I would have enjoyed her scolding if I weren’t so enthralled. My palms are clammy. A rare hint of nerves creeps in as he turns his attention to me.
“I just wanted to say how much your work has influenced me. Your publications on asymmetric synthesis and stereoselective catalysis. They’re groundbreaking.”
A spark lights in his eyes.
Surprise crosses his daughter’s face.
“You’ve read my papers?”
“You’ve read his papers?” she parrots behind him, slowly sinking onto a stool beside him and ignoring the experiment they were working on before I arrived.
“Absolutely.” I nod, enthusiasm bubbling up despite myself. “Your approach to chiral molecules changed how I think about organic chemistry.”
“It’s always gratifying to hear that my work resonates with upcoming chemists.”
Professor Rossi shifts, uncomfortable with her father’s easy compliment. She glares but remains silent.
“I was particularly fascinated by your latest article on enantioselective reactions,” I continue, reaching for the flask to keep my hands occupied while I talk to my chemistry hero. “The potential applications in pharmaceutical development are incredible.”
He smiles appreciatively.
“You have a keen interest in advanced organic mechanisms?”
“It’s what I hope to specialize in.”
I swirl the concoction, watching the colors twirl around the glass before Professor Rossi snaps her fingers for me to put it down.
“Dr. Rossi’s research opened up new perspectives for me.”
She clears her throat, unhappy she isn’t in control of the situation. Her eyes flick between us, irritation flashing across her face. Dr. Rossi notices but seems unperturbed when I gently put the flask down.
“Have you conducted any research yourself?”
“A bit.”
I shrug modestly.
My knee bounces under the table from the adrenaline coursing through me.
“Mostly coursework, but I was experimenting with catalytic cycles last semester with my old Professor.”
The one who retired and was replaced with this hot, mean one.
“Impressive initiative.”
His hands clasp on the table, his demeanor open and interested, unlike his daughter, who’s had about enough of me.
“Self-driven experimentation is the hallmark of true passion.”
“Mr. Kahale?—”
Isabella leans forward, her voice clipped.
“Call me Diego. Mr. Kahale is my father.”
The steely edge to my tone has her lifting an eyebrow. Not that I’m unpacking my family shit with them, but yeah, I hate when she calls me by my last name. Correcting her in front of her kind father seems to be the right approach, though. She looks sullen, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Diego. While it’s admirable that you’re engaging with the material, perhaps we can continue this conversation during scheduled office hours.”
