Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors (The Rajes #1)(5)

“Of course,” he said. “We have more tests to run before we can schedule anything. Dr. Raje will go over the details of the procedure tomorrow and answer any questions you have.”

Again, Trisha almost objected, but then she thought about the noble brother. Maybe if he were present it would be easier to make Emma see sense.

Instead of responding, Emma stared off into the distance, no longer willing to meet Trisha’s eyes. For the first time since they’d met, instead of hope, despair wrapped itself around Emma, and it caught at something inside Trisha like a sharp hook piercing skin.

“TAKE HEART, TRISHA. We’re saving her life.” Her boss patted her shoulder kindly as they took the elevator to their offices. “Sometimes you need a soft touch.”

Trisha forced a smile. A soft touch hadn’t gotten her where she was.

They stepped out of the elevator. “That’s better. Now let’s turn that smile real, shall we?” He pointed to the surgeon’s lounge. “Care for a cup of coffee and some good news?” His grin was so wide, Trisha stopped midstep and turned to him. She knew what he was going to say even before he opened his mouth. “I just talked to the foundation director. He’s been trying to reach you. Your funding was approved.”

Trisha slapped her hand across her mouth but a squeak still escaped her. And then another one. A ten-million-dollar grant, for shit’s sake! She had just won her department its largest grant in history. They were going to fund the most ambitious multicenter clinical research for robotic brain surgery ever conceived.

“This proves that the rumors are true,” Entoff said. “We have a genius in our midst!” He had never made her work for his proud smile, but the one he was flashing at her now—the one that made him look like a man who was blessing the day he hired her—it made her want to pump her fist in vindication and shout Yes! Take that, Dad!

Instead, she took the hand he held out and thanked him for being such a great boss and mentor.

“No, Dr. Raje,” he said through that proud smile, “what I am is a very lucky boss.”

Damn straight! she wanted to yell. But she thanked him instead with all the poise she could muster.

Coffee was probably a bad idea given the adrenaline racing through her, but she took the cup her boss handed her, thanked the two colleagues who congratulated her with somewhat less enthusiasm, and carried the cup back to her office along with Emma’s painting. The first thing she did there was push the door shut and let out one woot . . . okay, two! But her heart wouldn’t stop racing. She’d done it. She’d done something no one else had ever done before her.

Without thinking about it, she dialed Nisha’s number. Her big sister was the only person who really understood how hard Trisha had worked on her grant and on this case. Her call went straight to voice mail. Right. Today was the big day.

Or more accurately, today was yet another big day. Tonight was yet another preannouncement shindig for her brother. Possibly the tenth “small celebration” Ma and Nisha had organized in the four weeks since Yash had decided to finally announce his candidacy for governor of California.

Within the last five years the venerable U.S. Attorney for the Northern District of California, Yash Raje, had foiled a terrorist attack on Alcatraz, hunted down a fifty-billion-dollar Ponzi scheme a bunch of venture capitalists were running out of Cupertino, and been instrumental in convincing the largest airplane manufacturer in the world to move to California. So really, who were they kidding with all this hush-hush around announcing his gubernatorial plans? If the people of the great state of California hadn’t guessed his intent by now, they were too idiotic to be worth governing.

Nonetheless, Nisha—the only one in the family who still discussed Yash’s career with Trisha—had assured her that there was a method to these things and currently that method involved their family systematically courting California’s elite to shore up Yash’s path so it held steady beneath his feet as he marched toward Sacramento and the destiny he had been groomed for since the day of his birth. Nisha managed Yash’s political campaigns, so she would know.

“Crazy busy right now. Need something?” Her sister’s text buzzed through. Trisha imagined Nisha, her hair elegantly twisted on top of her head, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand as she wrestled down the million moving parts that seemed to make up these events. Even the word “event” gave Trisha heart palpitations. Nisha, on the other hand, was a badass deftly putting out fires as they exploded in tiny mushroom clouds around her. For their brother.

Trisha realized with a start that she was still holding Emma’s painting—a painting about strength that she had inspired. The feeling of getting her skin caught in a hook tugged at her again, bringing with it a restlessness she couldn’t quite contain. She thought about Emma being by herself when Trisha had broken the news. She thought about the brother who had dropped his life and moved across continents to help her through it. Setting the canvas carefully on the desk she stared at her sister’s message on her phone. Then before she could stop herself, she tapped out her response. “Were you serious when you said I should come to tonight’s dinner?” She hit send before she could delete the words. Then instantly regretted doing it.

Within seconds her phone rang.

“Seriously?” Her sister sounded exactly like someone charting a war from a control tower.