Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
“No one is. Scientists, right? We’re a weird, anti-social bunch.”
“Yes.” It’s my turn to grin. “We are. Can be, anyway. But everyone here seems to have gotten past it. They were all so nice. And way more outgoing than I expected.”
“I would agree. But”—Mercer holds up a finger—“they didn’t get past it, Ryan. They just… came home.”
“Yeah.” I breathe the word out. “Yeah.” I say it louder. “That’s how I feel too.”
“The Institute is a very special place. This is where we can do our work, and be ourselves, and not have to worry about how normal people feel about it.”
“I was thinking the same thing earlier. How it’s so hard to have non-science friends. They don’t understand that work is life.”
“Work is life,” he repeats. “Not only do they not understand it, they don’t like it, Ryan. They have jobs, we have… something entirely different.”
And I know what he means. Of course, everyone has work. But there is ‘work’ as in paychecks and then there is ‘work’ as in purpose.
And we do the latter.
“Are you tired?”
I look up at him and shake my head. “Not at all. You’d think I would be. It’s been a huge, long day. But I’m… I dunno. Wired, I guess.”
“Wanna do some work?”
I cannot stop the laugh. I practically asked for this invitation. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s work.”
We don’t talk as we walk back towards the Trapp building. But it’s not awkward. It’s a warm, pleasant summer night and the moon is out, filtering through boughs heavy with leaves.
I keep hold of his arm as we descend the stairs down to his small, cozy garden-level office and am reluctant to let go when he opens the office door and waves me through first.
But I do let go.
As familiar as he feels, he’s pretty much a complete stranger and now that I think about it, walking arm in arm is not really an appropriate activity for a boss and his new minion.
I don’t know what to do once I’m inside, so I just stand there and watch him open a file cabinet. He’s a very attractive man, but in a completely opposite way to Olsen.
Olsen is… I dunno. Athletic. Not a jock, but you can tell the gym is important to him. He is solid, but soft and easy to talk too, as well.
Mercer is… serious. Almost rigid. But he’s a contradiction as well. Because he’s very handsome in a rugged way. His face is clean-shaven now, but it wasn’t this morning. Like maybe he was up until the wee hours working last night—worrying over something—and didn’t have time to go home and shave before he had to meet with me.
I compare the two versions of him. Morning and night. Opposites in most worlds. Most men wear their business faces in the morning and their scruffy ones at night.
But not Mercer. He’s different. He’s also very at ease with people and this easiness transfers over to me—a complete stranger.
I held the arm of both of these men today, Olsen and Mercer. But they each felt different.
Olsen’s escort felt protective.
Mercer’s possessive.
Yes. That’s the word I’m looking for to describe their differences. Mercer is possessive.
This thrills me a little and my mind wanders for a moment, picturing what he might be like as a boyfriend.
But this term does not fit. Boyfriend is not a term I would assign to Mercer. It’s far too casual for a man like him.
Lover.
Yes. That’s better.
If I were with Mercer, we would be lovers.
Olsen is more of a friends-with-benefits type of guy.
And what about the guy this morning, Nova?
Him? Who cares? He’s either avoiding me or we’re not going to be running in the same circles. I don’t even think he was at dinner tonight. I didn’t see him, anyway.
So what was that little lapse this morning?
An itch? A habit? An instinct?
I don’t know.
Mercer finds the folder he was looking for, then waves me to sit in the chair I occupied this morning. I sit, cross my legs, and catch him looking.
His eyes find mine, his mouth suddenly a serious line.
What is this about? Did I flash him my underwear? I hope not. That wasn’t my intention.
“Do you find working with men to be intimidating, Nova?” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, then opens them again and corrects himself. “Ryan?”
“Not particularly. Why? Do you plan on intimidating me?” My tone is playful. More playful than is appropriate and I want to kick myself. You will not crush on your advisor, Nova. You. Will. Not.
But he smiles at my tease. And this smile changes him. I haven’t seen this smile before, so I’m at once changing of my perspective of him as well.
This is… charm.
“I have a reputation for that.”
My eyebrows go up. “Intimidation?”
He nods. “Yes. I’m a control freak. Like… I’m kind of a dick.”