Page 11 of True Colors

That’s why I’ve always loved math and modeling. They’re steady. Unmoved by emotion or ego. They don’t care where you’re from, who you are, or how your brain is wired.

Numbers remain logical even when people aren’t.

My half-decent mood evaporates when a message flashes across the company’s chat. It’s from Dot asking me to come to her office ASAP. But it’s not the ASAP that makes my blood freeze, oh no, it’s the word: Novagene.

Oh God! This is a white whale of a project that comes once in a career, and I know that several people on the team want it.

I know they won’t put me on it—especially after I imploded in front of the new CEO, who will be running the project. That announcement came two weeks ago, when the contract was finalized.

Working on something tied directly to the CEO means visibility, and I don’t need that. Do I?

No, not at all.

But I do want to work on something this challenging. Something that makes my brain light up. Something that, as my best friend in the whole world, Finn, would say, “Makes your noodle buzz.”

I smooth the sleeves of my blouse, which I’ve been twisting so tightly that the knit is stretching.

I force myself to stand.

I take a deep breath.

I pick up my notepad and march up to Dot’s office.

Dot has one of the largest analyst teams in the company because she runs the lucrative pharma division. Tech analysts are more popular because they're invited to parties by Meta and Google, but we’re the money-makers.

By the time I reach Dot’s office, my hands are trembling.

She looks up at that moment, and her expression is deceptively calm, which means I’m either being (a) promoted, (b) fired, or (c) all of the above. Not sure how that’s possible, but….

“Close the door, Anouk.”

I do.

“Sit.”

I do that, too.

Dot watches me for a moment, then leans back in her chair. “Rough morning.”

“That’s…one way to put it.”

“Luther will be more careful in the future,” she says plainly.

Why?

Did you tell him about my little speech problem? Did you tell him about how I have severe PTSD? Did you tell him…?

“I had a conversation with him about your skills,” Dot continues, “and he’s quite impressed.”

Right, and I can say ‘differentiation’ five times without stuttering.

“O-okay.”

Dot taps a pen on the table. It’s a habit of hers. I doubt she does it consciously. “He wants you on the Novagene project.”

My stomach rolls.

“He—what?”