"I'm not changing my research protocols because of what you think, especially when your concerns aren't supported by actual data."
He chuckles. The sound makes my skin crawl.
"Data. You academics and your data. Sometimes the human element matters more than numbers on a screen."
"The human element is exactly what I'm trying to protect."
He tilts his head, studying me like I'm an interesting specimen.
"That's debatable. You might just be trying to prove yourself and make a name on the back of these men's careers."
The accusation drives more anger into my bones.
"I'm trying to keep them safe."
"So am I, Dr. Chandler. So am I." He steps back, giving me space. "Think about what I said, for everyone's sake."
Then he walks away, leaving me seething with barely controlled rage. I fumble with my keys, forcing my hands not to tremble as I unlock the door.
Assessment tools and the portable eye-tracking device that cost more than three months of my stipend sit in my trunk. I should arrange everything like the meticulous researcher I'm supposed to be.
Instead, I collapse into the driver's seat and jam the key into the ignition.
My car doesn't start.
I turn the key again. The engine makes a clicking sound that's universally recognized as 'dead battery, you're screwed.'
"No!" I slam my palm against the steering wheel. "Not now. Please not now."
Three more attempts yield the same result.
I pop the hood and climb out, then stare at the engine like I have any idea what I'm looking at. I don't. My expertise is in biomechanics and neuroscience, not automotive repair.
"Come on, you piece of..."
I grab a random wire and jiggle it.
Nothing happens. Obviously.
"Start working already!"
"That's not how engines work."
I jump, banging my head on the hood.
Declan is standing beside me, gym bag slung over one shoulder, dark hair damp from the shower. He's wearing jeans and a fitted black T-shirt that clings to every alluring muscle. Those green, amused eyes look soft.
He's concerned.
"Are you following me?" I snap, rubbing my head.
"I parked three spaces over." He nods toward a sleek black Mercedes. "I saw you murder your car and thought I'd intervene before you electrocute yourself."
"I'm not going to electrocute myself."
"You're holding a battery cable, Ivy."
I look down. He's right. Dropping it immediately, I step back from the engine.
