slammed out the door of the room. Tearing off her lab coat, she sprinted to the lab sink. She cranked the sink handle and a spray shot down from the narrow spout and ricocheted up into her face.
Spitting and shaking her head, she turned the water down so she could wash her hands. She pinched off tiny pieces of the paper towel before grabbing a mammoth handful to dry her hands and wipe her streaming face. Stupid towel dispenser. Oh, and the stupid water got on her new blouse. She scrubbed at the water stains as she raced out the lab doors and down the hallway.
Trish hurtled into her office room so fast, she bounced off the cubicle wall to an empty desk. She skidded around the edge of her desk in the corner. Paper towels flew everywhere when she dropped them to snatch a pen and her calendar.
She crashed through the door to the stairwell, then leaped up the stairs. By the time she reached the third floor, her chest heaved, and she expected to see her lungs fly out of her mouth with her next breath. She raced down the carpeted hallway to the conference room.
Outside the door, Trish glanced at her watch. With a grimace, she eased open the heavy oak door to peek inside.
Four pairs of eyes zoomed in on her.
Oops. “Sorry. I had a problem thawing cells this morning.”
Her supervisor Diana waved her to a seat, then turned to speak to Trish’s redheaded coworker. “Is the study ready to start on Friday?”
“Yup.” She glanced at their other coworker. “Are you doing the assays on the samples?”
He stretched and nodded. “Got it covered.”
Trish plopped into a padded chair and felt her bladder jiggle. She should have stopped off at the restroom. She downed so much coffee that she drank a lot of water to avoid dehydration — she hadn’t slept through all her human physiology classes — which also meant she had to go a billion times a day. She squirmed in her seat but decided it wasn’t too bad yet. Only then did she glance up.
Spenser Wong from the tumor research group sat across the table. What’s he doing at our group meeting?
At the last interdepartmental meeting, Trish hadn’t heard a word of his presentation. Instead, she drank in the sight of his lithe body and listened to his deep, dreamy voice and sighed over his chiseled, handsome face.
Pull yourself together.
Her coworker flourished a printed email. “Newark said they had a laboratory accident. Compound shipment is delayed.”
Diana frowned. “When will they have it ready?”
Spenser shifted in his seat and stretched his arm as if it felt stiff. How could she listen to late shipments when tempted by those broad shoulders straining the knit fabric of an indecently snug shirt?
Stop looking. Remember your three rules. Trish whipped her head around to focus on Diana, as if compound insolubility fascinated her.
Movement at the corner of her peripheral vision screamed at her to look.
No looking. He’s not even Christian. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to remember when she’d seen Spenser last week Monday, his eyes bloodshot and a headache creasing a frown in his forehead. They’d arrived at work at the same time, and she let them in with her card-key. He stumbled through the doors with a groaning “Thanks,” then hauled himself up the stairs to his second-floor office.
He must be a party animal. Trish no longer drank, so she was now a good girl. The old has gone, the new has come.
The party animal twirled his pen as her coworkers brainstormed ideas to speed up the study.
“Couldn’t we cover our bases and add another three groups?” There, that proved Trish wasn’t distracted. She was paying attention.
Diana paused, then shook her head. “We don’t have enough compound to do that. How about . . .”
Trish admired Spenser’s long fingers as he flipped the pen around and scribbled a few notes. The other hand reached up to massage his square jaw. “You could change the dosing schedule . . .”
Trish drowned in the mellow
Spitting and shaking her head, she turned the water down so she could wash her hands. She pinched off tiny pieces of the paper towel before grabbing a mammoth handful to dry her hands and wipe her streaming face. Stupid towel dispenser. Oh, and the stupid water got on her new blouse. She scrubbed at the water stains as she raced out the lab doors and down the hallway.
Trish hurtled into her office room so fast, she bounced off the cubicle wall to an empty desk. She skidded around the edge of her desk in the corner. Paper towels flew everywhere when she dropped them to snatch a pen and her calendar.
She crashed through the door to the stairwell, then leaped up the stairs. By the time she reached the third floor, her chest heaved, and she expected to see her lungs fly out of her mouth with her next breath. She raced down the carpeted hallway to the conference room.
Outside the door, Trish glanced at her watch. With a grimace, she eased open the heavy oak door to peek inside.
Four pairs of eyes zoomed in on her.
Oops. “Sorry. I had a problem thawing cells this morning.”
Her supervisor Diana waved her to a seat, then turned to speak to Trish’s redheaded coworker. “Is the study ready to start on Friday?”
“Yup.” She glanced at their other coworker. “Are you doing the assays on the samples?”
He stretched and nodded. “Got it covered.”
Trish plopped into a padded chair and felt her bladder jiggle. She should have stopped off at the restroom. She downed so much coffee that she drank a lot of water to avoid dehydration — she hadn’t slept through all her human physiology classes — which also meant she had to go a billion times a day. She squirmed in her seat but decided it wasn’t too bad yet. Only then did she glance up.
Spenser Wong from the tumor research group sat across the table. What’s he doing at our group meeting?
At the last interdepartmental meeting, Trish hadn’t heard a word of his presentation. Instead, she drank in the sight of his lithe body and listened to his deep, dreamy voice and sighed over his chiseled, handsome face.
Pull yourself together.
Her coworker flourished a printed email. “Newark said they had a laboratory accident. Compound shipment is delayed.”
Diana frowned. “When will they have it ready?”
Spenser shifted in his seat and stretched his arm as if it felt stiff. How could she listen to late shipments when tempted by those broad shoulders straining the knit fabric of an indecently snug shirt?
Stop looking. Remember your three rules. Trish whipped her head around to focus on Diana, as if compound insolubility fascinated her.
Movement at the corner of her peripheral vision screamed at her to look.
No looking. He’s not even Christian. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to remember when she’d seen Spenser last week Monday, his eyes bloodshot and a headache creasing a frown in his forehead. They’d arrived at work at the same time, and she let them in with her card-key. He stumbled through the doors with a groaning “Thanks,” then hauled himself up the stairs to his second-floor office.
He must be a party animal. Trish no longer drank, so she was now a good girl. The old has gone, the new has come.
The party animal twirled his pen as her coworkers brainstormed ideas to speed up the study.
“Couldn’t we cover our bases and add another three groups?” There, that proved Trish wasn’t distracted. She was paying attention.
Diana paused, then shook her head. “We don’t have enough compound to do that. How about . . .”
Trish admired Spenser’s long fingers as he flipped the pen around and scribbled a few notes. The other hand reached up to massage his square jaw. “You could change the dosing schedule . . .”
Trish drowned in the mellow
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