one
DR. NATHAN AMHERST
“I don’t need an assistant.”
“Too late. She’ll be here in about ten minutes. Don’t be a dick to her, or the university will pull your funding,” Rachel, our department secretary, warns.
With disgust, I toss down my pen and glare at the older woman over the top of my glasses. “I never asked for an assistant, and therefore, no one should be upset when I fire her.”
“You can’t fire her. She’s an employee of the university and was hired by Dean Campbell.”
“Then she can go service Dean Campbell.” I pick up my pen and return to re-reading my paper on rapid growth hydroponics for retail consumers. Most efficient hydroponic farms are thousands of square feet big. This new prototype I’m developing could be installed in kitchen cabinets and grow everything from tomatoes and lettuce to berries and oranges. Imagine never having to go to the grocery store again—the utter dream. I hate shopping and try and get delivery whenever I can. Usually it just takes a small bribe.
“See, that’s just the type of attitude that is going to result in a lawsuit. This is a bio technology graduate student, not a sex worker. You can’t treat her like one.”
“Meaning I shouldn’t treat her like a bio tech student or a sex worker? Your pronoun references two possible objects.” There’s not enough in the paper about the labor and transportation costs. I need to run a few more numbers and scenarios. Abandoning the printout, I switch over to the computer and pull up the database. It’ll take hours to crunch some numbers, hours that would be better spent on researching. I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Dr. Amherst. Did you hear what I said?”
“That I can’t fire the assistant? Yeah.” I wave my hand toward the door, wanting Rachel to get out and leave me alone so I can work.
“No. I said that the south elevator—you know what? Never mind.” The door bangs behind her when she leaves.
I shake my head. People are always mad around here, and I have no fucking clue why. If everyone did their work and left all the other people alone, we would all be happier. I should put that in the suggestion box we have in the breakroom. No socializing during work hours. In fact, the breakroom itself should be abolished. I nod emphatically to myself. Brilliant idea. I switch to a document program, type up my suggestion, and send it off to the printer. On the device is a paper copy of the latest headhunter inquiry.Dr. Amherst, I get so many inquiries as to whether you’d be interested in moving to the private sector. Not only are the benefits and pay better, but the R&D budgets would make a grown scientist weep. Give me—I crumple it and grab my breakroom breakthrough. I’ll drop it off on my way home tonight, thereby avoiding people in the breakroom, delivering my recommendation, and leaving work all in one efficient economy of movement. With that problem solved, I reapply myself to my work. I’m deep into grams per growth and total dissolved solids, or TDS as we call them, when the phone rings. I let it go to voicemail, but it rings again. And again. By the fourth loop, I realize that the person is not going to give up. It’s probably Rachel calling to remind me of some faculty function that I will be blowing off.
“Yeah?” I bark into the phone.
“Your assistant is here. I’m sending her in. Remember! No lawsuits.” Rachel hangs up, and five seconds later, there’s a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I sigh. A quick survey of my office has me pushing my hand through my dark hair. It’s a disaster in here, and the second desk near the door is covered with papers. I walk over and start to clear things away—and by clear, I mean shifting the piles of paper on the desk to the floor. She can sort through things. After all, isn’t that why they are giving me an assistant?
The door creaks open. “Dr. Amherst.”
I don’t bother looking up but instead gesture her toward the desk. “Yes. This is the right place. This is your desk.” I knock a fist on the top of the wood. “Did Rachel give you a computer? Just set up here. Sorry about the mess. I guess that will be the first task for you. Once you’re done, I have some modeling you can do. You do know how to do that?” I raise my head and lock eyes with a goddess. An orchestra starts playing in my head. Sunlight in the dank office appears to surround her. If Rachel were to arrive and tell me that this person dropped from the sky and there are a pair of wings in the south lawn, I’d nod in acceptance. That would be a perfectly reasonable explanation.
“I’m really excited to be here, Dr. Amherst. I’ve read all your work.” She holds out a small, delicate hand. Her middle finger, slightly longer than the rest, houses a small ring with a pearl mounted in silver or platinum. My eyes shift left, and there’s a weird sense of relief that floods me when I clock that her ring finger is empty.
I nod my own greeting and move out of the way, knocking over a big pile of research.“Fuck,”I curse. I bend down. She bends down at the same time. Our heads strike each other.
She lets out a yelp of surprise or maybe it’s shock.Shit.I grab her head between my hands and steady her before she can topple backward onto her ass and knock down more papers. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She rubs the back of her head. A small smile spreads across her face. “I told my mom this morning I was going to make an impression on you. I should’ve specified that I wanted it to be a good impression. I’m really not this clumsy.”
“You’ve succeeded.” I cup the back of her head and feel for a knot.
“In what way?”
There’s no sign of injury, but I’m reluctant to let her go, reluctant to stand. What I want is to draw her into my lap, kiss her senseless, and then make love on the floor amidst all my research. Somehow, though, I think that falls under things I shouldn’t do because it might end up in a lawsuit. Rachel tried to warn me.
With a sigh, I force myself to let go and stand up. “You’ve made an impression all right.” I force myself to flee to the window. As I gaze across the short distance between her desk and mine, I realize how fucked I am. Maybe I should just write her a check now and get it over with because by the end of this term, she’s going to own everything I have in my bank account as well as my heart.
two
KAYLA
Dr. Amherst is definitely livingup to some of the rumors I’ve heard about him. I wouldn’t classify the one claiming he is antisocial as a rumor anymore. It’s definitely true. Or at least that’s how it seems, anyway. He’s not rude as some of them have said.
Anytime I ask him a question, he doesn't get irritated, but he also doesn’t make an effort to add to the conversation. He makes sure to answer quickly for me, though. It’s me doing most of the talking. His answers are straight to the point. He hasn't even asked me my name yet. I’m not sure if I should bring that up or not.