Page 97 of A Lady’s Guide to Subterfuge and Science

Damn him. Comerford always stated his opinion so decidedly, never leaving room for argument. A few weeks ago, Oliver would have simply let this go. But he was no longer that man. He was now, for all intents and purposes, a man in love.

Quickly picking an angle, Oliver said, “Jennings has never been one for theorizing. Don’t you find it a little odd that he should be the one to produce such groundbreaking work?”

“Not at all.” Comerford leaned forward to place his elbows on his desk. “Jennings is a clever lad. I think him perfectly capable.”

“I’m not saying he isn’t capable,” Oliver ground out, despite thinking the opposite. “It simply does not line up.”

“Booth,” Comerford said slowly, “are you jealous?”

Oliver scowled. He’d expected this. Had predicted it, in fact, when Kalila had asked him to have this very conversation with Comerford.

“I have no reason to be jealous of Jennings. None whatsoever.”

“You have an envious streak in you,” Comerford observed. “Hence the question.”

“The only member I have ever been jealous of,” Oliver said, “is Rafiq.”

Comerford lifted his eyebrows. “Ah, so I was correct on that front.”

“You were.” Oliver sat back and let out a long exhale. “He’s a brilliant scientist.”

“Rafiq has potential,” Comerford agreed. “I have no doubt that we will see him do great things in a few years.”

She does great things now, Oliver wanted to argue. You just refuse to see them.

Instead, he said, “Jennings isn’t deserving of my envy or your praise.”

It was a bold statement, one that had Comerford tilting his head in shrewd interest.

“Why is that?” he asked. He began to drum his fingers on the desk, the motion betraying his agitation.

It was now or never.

“Because the paper is entirely Rafiq’s,” Oliver declared. “All Jennings did was steal it.”

“Elaborate,” Comerford said, the word coming out in a quiet command. “Now.”

So Oliver did. Using everything Kalila had shared with him, he communicated to Comerford why Jennings could not have made the connections Kalila had, why all of the new, creative ideas could only have come from someone who had thought about this for years. He recalled Kalila’s past papers, linking them to the current one, even going so far as to call out her sharp, technical writing style.

Perhaps he’d been paying more attention to her work than he’d originally believed.

Comerford did not interrupt, only giving the occasional nod, and Oliver felt a triumphant thrill shoot through him.

“—that, of course, brings us back to Rafiq’s theory on the role of the naive parent cell,” he said, taking a moment to breathe. “It’s all connected, you see.”

“Indeed. You state your opinion well, Booth.”

Oliver frowned. “Opinion?”

Comerford shrugged. “You have no real evidence to present. I am obligated to take Jennings at his word.”

Ex-mentor it was, then.

“No,” Oliver told him, “you don’t.”

“I do,” Comerford said, having the audacity to sound like he was discussing the weather. “It’s kind—mature, really—that you’ve taken Rafiq under your wing. It shows a great amount of personal growth.”

Oliver did not respond, his face devoid of all expression.