Dominic:
CALEB JUST CONFIRMED
I’M BUYING CHAMPAGNE
WE’RE CELEBRATING THIS WEEKEND
NON-NEGOTIABLE
also please tell Audrey she’s a saint for putting up with you
and tell her I want to be the godfather of your firstborn
I’m only half joking
I’m not joking. I will throw a fit if I’m not godfather to your firstborn.
I can’t help but laugh a little at the last part. I’m about to type back a response when the door opens and all three women file back in.
“Thanks for waiting,” Layla sing-songs.
They’re all wearing matching expressions of studied innocence that fool absolutely no one.
Audrey slides back into the seat beside me. Her hair has been smoothed down, and there’s a fresh shine on her lips—lip gloss, my brain supplies, unhelpfully cataloging the exact shade of pink while the rest of me remembers what those lips felt like an hour ago.
My throat goes dry.
“Everything all right?” I manage.
She gives me a slow, up-and-down look, so brief I’m not sure it happened. “Just peachy.”
There’s a fractional pause before I murmur, “Jenna told Dominic we were running late.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh. Then I take it the cat’s out of the bag?”
“More like the cat’s tap-dancing on the table and shooting off party poppers,” I say before I can think better of it. She snorts, loud enough that Layla glances over, eyebrow cocked.
Serena drops into a nearby chair, grinning at us. “Look at you two. Whispering like teenagers.”
“We’re discussing the project,” I say.
“Sure you are.” She props her chin in her hand. “So, Logan. I hear congratulations are in order.”
“For what?”
“You finally admitted you like each other. The suspense was getting painful.”
I feel my face go red again, which I thought I’d grown out of in high school, and try to retreat behind another breadstick.
Audrey doesn’t hide. She turns to face Serena, full-on. “Is it so wrong to prioritize our multi-million-dollar FDA submission over personal milestones? Some of us care about the science, Serena.”
Serena beams. “Congratulations on both. Can I be a bridesmaid?”
“Can we get through the regulatory review before skipping to nuptials?”
“No,” Serena says dryly. “No, we can’t.”
Audrey rolls her eyes, then sips from her water glass, looking at me over the rim as if she wishes the ground would open up. I keep my eyes on the projector, my hands locked together so I don’t do something stupid, like reach for her hand under the conference table. Especially now, when the personal is basically public domain. I wonder how Robert Carmichael would reactif he could see this. His company’s fate hinging on a team of bickering, romantically entangled neuro nerds. Or maybe, given what I know about his wild 1970s neurosurgery days, this is exactly what he’d have wanted.
