I wait for him to say something, to sound aggrieved or apologetic or appalled by the situation, but I’m only met with silence.
“That is to say, sir, as you can see here,” I pull the papers recounting the minutes of the board meeting and thrust them on the desk in front of his face, “Here Archer clearly states that the lab discoveries of the new molecule were made by him, with no mention of you or me. And he further proposed that a full 95% of Belladonna’s resources be poured into cosmetics research and production instead of our core mission to cure pernicious diseases—”
Dr. Laurel suddenly stands up, so violently his chair shoves backward into the wall behind him. “What does any of it matter? She’s gone, so who the fuck cares now?”
“But—” I sputter. “But you were the one who told me how much the world needed our research, how it was never just about one patient, it was—”
“Fuck the world!” He swipes a furious forearm and clears his desk of everything on it in one crashing swoop. “Without her there’s nothing! Nothing.”
And then the paragon of strength and brilliance I’d looked up to for years dissolved into a puddle right in front of me, sobbing into his own armpit.
I want to turn away. Daphne deserves better than him. She always has. For him to just give up like this, in a room that smells sour with sweat and booze, while she’s out there busting her tail, I know in part to prove herself to this man…
But I start to approach him anyway. He’s an old, sad man, and he at least deserves some compassion.
“What have you done to the poor man?” Adam’s voice grates, always when it’s least possibly needed.
But Dr. Laurel looks towards the door like his salvation’s come.
Because suddenly somehow I’ve become the bad guy in this scenario? For telling the truth? For trying to ostensibly get the company back on track to what Dr. Laurel always said he wanted for it?
But watching as Adam enters the room and takes Dr. Laurel under his broad, football arm and guides him out of the room, no doubt to his own car to drive him home and tuck him into bed—I can see the entire façade of charity driven by a cold-blooded desire to play to win.
The two of them fucking deserve each other.
But they think they can get rid of me that easy? They’re dead fucking wrong. I’m not going to lie down and play dead. I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow morning, a pin in their sides, a splinter underneath their finger…
But tonight?
I look down at my phone. No missed calls or new messages.
As much as I want to pretend all this doesn’t affect me, it’s a lie. I know myself. The pressure is building.
I need a release valve and I need it bad.
I haven’t visited the dungeon in months. Long, long months.
But if I don’t unwind some of this tension, it really will be ugly when I lash out. I stretch my neck this way and that, the first wave of calm settling over me as I begin to adopt the persona of him.
The Master.
But then all I can see is her face. Daphne.
What if I go by her place instead?
And do what? She might be 19, but she’s still just a child. She’s not ready for all I want to unleash. And with everything happening with her dad’s company, is it really fair to put her in the middle of it?
Still, before I’ve even completely thought it through, I’m dialing her number and holding the phone to my ear. Lately it feels like she’s the only person I can really talk to.
She doesn’t pick up, though, and I hang up before I can hear her silken voice on the message again.
I lean back against the wall and drop the phone to my side. Probably for the best. I look around the darkened offices and a chill goes up my spine. I can’t leave well enough alone. I need to have some sort of contact with her. She’s my touchstone right now, though it might freak her out to know that.
But if Adam and her father have anything to do with it, she and I will never have the future I dream about together. If Dr. Laurel fires me and I don’t get a chance to say goodbye to her, if Adam tries to poison them against me with his lies—
My fingers are on the phone, tapping out a text on the glowing screen in the otherwise darkened hallway. If anything ever happens, please know you’re my best friend. Give me a chance to explain. Meet me at Thornhill, beside your mom’s grave. Don’t mean to freak you out. Just in case anything ever happens.
It’s an ominous message and part of me feels regret at ever hitting send. But then again, it’s been six months since her mother died. I’ll give her all the time she needs and maybe she’s not ready for everything I’m into, but…
I can’t deny it anymore. My thoughts are full of her, night and day. Whenever she’s ready, I want to try. I can go slow. As slow as she needs.
And in spite of everything, the terrible day, finding out what a snake in the grass Adam is and Dr. Laurel turning out to be such a disappointment—I smile.
Because for the first time, I let myself dream of a future with her.
I fall asleep happy and I wake up happy.
In fact, I’m still smiling when I head into work and pull on my lab goggles the next morning.
I’m smiling until my skin starts burning.
Until I’m screaming and clawing at my face and begging for them to tear it off me. And what I mean by it is my own skin.
Twenty-Five
Present Day
Daphne
My courage lasts for exactly six strides into the lushly appointed ballroom. There’s so many people. All of New Olympus’s high society, all in one room. Maybe if I just back out quietly, no one would even notice that I’ve—
But some wanker with a mic catches sight of me before I can make up my mind about retreating and announces, “Here she is! Adam Archer’s fiancée and belle of the ball, Daphne Laurel!”
“Doctor Daphne Laurel,” Rachel growls under her breath. “Just because a woman gets engaged doesn’t mean she’s stripped of all her titles.”
I squeeze her hand, partly in gratitude, partly for support, and partly so she doesn’t head off to strangle the stupid MC. The band strikes up a jazzed up version of Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus” that devolves after several bars into some sort of disco riff.
Hordes of glittering guests turn to greet me. Like a tennis match, all heads swing in my direction. There must be over a hundred people in the ballroom. I’ve never felt so exposed. I swallow my grimace at the music choices. At my side Rachel mutters, “Oh gods, disco? Why?” and pretends to gag.
“Rachel,” I murmur through a gritted smile. “Will you be a dear and find my godsdamned fiancé?”
“Gladly, Doctor Laurel,” she murmurs back and glides away. Once she’s gone, I relax. I thought I’d want to put off meeting with Adam, but the sooner I drag him to a private meeting, the sooner I can end this farce. And then Rachel and I can take turns whipping him across the face with our opera gloves.
I fantasize about this for about three seconds before the first guest steps into my personal space. Fortunately, it’s one of my favorite people. Cora Ubeli.
“Dr. Laurel,” she hugs me like I’m a long lost friend from summer camp. When she steps back, huge diamonds at her ears and around her neck blind me. Her beauty is more striking than any bling she could wear, though.