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“On the face of it, the new formula that omits B47 performs in the same manner that the old formula did. However, we haven’t carried out enough trials to know for sure.”
My jaw clenches painfully. “Then we need to start a new round of trials. Immediately.”
Sergey actually looks a little animated for a change as he nods. “Yes, sir. Right away.”
“How badly is this going to affect our launch date?”
His eyes veer from side to side as though there’s some imaginary whiteboard in front of him. “If we can run a few dozen trial sessions in the next week, we might not need to delay the launch by more than a handful of days.”
This time, when I clench my jaw, it’s out of pure satisfaction. “Good. Do what needs to be done then.”
I’m heading for the door when Sergey stops me. “Sir, we have a trial running as we speak. Would you like to observe?”
I pause.Why the fuck not?
“Lead the way.”
He escorts me out of the lab and across the facility to a sterile clinic room. Each of them is fitted with one-way glass so my chemist teams can observe the effects of their inventions on the test subjects.
The observation room is bristling with Sergey’s underlings, who might as well be carbon copy clones for all that I can tell the difference between them. I shove aside the clipboard-toting fucks and muscle my way to the front of the room. I barely acknowledge the technicians I pass—because I’m so fixated on what’s happening on the other side of the glass.
Both members of the couple in the observation room are young and attractive.
But I doubt that’s the reason they’re fucking like a pair of horny rabbits.
The man’s pants are down around his ankles and the woman’s skirt is hiked up around her waist. He shoves into her rhythmically, his ass clenching with every thrust. She lies on the padded examination table, her hands flung carelessly over her head. Both wear hazy, dreamy expressions that look strangely familiar to me—because I just saw one very, very similar on Emma’s face last night.
That one didn’t require a single dose of anything illicit.
I clear my throat. “Who’s the principal investigator for this session?”
A stern woman with short brown hair steps forward. “That would be me, Mr. Oryolov. I’m Dr. Dahlia Canaan.”
“Dr. Canaan. When were these subjects introduced to one another?”
“Just moments after entering the room less than an hour ago.”
“And they both ingested a sample size of Venera?”
“Fifteen minutes prior, yes.”
My eyes keep going back to the young couple. The man’s jaw thrums as he increases the speed of his thrusts. She moans wildly, her hair flipping from side to side. They’re both so lost in the sex. They could be fucking in front of the President, the Pope, or their own damn parents and it wouldn’t slow them down a bit.
“And they’re aware they’re being observed?”
“Of course, sir. All our test subjects are informed in advance and required to give their signed consent.”
“How long has it been since they entered the room?”
“Approximately… fifty-seven minutes, sir.” She consults her clipboard. “We noted flirtatious dialogue approximately thirty-one minutes after ingestion of Venera. Physical contact was established after approximately forty-six minutes. Intercourse was initiated less than eighty-four seconds after that.”
Fucking flawless.
I turn to Sergey. “If these results hold, we’re golden.”
“I see no reason why they shouldn’t, sir.” He actually looks halfway confident for a change. His face is a slightly less pasty shade of white and there’s only a hint of warble in his voice. By Sergey’s standards, that’s as good as it gets.
My gaze shifts back to the young couple. He’s fucking like a jackhammer, but it doesn’t matter; she’s still coming every fifth thrust. Two strangers going absolutely apeshit over each other while a room full of scientists and doctors watch—it’s the type of thing that’s only possible when you don’t give a shit.
