The Price Of Scandal(26)

“You don’t have much time left! Stay on the sidewalk,” Jane yelled through the open window.

“The moisture barrier is what holds our skin cells together,” Emily continued, immune to traffic issues. “Like glue or caulk or mortar. But what we were seeing on scarred tissue is that the moisture barrier itself was damaged. So we started experimenting with ways to reinvigorate it. Fast forward to the present, and we have what I believe will be a new way of treating and essentially healing scars.”

“That’s big,” I observed.

She awarded me a smile and not one of the toned-down, proper ones. This was a light-up-her-lovely-face grin. Wow. Was that an angels’ chorus I was hearing?

“It is,” she agreed. “We’re testing these biobandages on three subjects. One is an athlete who had ACL surgery a year ago. Another is an early twenty-something with severe acne scars on her face. And the last is a domestic violence survivor. Her scars are particularly challenging.”

“Because?” I pressed. I was interested in what she was saying and how excited she seemed by the subject.

“Age of scarring, for instance, is a hurdle most topical treatments can’t beat or improve effectively. The older the scar, the more difficult it is to make it less noticeable. And Mallory, our subject, has scars that are old and very deep. The scientist in me is crossing her fingers for an improvement. The human being in me hoping for a miracle for Mallory.”

I had literal fucking goosebumps.

“When you say ‘we’?” I prodded.

“My team. This is my lab facility,” she said as Jane pulled up to an innocuous white stone building. “We have systems biologists, chemists, research scientists, and lab techs. This is where all our products are developed and tested.”

“Oh, God. I’m not about to walk into a room with fifty beagles in cages, am I?” I asked. That would be the end of our professional relationship, no matter how lovely her smile was.

In an uncharacteristic move, Emily shoved my shoulder. “No animal testing,” she said primly. “The lab at school was an emotionally scarring experience. Lita and I vowed that we would never test products on animals. It’s also part of why Luna and I are friends. Her cosmetic company Wild Heart is vegan and cruelty-free.”

“So the testing is more expensive and probably takes significantly longer,” I predicted.

Emily nodded, reaching for her door handle. “Yes, but this way I can sleep at night knowing that I don’t have a bunch of sweet rats or dogs caged up just so I can make another billion.”

“In that case, we can still be friends,” I told her.

“Goody.” She rolled her eyes and got out.

The lab was, from my uneducated assertion, state of the art. There were several fancy-looking workspaces. Everything looked new, pristine. Stainless steel sparkled, work tables gleamed, and an entire herd of scientific-looking people bustled about looking important and scholarly.

“Here,” Emily said, handing me a lab coat. “Put this on.” She was already wearing one and had pulled her hair back into a no-nonsense bun. I liked the look more than it made sense.

I shrugged into it and decided to wonder what exactly it was that attracted me to her later. I didn’t have a type. I loved women, period. It was quite possible that I was seduced by the puzzle as much as the woman.

“Do I look science-y?” I asked, smoothing a hand over the fabric.

“You look protected from spills,” she said with a smirk.

“You look excited,” I observed, slipping my phone into the pocket of the lab coat.

She bit her lip in adorable nerd-like excitement, and the attraction went from a zing to a thump. “I am,” she confessed.

“This could be a revolutionary product for your company.”

“This could be life-changing for Mallory,” she countered.

I followed her through the bowels of the lab into a smaller, brightly lit room. Her subjects were seated at the front of the room. A photographer was setting up his lighting equipment. The rest of the inhabitants were an odd mix of business-suited executives and lab-coated geniuses. Everyone seemed excited.

“Mind if I talk to the subjects?” I asked Emily.

She was frowning over some data on an iPad a tech had handed her. “Sure. Be nice,” she said.

As if I would be anything but.

“And don’t record anything,” she said.

“You’re ruining my fun,” I complained.

“The patent is pending, and the subjects have a right to privacy,” Emily said. “Don’t screw with me or them.”

I introduced myself to the participants. Nervous and energetic Nina was twenty-three and had a flesh-colored bandage on both cheeks. Dewayne wasn’t just any athlete but the star point guard for the Miami Buzz. His last season had come to an abrupt end due to a ligament tear and knee surgery.

And Mallory, who was, by best guess, in her mid-forties. She sat with ruler-straight shoulders. Her long hair was swept over the left side of her face. When she looked up at me, I saw why. Her bandage molded around her jaw up to hug the line of her nose. Her perfunctory smile made me think she’d rather be anywhere but here.

“What are you hoping to see once the bandages come off?” I asked Nina.

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I want to be normal. I don’t want to have to spend an hour every day covering up acne scars or hours on the weekends scouring YouTube for new products or solutions. You know? These stupid scars are getting too much of my life. I’m over them.”