The Love Hypothesis (Love Hypothesis #1)(26)

Last consideration: if she phrased this right, she could probably avoid Dr. Benton hearing about the whole fake-dating mess. Adam hadn’t mentioned it, which probably meant that he wasn’t planning to. Olive just needed to follow his lead.

Yes. Excellent plan. She had this in the bag.

Olive smiled, held on to her pumpkin spice latte, and answered, “Yes, I’m Olive Smith, the—”

“Girlfriend I’ve heard so much about?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. She swallowed. “Um, actually I—”

“Heard from whom?” Adam asked, frowning.

Dr. Benton shrugged. “Everyone.”

“Everyone,” Adam repeated. He was scowling now. “In Boston?”

“Yeah.”

“Why are people at Harvard talking about my girlfriend?”

“Because you’re you.”

“Because I’m me?” Adam looked perplexed.

“There have been tears. Some hair-pulling. A few broken hearts. Don’t worry, they’ll get over it.”

Adam rolled his eyes, and Dr. Benton returned his attention to Olive. He smiled at her, offering his hand. “It’s very nice to meet you. I had written off the whole girlfriend thing as rumors, but I’m glad you . . . exist. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name—I’m terrible at names.”

“I’m Olive.” She shook his hand. He had a nice grip, not too tight and not too soft.

“Which department do you teach, Olive?”

Oh, crap. “Actually, I don’t. Teach, that is.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to assume.” He smiled, apologetic and self-effacing. There was a smooth charm to him. He was young to be a professor, though not as young as Adam. And he was tall, though not as tall as Adam. And he was handsome, though . . . yeah. Not as handsome as Adam.

“What do you do, then? Are you a research fellow?”

“Um, I actually—”

“She’s a student,” Adam said.

Dr. Benton’s eyes widened.

“A graduate student,” Adam clarified. There was a hint of warning in his tone, like he really wanted Dr. Benton to drop the subject.

Dr. Benton, naturally, did not. “Your graduate student?”

Adam frowned. “No, of course she’s not my—”

This was the perfect opening. “Actually, Dr. Benton, I work with Dr. Aslan.” Maybe this meeting was still salvageable. “You probably don’t recognize my name, but we’ve corresponded. We’re supposed to meet today. I’m the student who’s working on the pancreatic cancer biomarkers. The one who asked to come work in your lab for a year.”

Dr. Benton’s eyes widened even more, and he muttered something that sounded a lot like “What the hell?” Then his face stretched into a wide, openmouthed grin. “Adam, you absolute ass. You didn’t even tell me.”

“I didn’t know,” Adam muttered. His gaze was fixed on Olive.

“How could you not know that your girlfriend—”

“I didn’t tell Adam, because I didn’t know you two were friends,” Olive interjected. And then she thought that maybe it wasn’t quite believable. If Olive really were Adam’s girlfriend, he’d have told her about his friends. Since, in a shocking plot twist, he did appear to have at least one.

“That is, I, um . . . never put two and two together, and didn’t know that you were the Tom he always talked about.” There, better. Kind of. “I’m sorry, Dr. Benton. I didn’t mean to—”

“Tom,” he said, grin still in place. His shock seemed to be settling into pleasant surprise. “Please, call me Tom.” His eyes darted between Adam and Olive for a few seconds. Then he said, “Hey, are you free?” He pointed at the coffee shop. “Why don’t we go inside and chat about your project now? No point in waiting until this afternoon.”

She took a sip of her latte to temporize. Was she free? Technically, yes. She would have loved to run to the edge of campus and scream into the void until modern civilization collapsed, but that wasn’t exactly a pressing matter. And she wanted to look as accommodating as possible to Dr. Benton—Tom. Beggars and choosers and all that.

“I’m free.”

“Great. You, Adam?”

Olive froze. And so did Adam, for about a second, before pointing out, “I don’t think I should be present, if you’re about to interview her—”

“Oh, it’s not an interview. Just an informal chat to see if Olive’s and my research match. You’ll want to know if your girlfriend is moving to Boston for a year, right? Come on.” He motioned for them to follow him and then stepped inside the Starbucks.

Olive and Adam exchanged a silent look that somehow managed to speak volumes. It said, What the hell do we do? and How the hell would I know? and This is going to be weird, and No, it’s going to be plain bad. Then Adam sighed, put on a resigned face, and headed inside. Olive followed him, regretting her life choices.

“Aslan’s retiring, huh?” Tom asked after they’d found a secluded table in the back. Olive had no choice but to sit across from him—and on Adam’s left. Like a good “girlfriend,” she supposed. Her “boyfriend,” in the meantime, was sullenly sipping his chamomile tea next to her. I should snap a picture, she reflected. He’d make for an excellent viral meme.