The Price Of Scandal(72)

I loved it. I itched to document the lab, the experiment, the girls. Emily.

She was resplendent. There was nothing not to be loved.

This was the Emily Stanton that the world needed to see. And she was stubbornly refusing to be revealed.

“Jasmine, hand the beaker to Atlas. Don’t throw it.” The tall, reedy woman clutching an e-reader sighed next to me. She rolled her eyes at me. “Kids.”

“They appear to be having a good time,” I observed. I had nieces and nephews, nearly a dozen of them. I was used to kid-related chaos.

“Isn’t this the best thing ever? A science club for girls,” she continued. “I’m Amal, by the way.”

“Derek,” I said. “This is my first time here.”

“Oh, your girl will love it. They make science so much fun here. The girls have a blast. And when they turn sixteen, they can sign up to use the lab space for their own experiments.”

“Really?” I asked, intrigued. Damn Emily and her no-publicity decree. This was public relations gold.

“Jasmine’s cousin was with AHA for three years,” Amal continued. “Now she’s at CalTech in the biological engineering program. It’s a great introduction outside the classroom. The girls get to work with real scientists in a real lab. With programs like this, they’re helping to triple the number of women in STEM fields by 2030.”

It was ingenious and, if I had to guess, entirely Emily’s idea.

The deeper I dug, the more attractive she became to me. I was used to a brief, intense attraction to a woman. But it always burned itself out. Uncomplicated. Easy.

Emily was neither of those things.

I considered her as she leaned over the shoulders of two young scientists. She was beautiful. Yes, in the brains and breeding areas, of course she was attractive. But there was something magnetic about her here. She was nearly giddy, and the girls fed off that excitement.

In the moment, I was sure of two things. One, I was not done with Emily Stanton, and two, it would not end well.

“Which one is yours?” Amal asked, scanning the room.

“The tall blonde with the dizzying intellect,” I said, pointing at Emily.

“Ah. Emily’s boyfriend,” Amal nodded approvingly. “I’m very straight—married to a man and all—but I can appreciate your excellent taste. She’s some kind of biochemist, right?”

“Something like that,” I hedged. Emily’s secret identity was that of a Sunday scientist. Yes, I definitely wasn’t even close to being done with this woman.

“Okay, gang,” Emily said, returning to the front of the lab. “Now, let’s work on documenting our findings.”





Half an hour later, as the future of science filed out of the room, I found the woman who consumed most of my brain power standing before me.

“What did you think?” she asked.

“I think you should have let me take pictures.”

“Not everything should be consumed by the public. It’s nothing personal.”

“On the contrary, it’s very personal,” I countered. “This is the real you. The one the world would have a hard time tearing down. The one the American public can get behind and fork over their hard-earned dollars for a piece of your dream.”

“These girls didn’t sign up for that kind of exposure,” she said. “I’m here because they’re here. Not the other way around.”

“Right,” I said. “Because you’re Emily the biochemist.”

She bit her lip. “I know I can’t keep it secret forever and some of the parents have figured it out. But for now, it works better this way.”

“You own this place, don’t you?” I asked, picking up a pipette.

She nodded. “DIY labs are the wave of the future. They can be more flexible with their protocols than a private lab or one funded by government grants. They can partner with similar labs across the country and tackle massive data sets and—I’m geeking out on you,” she said, grinning self-consciously.

“If everyone could see you like this now, they’d fall head over heels for you,” I said, running my fingers over the buttons of her lab coat.

“Not everyone,” she said, giving me a pointed look.

“Everyone,” I reiterated.

“Last Mini Marie Curie is out the door,” Esther said, ducking her head back into the room. “You ready for some boring ol’ data?”

“Give it to me!” Emily made grabby hands like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Lala, you good with clean up?” Esther called over her shoulder.

Lala gave the thumbs up and blew a bubble with her gum.

We followed Esther across the hall to the second lab. She flipped on the overhead lights and moved to a workstation with two desktop computers. A fat stack of papers sat neatly next to a mousepad picturing the periodic table. It said, I use this periodically.

Emily pounced on the report the way a cat attacked a laser pointer.

She pawed through the papers, skimming as she went. Her lips moved as she absorbed what was on the pages.

Esther plopped down on a wheeled stool and waited, a smug smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“It’s there,” Emily said, not looking up from the data.