by Dara Girard
That distant, but polite look entered his eyes and she knew he was going to change the topic. He didn’t disappoint. He turned and headed outside.
“As you can see,” he said once they were through the main doors, “the lab is in an ideal location to walk to eateries and is accessible by bus or train if your researchers don’t own cars. There’s also a gym nearby, but at the house there’s a pool I can show you later.”
He had his reasons to avoid her questions and she wouldn’t press him. Right now she was getting a better deal than he was. She’d find out his true agenda later. “A swimming pool wouldn’t do me much good since I can’t swim. I know, I know,” she said when an expression of surprise crossed his face. “Graduate with honors from University of Pennsylvania at eighteen but I can’t even do a duck paddle. I’ve put it on my life list to learn one day. What are you doing?” she asked when he started to type something on his cell phone.
“Making a note to find you an instructor. You’ll never find time for things you don’t schedule.”
She rolled her eyes. “You and schedules.”
But within two days she was already getting used to him. Actually liking him. She hadn’t responded to a man like this in years. Maybe ever. Even in grad school she’d only gone out with Barry out of curiosity. With Sebastian, she was more than curious—she was intrigued. He was like a new specimen she wanted to study. That wasn’t good. She could become obsessive about things like that.
He’d helped her solve two major problems, but she didn’t need a personal assistant so she’d have to get rid of him on her own.
Chapter 10
Josephine hummed as the car sped down the street, finding the spring afternoon bright and beautiful in every way from the dot of clouds in the blue sky to the sight of purple poppies in a garden. She glanced at the back of Andre’s head as he sat in the driver’s seat, fighting a wild urge to kiss it in relief. She’d never been in such a good mood. So good, she was going to treat herself to a manicure.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” she told him. “Absolutely nothing at all.”
Andre was quiet a few moments then said, “Why the change of heart?”
“I met her. That doctor woman he’s been talking about and she’s not a threat at all.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”
“I am. I know my son.”
“Then why do you think he chose her?”
Josephine sniffed. “When have I ever understood what my son was about? He’s even letting her stay at the house.”
“Yes, I know. I had to get the suite prepared.” Andre met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “And that doesn’t worry you?”
“I told you, I met her. There’s no spark between them and she’s nothing like Barbara. She’s skinny as a twig and pretty enough, but not remarkable. And when I saw him with her, I could tell he wasn’t attracted to her like the others. That’s when I knew he was up to something. I should have paid more attention when he was talking about her work.”
“He might be trying to find a way back into the field.”
Josephine nodded. “Agreed. That’s my suspicion too, but what could she possibly have that he’d want?”
“You want me to find out even more about her?”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” she said, which meant ‘Find out as much as you can as soon as possible.’
Chapter 11
She couldn’t get rid of him.
In the nearly two months they’d been together, Naomi had sent Sebastian on five useless trips to Eastern Shore and Anacostia to get micro-samples she didn’t need. He didn’t care. He returned and cataloged everything with the precision of a true scientist. Which bothered her. As detailed as he was, how could he have made such a huge error at BioCorps? But she fought to keep her curiosity at bay as she tried to figure out a way to get rid of him so she wouldn’t grow attached.
Already she feared she was failing because he made her life easier. In the morning her breakfast was prepared, he took her to the lab where she convened with her research team, having gotten there without having to think about traffic, Sebastian then reminded her about lunch, which he also prepared (before him she’d often forget her lunch at home),then she’d work late into the evening. Her clothes were dry cleaned, he reminded her of a dentist appointment she’d forgotten about and even found a book she’d been searching for for months. He was becoming indispensable.
She couldn’t have that. But she didn’t mind it either.
Naomi stood in front of the abstract painting in her room, the early summer sun blocked by the velvet drapes she kept closed in order to concentrate. She couldn’t understand her warring emotions.
She jumped when her phone rang. She checked the number; a little disappointed it wasn’t him, then picked it up and sat on the couch. “Hello?”
“Your father wants to invite Dr. Scott over for dinner.”
Naomi adjusted her glasses. “Why?”
“Because you haven’t invited us over yet.”
Naomi stretched her legs along the couch. “He’s my assistant not my boyfriend, you don’t need to formally meet him.”
“I must thank him for the soup he had delivered to us, and that beautiful place where you’re staying.”
“He already knows you liked the soup. I had him give me the name of the restaurant, remember? And I’m paying rent, so it’s not a complete charity.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
Naomi swung her feet to the ground as a thought hit her. “Oh no, I haven’t paid my rent yet.” She closed her eyes and pounded her forehead with her fist. “How could I have forgotten that? I used to have it done automatically; I haven’t set that up yet.” She stood up and paced. “I’ll have to tell Sebastian to...wait why didn’t he remind me since he owns the place?”
“He’s both your personal assistant and your landlord?”
Naomi silently swore. She’d been careful not to tell her mother the connection. When her parents had come to see where she was saying, she’d come up with an elaborate story of a wealthy, elderly woman who’d devoted her life to funding people in the scientific community and on an exclusive basis would let some take up residence in her home for a nominal fee over the course of a year. They’d believed her. “It’s a long story.”
“I like to hear it. Does he have any food allergies?”
Naomi sighed, her mother could be so stubborn. “I don’t know.”
“Is he a vegetarian?”
“I don’t know.”
“What does he like to eat?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve been with this man all this time and you don’t know what he likes to eat?” her mother said sounding appalled.
Naomi felt properly scolded. To her shame she realized that she’d never seen Sebastian eat. He’d always made sure she had her three meals, but now as she looked back, he never ate with her. Why was that? How could she have only noticed that now? You don’t observe the world around you, her sister had said.
“Call me back when you get the answers,” her mother said.
“Don’t be surprised if he decides not to come.”
Her mother made a sound as if that were an impossibility then said, “We want you over this Saturday around six,” before disconnecting.
At breakfast the next morning, Naomi tucked into spinached eggs and toast reviewing all that she planned to do for the day, wondering what the kidney cancer cells they had on slides would reveal today, when she paused to look across the table at Sebastian who was reading the complete collection of Beatrix Potter, which he did most mornings. She remembered teasing him about it once, and he just shrugged and said “I like the pictures” as if she were the one being childish and she never teased him again, especially after she snuck a peek and saw the artistic detail and skill in every painting and sketch.
But she was getting used to him surprising her and opening her eyes. She remembered the gorgeous bed and breakfa
st in Pennsylvania he’d found for her to stay in when she had a lecture at the university. The new gold lace red dress he bought her when she accidentally burned the one she was supposed to wear to a charity event with an iron (she’d gotten distracted by a statistics problem she was trying to figure out). When she asked him how much the dress cost, he refused to give her a figure, but she suspected it cost more than her entire wardrobe combined.
However, his generosity didn’t end there. When her project funder came into town for a visit, Sebastian scheduled a dinner cruise on the Potomac, something Naomi would never have thought of. In truth, if she hadn’t had Sebastian she would have forgotten he was in town entirely. She still remembered the sight of passing by the National Monument at night, while she enjoyed a Mediterranean couscous and chickpea salad and baked ziti pasta. She’d never forget how much she enjoyed finding out more about her funder—what his interests were, how much they had in common—and his wife, for the first time seeing a person behind the foundation.
When the funder went to the dance floor joined by his wife, she remembered that Sebastian stretched his hand out to her.
She looked at him alarmed. “What are you doing?”
“Asking you to dance.”
“But I don’t dance.”
“You will tonight,” he said, taking her hand and lifting her to her feet.
“I’m a terrible dancer,” she said as he led her to the dance floor.
“That’s okay,” he said before he drew her into a dancer’s embrace.
And in his arms he made it more than okay, within moments she felt as if she were floating on air, the feel of his hand in hers, the heat of the palm of his hand at the small of her back. When she was eight years old, she remembered being caught in a downpour with her father when they’d both gone for a walk. They returned home wet and shivering and as her mother dried her up with a towel, she scolded her father for not paying attention to the weather forecast and at least carrying an umbrella. Then her mother wrapped Naomi in a warm blue blanket and her shivering stopped and she felt secure and safe. She felt that same way now…with a little more heat.
Sebastian moved well and she moved well with him. And for a brief moment Naomi closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to wake up beside him.
“Naomi,” he’d say in a smooth velvet tone. And she’d just sigh and pretend to be asleep. He’d say her name again this time with a question and then he’d say her name a third time, nudging her awake.
She sighed when she felt the featherlike touch of his lips against hers. It felt so real…It took Naomi a second to realize it was. She opened her eyes and looked up at him startled. “Did you just kiss me?”
Her reaction seemed to amuse him. “Yes, I’m trying to wake you out of a dream. I said your name three times.”
“Why?”
“Because the song is over.”
She looked around and saw others dancing to the upbeat music. She pulled away from him, her facing burning. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Naomi cast a nervous glance around the room to make sure her funder hadn’t seen them. She didn’t want to look unprofessional. Sebastian was her personal assistant not her boyfriend.
“Don’t worry, they didn’t see us.”
“You didn’t have to kiss me,” Naomi said, heading back to their table, her lips tingling.
Sebastian pulled out her chair. “It wasn’t a real kiss, just a quick peck.”
She sat down. “It was a kiss.”
He pushed her chair in. “Trust me,” he said in a low voice, his breath hot against her ear. “If I were to really kiss you, you’d know the difference.”
She swallowed, believing him. He was her personal assistant nothing else and right now he was just teasing her. She couldn’t make it mean anything more than that. She pushed the dance and light kiss from her mind and enjoyed the remainder of the evening, indulging in a chocolate cake for dessert and chatting with her funder when he returned to the table. She hadn’t paid much attention to Sebastian, determined to pretend he had no affect on her. She didn’t even notice if he ate anything or not.
As she studied him now at the breakfast table, it took her a few seconds to notice she was the only one with any food. He didn’t even have a cup of coffee or a glass of water.
It was true. She’d never seen him eat before. Ever. She didn’t even know where his room was. What time did he go to bed? Did he shower in the morning or take a bath at night? She still knew so little about him.
“If you want to make yourself some toast, I don’t mind being a little late,” she said, her stomach tightening. She hated being late and itched to be in her lab, but she didn’t like the thought of being inconsiderate.
Sebastian turned the page. “I already ate.”
“What?”
He lifted his head up, surprised. “What?”
Naomi nodded. “Yes, that’s what I’m asking you. What did you eat?”
It was the first time he looked at a loss for words. “Food.”
“You haven’t eaten yet. Why not eat now?”
“There’s not enough time. I’ll eat later.” He nodded to her plate. “Your food’s getting cold.”
“Do you drink coffee?”
He nodded.
“Tea?”
He nodded again.
“Black, white or herbal?”
He frowned, making it clear he didn’t realize there was a difference.
“I’m only asking because my mother has invited you over for dinner and to my shame I don’t know what you like to eat or drink.”
Sebastian snapped his book closed and stared at her. “Your mother’s asked me to dinner?”
“Yes.”
“With your father there?”
Naomi paused surprised by his question. “Yes,” she said slowly, “my father will be there.”
“I admire Dr. Mensah very much.”
Naomi couldn’t help a smile. “It’s not like you’ve kept that a secret.” Her father was one topic he couldn’t seem to get bored of. He’d told her again about how much her father’s London speech had impressed him, how he’d followed his career and read his papers. And he asked about the book her father was working on.
“Have I come on too strong?”
“No,” Naomi said, again not quite sure of the question. Did he think she was jealous of her father? It was understandable, he cast a long shadow. “I’m proud of my father’s accomplishments. I’m glad you admire them.”
Sebastian nodded looking relieved as he pushed her plate towards her as a reminder to eat.
She took a bite of her toast. “And you made an impression on him too because he’s the one extending this invitation. My parents are a little annoyed I haven’t had them over here for dinner or lunch or anything for that matter.”
“Is that what you want? Do you want to host them here? I
can—”
“No, no, no. Let my mother do the cooking, it will be a disaster otherwise.”
“I can always hire a—”
“No, it’s better this way. Unless you don’t want to go.”
He looked suddenly alarmed. “That’s not it. I just—”
“Then answer my question. What do you like to eat? Do you have allergies or any food preferences?”
“No.”
Naomi waited for him to expand then realized he wouldn’t. “That’s it?”
He nodded. “Your mother can make whatever she wants.”
“Baked cow tongue? Pickled pig brain? Crispy chicken feet?”
He nodded again. “That’s fine.”
She was teasing him, but was surprised to see he didn’t even wince. Her mother would never serve unfamiliar foods to new guests. “Okay, I’ll let her know.”
“What time should we be there?”
“Probably around six.”
When he frowned, she knew he found her answer too vague. “Six o’clock sharp, but I’ll call to make sure.
”
“What do they like? Wine? Fruit?”
“You don’t need to be formal.”
“I can’t arrive empty handed.”
“Flowers.”
“What kind?”
“Any kind. It doesn’t matter,” she said, not realizing that she’d soon regret not being more specific.
Chapter 12
A large bouquet of lush peach roses surrounded by pale yellow mini carnations, with bright red Peruvian lilies and luxurious greens greeted them when Naomi and Sebastian entered the Mensah dining room.
“Thank you for the beautiful gift,” her mother said, beaming at him as she gestured to a chair. “I’ll have to remove it while we’re eating, but I wanted you to see it, Dr. Scott.”
“Sebastian, please.”
“We hope our simple hospitality will warrant such an extravagant gift,” her father said, taking a seat at the head of the table.
“The invitation already has.”
Mrs. Mensah set out the food and soon the table was filled with the sight of sautéed Maryland crab cakes, the bright red gaze of Ghanaian jollof rice, the scent of grilled asparagus, and spicy cornbread.
Two more guests joined them, the Mensah cats—one white with a patch of black, the other grey. They sat beside Sebastian’s chair and stared up at him with matching green eyes.
“Just ignore Julius and Percy,” Naomi said. “They’re just curious, but they won’t jump on you.”
“Julius and Percy, huh?” Sebastian looked down at them and nodded.
“Yes, after Julius Richard Petri and Percy Julian,” Naomi explained knowing he’d recognize the name of the creator of the Petri dish and the African American research chemist.
He adjusted his glasses. “I don’t know what to do with cats.”
“You can pet them later,” her father said. “They’re very polite. But if they bother you—”
“No, no. It’s fine,” he said and soon they were talking about his work with Naomi.
