The Love Hypothesis (Love Hypothesis #1)(99)

She could see his oily, fake smile with the corner of her eye. “Olive, I know you’re young and don’t know how these things work, but Adam’s here to interview for a very important position, and he can’t just—”

“Leave,” Adam ordered, voice low and cold.

Olive closed her eyes and nodded, taking a step back. Fine. It was fine. It was Adam’s right not to talk to her. “Okay. I’m sorry, I—”

“Not you. Tom, leave us.”

Oh. Oh. Well, then.

“Dude,” Tom said, sounding amused, “you can’t just get up from the table in the middle of an interview dinner and—”

“Leave,” Adam repeated.

Tom laughed, brazen. “No. Not unless you’re coming with me. We’re collaborators, and if you act like an asshole during a dinner with my department because of some student you’re screwing, it will reflect poorly on me. You need to come back to the table and—”

“A pretty girl like you should know the score by now. Don’t lie to me and say you didn’t pick out a dress that short for my benefit. Nice legs, by the way. I can see why Adam’s wasting his time with you.”

Neither Adam nor Tom had seen Olive take out her phone, or press Play. They both struggled for a second, confused—they’d clearly heard the words but were unsure where they came from. Until the recording restarted.

“Olive. You don’t think I accepted you into my lab because you are good, do you? A girl like you. Who figured out so early in her academic career that fucking well-known, successful scholars is how to get ahead. You fucked Adam, didn’t you? We both know you’re going to fuck me for the same reason.”

“What the—” Tom took a step forward, hand extended to grab the phone from Olive. He didn’t get far, because Adam pushed him away with a palm on his chest, making him stumble several steps back.

He still wasn’t looking at Tom. And not at Olive, either. He was staring down at her phone, something dark and dangerous and frighteningly still in his expression. She should have probably been scared. Maybe she was, a little.

“—you’re telling me you thought your pitiful abstract was selected for a talk because of its quality and scientific importance? Someone here has a very high opinion of herself, considering that her research is useless and derivative and that she can barely put together two words without stuttering like an idiot—”

“It was him,” Adam whispered. His voice was low, barely a whisper, deceptively calm. His eyes, unreadable. “It was Tom. The reason you were crying.”

Olive could only nod. In the background, Tom’s recorded voice droned on and on. Talking about how mediocre she was. How Adam would never believe her. Calling her names.

“This is ridiculous.” Tom was coming closer again, reattempting to take the phone away. “I’m not sure what this bitch’s problem is, but she’s clearly—”

Adam exploded so fast, she didn’t even see him move. One moment he stood in front of her, and the next he was pinning Tom against the wall.

“I’m going to kill you,” he gritted out, little more than a growl. “If you say another word about the woman I love, if you look at her, if you even think about her—I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Adam—” Tom choked out.

“Actually, I will kill you anyway.”

People were running toward them. The hostess, a waiter, a few faculty members from Adam’s table. They were forming a crowd, yelling in confusion and trying to pull Adam off Tom—with no success. Olive’s mind went to Adam pushing Cherie’s truck, and she almost laughed in a moment of hysteria. Almost.

“Adam,” she called. Her voice was barely audible in the chaos going on around them, but it was what got through to him. He turned to look at her, and there were entire worlds in his eyes. “Adam, don’t,” she whispered. “He’s not worth it.”

Just like that, Adam took a step back and let Tom go. An elderly gentleman—probably a Harvard dean—began laying into him, asking for explanations, telling him how unacceptable his behavior was. Adam ignored him, and everyone else. He headed straight for Olive, and—

He cradled her head with both hands, fingers sliding through her hair and holding her tight as he lowered his forehead to hers. He was warm, and smelled like himself, like safe and home. His thumbs swept through the mess of tears on her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“It’s not your fault,” she managed to mumble, but he didn’t seem to hear her.

“I’m sorry. I’m—”

“Dr. Carlsen,” a male voice boomed loudly from behind them, and she felt Adam’s body stiffen against hers. “I demand an explanation.”

Adam paid no heed to the man, and kept holding Olive.

“Dr. Carlsen,” he repeated, “this is unacceptable—”

“Adam,” Olive whispered. “You have to answer him.”

Adam exhaled. Then he pressed a long, lingering kiss to Olive’s forehead before reluctantly disentangling himself. When she was finally able to get a good look at him, he seemed more like his usual self.

Calm. Angry at the entire world. In charge.