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the treadmill cup and Randall recited his cell phone number. She keyed it in and when his voice mail came on she said, “Dr. Atwater, this is Jacqueline Tate, confirming our appointment for later today. I look forward to seeing you. Thank you. Good-bye.”
    “Very professionally stated,” Randall said, warming to this woman’s unique mix of beauty, intelligence, and quirkiness. “I look forward to seeing you too.”
    She walked away. Randall was sure that the extra sway in her hips was for him.
    Little vixen , he thought with a smile as he restarted the treadmill. He liked the way she made him feel: handsome and important. A couple times, when he saw the way she looked at him, he felt a little guilty as well. He wasn’t in the mood or in the market for a longtime love. But spending time with the freelance writer had definitely had its benefits. One never knew who was reading what publication. Some billionaire could stumble across an article and decide to fund his research. That alone was worth the few hours he’d spend with Jacqueline tonight. That she was as beautiful as she was talented and that they’d been able to enjoy each other’s company—well, he wouldn’t hold that against her.
     
    Several hours later, after hours of talking, listening, and planning strategies, a slightly weary but mentally invigorated Randall stood and shook hands with the men who’d gathered. He’d declined their dinner invitation, citing a previous commitment. He and James walked out together.
    “So what do you have going tonight?” James asked as they reached the driveway where several town cars awaited.
    “Dinner with Jacqueline.”
    James stopped walking, almost in midstride. “Just you two?”
    “Yes.”
    “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
    “Why wouldn’t it be?” Randall asked with a shrug.
    “You can’t be that naïve, man. Anybody with eyes and close proximity to her could tell how much time she spent checking you out. I think she attended every workshop you conducted, every speech and every meeting where she could go and you showed your face.”
    “She’s very interested in our research.”
    “Then why didn’t she come to any of my talks?”
    “I think the world focus on stem cell research makes what I’m doing quite marketable right now. Plus”—he rubbed his chin and struck a GQ pose—“I’m better looking.” From James, a deadpan stare. “Look, you can even join us if you want. We’re meeting at a restaurant that’s not too far from here.”
    “You definitely could use a chaperone. But my frat brothers have the night all planned. I’m headed over to see one of them, who just purchased a home in the Holmby Hills.”
    “The name means nothing to me. I don’t know much about LA.”
    “Let’s just say it’s Beverly Hills, only better.”
    The two men shook hands. “Well, all right then. Enjoy yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    “Bright and early. We’re starting at nine. Maybe we can end early enough for me to fly out tomorrow night instead of waiting until Monday.”
    “Shoot me that flight info. Since we’re both heading east, I might be able to get out too.”
    The men got in separate cars and left the home of the brain surgeon, which boasted modern architecture and ocean views. During the scenic ride from Malibu to Topanga Canyon and the Inn of the Seventh Ray, the restaurant that Randall had viewed online, he thought about his friend James, and his not-too-subtle warning about spending time with Jacqueline. Concluding that all of his rhetoric was much ado about nothing, he decided to sit back, relax, and enjoy the evening. Because even though she’d be in D.C. and the science community was a small one, chances were that he wouldn’t see much of Jacqueline Tate.

CHAPTER 11
    J acqueline entered her room and fell on the bed. She was giddy with happiness; so far her plans had gone perfectly. Dinner had been amazing: the ambiance perfect, the food superb. And the night? She