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Sophie was a hazy memory—he’d only met her a handful of times before she’d left for America. He strained to recall conversations between his parents about her biotech research, but the details eluded him, so he navigated to PubMed and typed in her name. He scanned the academic publications. There, near the bottom, were early papers tying her to Pharmasyn.
He clicked rapidly, skimming through abstracts thick with inscrutable scientific jargon. Terms jumped out—rat trials, neurotransmitter manipulation, and finally, Hephaestus protocol. He stared at that last one. Hephaestus, the God of Fire. What the actual hell?
His chair protested as he leaned back, fingers resting against the length of his mouth. These papers reported the official animal trials. Not the unofficial human trials that got the company hauled up in court and subsequently dismantled.
With two fingers, he spun the printed copies of the shipping paperwork Griff had sent to face him. Carbon45. There was no mention of Carbon45 in the original papers. This was new.
A quick google search came up empty.
He tapped his fountain pen on the desk, mulling it over. Kat might have something. He hadn’t contacted her in weeks, hoping the distance would temper the obsession gripping him. He ran a finger along the inside of his collar. As if. Her ghost drifted through his thoughts constantly, a whisper of floral perfume that never quite faded away. The shine of auburn hair in a crowd made his pulse spike, disappointment crushing him when it wasn’t her. Too many sleepless nights, he’d imagined the heat of her skin under his fingertips until he was nearly mad with longing.
He hissed out a breath and hit connect. Fuck this.
His reflection stared back at him, collar crooked. He straightened it and smoothed his shirt across his chest like a nervous kid waiting for his date’s dad to answer the door on prom night, while chiding himself at the same time. What was he doing? This was a business call. Nothing more. Besides. He may have fixed his collar, but the scar on his face was permanent.
A physical reminder of his past.
The connection rang out, unanswered. He checked his watch. Six-thirty in the evening in London. It was a Saturday. Kat wouldn’t be in the office like him. She had a life. She’d be out shopping, buying another of those silk blouses with the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons she favored. Or in her car, perhaps heading to the gym or for a swim…an image of her in a sleek bathing costume sprang to mind.
Fuck. He reached to kill the connection.
“Leonid.”
His hand froze over the keyboard.
A smile quirked the edge of her lush mouth. There she fucking was. The cause of all his frustrating dreams. Her auburn hair was pulled back from her face, coiled at the base of her neck, framing exquisite cheekbones and intelligent eyes.
“For what do I owe the pleasure?” She picked up an eraser tipped pencil and rotated it against the desk. The pale gray silk of her blouse shifted, close to where it fastened over the swell of her breasts.
Fuck focus, Leo. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Kat. Hi.”
A silver charm bracelet jingled on her wrist. “It’s been a while.”
“Yes. Um.” There it was. The only woman who could leave him tongue tied. Fuck. Fuck. “I’ve been busy.”
“Of course.” Something indecipherable flashed across her eyes.
The need to understand her reaction ignited in him as her expression altered to one of pure business.
She laced her fingers together on her desk. Tamping down her emotions so he couldn’t read her? “Are you going to tell me what brings you to my door now?”
Did he detect a note of resentment? “You make it sound official when you say it like that.” The words were out before he could edit out the extent of his true feelings for her.
Feelings. He was long done with those. Feelings got you up to your armpits in shit you couldn’t wade out of.
Her gaze was sharp. “Yes. Leonid. That’s what this is. Business.” She gestured at the office filing cabinets behind her, tilted her wrist to read the slim silver watch on her wrist. “This is my life. It’s Saturday evening and here I am at work.” Kat shook her head. “Where else would I be?”
He spread his hands. “Guess that makes two of us.”
Her lips twitched with a smile. It made him ridiculously fucking happy to see he could still affect her.
“We’re working with--”
“Joanna Smith, ex-reporter for the Daily Guardian newspaper.”
Seconds ticked between them.
“Okay, you know the situation.”
