Page 36 of The Price of Scandal

She blinked. “Oh. Ah. I’ll have the chicken.”

“He asked for your favorites, just so you don’t think he’s big-dicked, gorgeous, and psychic,” Jane said, easing down the alley.

A smile flitted around Emily’s pink lips.

“So, how did it go?” Jane asked.

“I got pity applause.” Emily sighed, the smile evaporating.

“Better than a boot to the face,” Jane said cheerfully.

“You did very well,” I assured Emily. “It takes a while to win trust. This was just a baby step in the right direction. Next on the agenda…” I said, taking my readers out of my pocket and skimming the calendar on my phone.

“The lab,” Emily announced through a mouthful of food. She sounded a little livelier, and I was curious if it was the food or the anticipation.

“Tell me more,” I urged, removing my glasses and tucking my phone away.

She dropped her fork neatly in the container. “Eighteen months ago, we discovered an interesting phenomenon involving the moisture barrier of scarred skin,” she began, and it was like the sun had lit her from within. “Stop me if I get too technical.”

Jane smirked in the driver seat and then tapped the brakes hard when an elderly man with a walker sauntered into the street from between two parked cars.

“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.