off in their bare feet, but given the infections and injuries you could suffer from being exposed to the city elements, flat shoes are a good compromise.
