Last Call Read online

  “Yes,” I assure him as he leans against the doorframe of my office.

  “You heard what I said about the boss wanting everyone there stat? And about ordering in lunch? You know what that means, don’t you?”

  I nod happily. “We’ll be stuck in there for the rest of the day.”

  “OK, Flemming. What’s your deal?”

  Qasim is my only other colleague who’s also a nonwork friend. The first time we ever went out, he took me to a club where his boyfriend is a bartender. What he failed to tell me was that the bar makes a habit of giving patrons a microphone at random times throughout the night, forcing you to sing whatever song is being played. Qasim took immense pleasure in ensuring I was the first victim, so I didn’t know it was acceptable to refuse the mic.

  I ended up singing a really, really bad rendition of “This Little Light of Mine.”

  We’ve been friends ever since.

  “No deal,” I lie. “Tell her I’ll be there in ten. I have an appointment to cancel.”

  Unfortunately, Qasim isn’t going anywhere. Instead, he comes inside and closes the door.

  “Hurry up before you get us both in trouble,” I say.

  The old me would have opened up. Told Qasim that an emergency all-day meeting means I won’t have to sit in a room, alone, with a sponsor that I’m intensely, and wrongly, attracted to. One I’ve been thinking about just about every night this week as I lie in bed, attempting to force my thoughts elsewhere.

  But the new me, the one who doesn’t trust her own judgment after getting badly burned, is more tight-lipped.

  Unfortunately, Qasim isn’t going to let this go. So I offer a partial truth.

  “I have a meeting this afternoon that I’m not disappointed to cancel.”

  He gives me a do go on look.

  “The sponsor is a real piece of work.”

  That much is true.

  “Angel, Inc.?”

  I nod. “Yep.”

  Qasim whistles. “I’m glad I’m not on that one. Talk about high stakes. I’ll leave the first-in-class to you.”

  Some people want to work on the first-in-class drugs since they are, by definition, innovative. Other people would rather avoid the controversy that usually accompanies them.

  I fall into that former group and was actually really excited about inheriting this account. Being RPM on such a high-profile drug could only help my chances at the promotion.

  Or so I thought.

  Maybe if Enzo DeLuca was still my point of contact. Since that phone call, I’ve been dreading this afternoon’s meeting.

  Which is totally why I got up early to wash my hair and blow it out.

  “Is he that bad? I mean, he must be,” Qasim says, answering his own question, “if you’re actually looking forward to a TS meeting.”

  TS, otherwise known as a troubleshoot meeting. They’re only called when all hands are needed on deck. Eleanor needs help on a fast-track drug, hence the last-minute meeting notice.

  “My original POC was fine, but the new one . . .” I shrug. “Do you know much about Hayden Tanner?”

  “Do I . . . are you serious?”

  We have a meeting to get to. And I really don’t want to know. But my stupid lips form the sentence anyway. “Not from the city, remember? So what do you know?”

  “My poor little Maryland girl.” Qasim looks up as if he’s contemplating. “Let’s see. Mega hot. Mega rich. And a mega mess. Yep. I think that covers it.”

  I’m already aware of the first two.

  “What do you mean, mega mess?”

  Qasim pushes himself away from the wall that he’s been lounging against.

  “Parents are high society. Sent him away to boarding school. If you believe the gossip, which I do in this case, they like having a son about as much as they like paying taxes.”

  My jaw drops.

  “Who the hell doesn’t like their own child?”

  Qasim shrugs. “Two self-absorbed billionaires? Or one self-absorbed billionaire and her investment banker husband who’s spent his entire life trying to fit into old money? They used to be in the papers all the time. But not so much in the last few years. I imagine that will change if the drug is approved. Kind of crazy, isn’t it? A pill that takes away the effects of alcohol? And all of my stats look good so far. This thing could seriously get approved.”

  Technically speaking, the chemical they’ve developed, when combined with alcohol, has the exact same effect as, well, any alcohol. But the chemical attaches to the alcohol compounds, and the antidote flushes them from the body.

  “Really crazy,” I agree. “Hey, you better go. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Right, see you in there. Broadway Room.”

  Every meeting room is named after a street in the city, which would be fine if they weren’t also assigned letters. Every meeting room in the building has two names, which confuses the hell out of just about everyone.

  “D, right? Fifth floor?”

  After more than five years, you’d think I’d have them all straight.

  “Yep. See ya there.”

  Qasim leaves, and I spend a solid thirty seconds staring at my phone. Normally I’d have my administrative assistant cancel for me, but she’s on vacation this week. Would it be acceptable to email him instead? I’d much prefer to do that, but it would be pretty shitty of me considering the meeting is supposed to take place in three hours.

  Dammit.

  I look up his number and call it, never in a million years expecting him to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Tanner?”

  “Hello, Doctor Flemming.”

  How the hell does he know it’s me? For a moment, I’m startled into silence, but then I realize his partner must have given him the number. He clearly added it to his contacts.

  Efficient.

  Which also means this is his personal cell phone, not an office line like I expected.

  I get right to business. “Unfortunately, I have to cancel our meeting this afternoon. An emergency popped up here today.”

  Silence.

  And then, “You said this was a mandatory meeting before the site visit?”

  “Yes, it is. We’ll have to reschedule to keep that on track.”

  I already have my calendar pulled up.

  “Can you come in next Tuesday?”

  “Hold on a sec.”

  He’s all business today, nothing like last weekend at Finnegan’s. Thank goodness.

  “Next Monday and Tuesday I’m out of town. Wednesday? Or maybe tomorrow?”

  “I can’t make either of those work.” And we’re supposed to head upstate next Thursday for the visit to his manufacturing plant. Even though it’s technically the antidote that’s going through the approval process, Angel, Inc. is something of a unique case. Since they work together, the chemical and the pill, and since any new manufacturing in association with the drug must be inspected, someone from the FDA has to inspect both production lines, and sooner rather than later.

  As the RPM, I have to be present, or my boss, along with at least one of the sponsor applicants.

  “Unfortunately, we may have to postpone the visit in that case. I’ll shoot you an email with some dates. Unless Mr. DeLuca can make the Tuesday meeting?”

  “That would work? Even though he can’t attend the site visit?”

  I frown. “It’s not ideal.”

  “Is it possible to still squeeze it in today, after your other meeting? I cleared my calendar for the afternoon.”

  He says it like clearly his calendar is a major deal. I roll my eyes at the phone.

  “I doubt I’ll be finished before five.”

  “Five is perfect. I can be there then. Or we can make it a dinner meeting?”

  My stomach flips at the suggestion. A dinner meeting.

  If it were anyone else, I’d already have said yes. He’s right—it’s not a great idea for me to meet with Enzo if he’s not the one who’s going on the si
te visit. But rescheduling site visits are a huge pain, and despite what Hayden might think, I really don’t want to hold things up for Angel, Inc. Besides, it’s not like it would be inappropriate for us to arrange a business dinner.

  The only thing that makes it inappropriate is the fact that I’ve thought about this particular guy nonstop for the past week.

  I’d thought I was getting away with something when I found out I’d have to cancel this afternoon’s meeting, but this is so much worse.

  “Doctor Flemming?”

  I have nothing to do tonight but work. Not that I’m complaining. I love my job. And most days I don’t even consider it work, except for the government red tape that I could easily avoid by working for a private lab.

  But there’s something exciting about helping to get lifesaving drugs to the market.

  He’s not flirting with me now. And after obsessing about it an uncomfortable amount, I don’t think he was flirting last Saturday either. This is just a guy used to getting his way, and what he wants now is to have the Angel pill approved, on time.

  “I understand I’m asking a lot, for you to work after hours, but I really don’t want to cancel the visit. Anything that might delay us further could be a real disaster moving forward.”

  As he’s made perfectly clear already.

  Ada, get a grip. This is a business meeting, not a freaking date. If you can’t say yes without worry about jumping this guy’s bones, then shame on you.

  “I’d prefer not to reschedule the site visit too,” I admit. “Five should be fine, depending on the place.”

  I’ll just go ahead and pretend my heart isn’t hammering out of my chest.

  “You’re doing me a favor, so let’s make it easy on you. I’ll come to you. Just tell me where.”

  I’m surprised. Hayden Tanner isn’t the kind of man I’d expect to be considerate.

  “Michael’s on Lexington Ave? Inside Beacon Court?”

  It’s just down the street, a go-to for our office dinner meetings. Plus, they have really good food.

  “Done. Five o’clock?”

  “Is six too late? Just in case the meeting runs over. Or I can get in touch closer to the end of the day.”

  “Why don’t you text me later and let me know how it’s going?”

  Dinner with Hayden Tanner. This is not at all how I expected today to go. Why do I have such a bad feeling about this?

  “Sounds good. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  Click.

  That jerk!

  He’s one hundred percent professional and then, just as he’s about to hang up, he throws that in oh-so-casually. The words were totally fine—the kind of thing I might say to a colleague.

  But the way he said it.

  His voice was all husky, with a catch in it that confirmed this was not a good idea.

  I could cancel.

  But . . .

  I won’t.

  10

  Hayden

  “I’d like number nine for two please.”

  The host is making a face before I even finish. “I’m sorry, sir, we just sat number nine.”

  “Did they reserve it?”

  The guy doesn’t answer, at least not with words. If they had, I wouldn’t have bothered. I’m entitled, yes, but not a complete asshole.

  I don’t try to be subtle as I take out my wallet and move around the host stand to hand the kid a fifty-dollar bill.

  “Consider this a six o’clock reservation. I think there’s been a mix-up.”

  I looked the place up on my way over, never having been to this restaurant before. The pictures didn’t do it justice. Aside from a tree growing right through the middle of the restaurant, spearing right through a table for eight, the rest of the decor is fairly standard. But there’s old brick everywhere, giving it a dark but cozy feel.

  Unfortunately, like too many restaurants in the city, its two-person tables sit basically on top of one another. Except for table number nine. I can’t see it from here, but I know from the pictures it’s the only private one in the place, tucked around a corner.

  By the time six o’clock rolls around, I’m already seated, drinking a beer, when Ada comes around the corner.

  She looks different from the other two times I’ve seen her. Her hair is completely straight.

  Similar to the last two times? Her wary expression.

  “How did you get this table?”

  I stand and stick out my hand.

  “Thank you for meeting me after hours.”

  I don’t mean it to sound illicit, but it does. Or maybe that’s just my imagination as her fingers wrap around my hand. Too soon, the handshake is over.

  “Sorry it went longer than expected.” She sits across from me, looking around. “I’ve been in this place a hundred times and have never been able to snag this seat.”

  She hangs her purse on the back of her chair.

  “Guess I got lucky.”

  The waitress immediately approaches us. “Can I get you a drink?”

  Ada looks at my beer. “I’ll just have a water.”

  The server walks away.

  “I’m on the clock,” Ada says by way of explanation. Not that she owes me one. “And lucky to be, so I don’t want to rock the boat.”

  “So am I.”

  She purses those delectable lips together. “It’s different for you.”

  “Yeah, I can’t imagine working for the federal government.” Or anyone, for that matter. I’ve always known I wanted to be my own boss, have my own company.

  “It’s not so bad.”

  “So you like it, then? Your job?”

  “I do. My dad is a scientist and actually worked for the FDA himself for a while. So I grew up around it.”

  I don’t tell her I already know that, and a lot more, courtesy of some sleuthing I did after last weekend. Her dad’s a world-renowned scientist, with both medical and biochemistry degrees and a slew of awards.

  I know a thing about big shoes to fill.

  “Where was that?”

  “Where I grew up?”

  I nod and take a sip of beer, watching her carefully. Is Ada Flemming as unaffected by me as she pretends to be? Did I completely misread her last week?

  “Rochester, although my family lives in Maryland now. We moved there when my dad got his job with the FDA. How about you?”

  She thanks the waitress, who has already returned with her water and two menus.

  “I grew up in New Canaan, Connecticut,” I say. “But my parents always had a place in the city, so I think of this as home too.”

  How many getting-to-know-you conversations like this one have I had over the course of my life? Hundreds?

  Why does this one feel different? More significant?

  I try to remind myself that I’ll never see this woman again after a few months, but the thought doesn’t stick. I want to know everything about her.

  “How long have you lived here, Doctor Flemming?”

  Her lip swoops to the side, half amused and half annoyed.

  “Ada, please.”

  I want to say it’s a pretty name, because it is. But I’m aware of the thin ice I’m skating on. “It’s not a name you hear very often.”

  “My parents, well, more like my dad, named me after a famous female scientist. Ada E. Yonath. She was from Rochester too.”

  “Ahh, so he’s a true science nerd, then?”

  She laughs. It’s a musical sound, and her whole face glows with it. And I instantly want it to happen again.

  “Totally. Drives my mother insane.”

  “Do you have siblings?”

  I don’t care if I’m being too personal. I want to know.

  “Two sisters. Kristina is almost five years younger than me. She’s twenty-five. And my other sister, Jenna, is nineteen. You?”

  I wish.

  “Nope. Only child.”

  “Lucky. My sisters and I drive each other crazy.”
She takes a sip of water. “But I shouldn’t say that. I love them to death. I couldn’t imagine not having them in my life.” Her eyes widen. “I mean, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking . . .”

  “It’s okay.”

  Which is not totally true. I could live with not having siblings, but knowing the reason for it, even if my mother denies it . . . that’ll never, ever feel okay.

  The waitress comes back around and approaches us. “Would you like to order?”

  Ada orders a burger and asks for separate checks. I don’t offer to pay, knowing she can’t accept a meal from me while she’s on the clock.

  “A burger sounds good to me too,” I say, partly because I haven’t even cracked the menu. “Medium, cheese and onions only.”

  Ada makes a face.

  “Don’t like onions?”

  “Yuck, no. I don’t know how anyone could.”

  She must be kidding.

  “Have you ever tasted one?”

  She wrinkles her adorable nose. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  The waitress nods and takes off, and a silence sits between us for a moment. An understanding of sorts. We got off on the wrong foot, and I did nothing to rectify matters last weekend. Another case of acting first and thinking later.

  “Ada,” I say, testing the name on my tongue, “I want to apologize for, well, both of our earlier encounters. Sometimes I”—how to phrase this exactly?—“can be a bit much.”

  I can tell she wasn’t expecting that.

  “Mr. Tanner—”

  “Hayden.”

  “OK, Hayden.”

  I have no business being turned on by the sound of my name on her lips, but there’s no denying I am.

  “I appreciate you saying that, but I’m partly to blame. Saturday . . .” She bites the corner of her lip, and I’ll never be the same. “I definitely wasn’t wearing my professional hat.”

  Heel, Hayden.

  “And you had no reason to. We all wear many different hats.”

  “Maybe some of us more than others?”

  OK. That’s not fair. It’s almost like she’s asking me to say something inappropriate. Now what am I supposed to do?

  You could try not flirting?

  “Maybe,” I say, “but I promise to wear my sponsor hat with you from now on.”