Page 15 of The Billionaire's Wake-up-call Girl

No woman has ever compromised my focus in any way.

It’s all wrong.

As any scientist knows, you always recreate your experiments, see whether you can duplicate your results.

Lucky for me, I did that.

And now, standing at some third-floor cubicle, I see my perception of her yesterday was off.

A mirage due to exhaustion, maybe, because this admin, Ms. Cooper, is as obsequious as anyone at Vossameer. Good god, the woman’s barely able to look me in the eye.

It’s not just that. Yesterday there was a fascinating intensity in her gaze. She felt bright, annoyed, slightly thrilling.

Today, she’s…vacant. I’m not even sure she understands my question. Caught without warning in her natural habitat, she’s utterly dull. Maybe she came off as more confident yesterday because she was repeating something she’d heard. Could that be it? Like an actress in a play, rehearsing for the presentation to me?

Something twists in my belly—a sense of loss. Sadness. I should be happy that my first impression was wrong. I can’t be distracted by silly investigations into the personalities of my staff.

Maybe when I awaken in the middle of the night, I’ll be running chemical compositions in my head like I should be. Every extra day it takes to perfect my formula costs lives. Actual human lives.

Sasha drones on. A lot of marketing speak I don’t care about.

And seriously, what is this Ms. Cooper wearing? She looks like she just fell off a turnip truck. Did Sasha make her wear something business-like yesterday? But now she’s back to normal?

Thisis who I was obsessing over?

I grip the side of the cubicle, angry with myself for wasting precious time. Googling marketing trends for an excuse to come down and see what it was about her.

Nothing, I affirm to myself. Thewhatabout her isnothing.

Though even in her boringness, there’s something strangely compelling about her. She’s watching Sasha, eager and impressed, but I have this strange sense of her; it’s as though I feel her in a way I don’t feel other people.

Exhaustion. That’s all. I’m exhausted. Overwrought. I saw what I came to see.

“Thank you, then,” I say. “Write it up and…make a proposal to me.” I turn and walk. Somebody follows. Sasha.

I head out into the hall. Still she follows.

“A few quick questions.”

“Walk and talk.” I make for the elevator bank.

Sasha comes along.

“The new one’s a little quiet, isn’t she?” I say. And then I want to eat my words.

“Lizzie? Ms. Cooper?” she asks. “The one I presented with?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“She’s a little incompetent, I’m afraid,” Sasha says, walking beside me now. “She tries, but she’s…” She shakes her head sadly. “I’ve already given her two write-ups. She won’t last through probation. I hate to say this, but she’s a bit of a moron. Slow-witted. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering.” I stab the up button, mind already on my formula. “You had a question?”

“Yes. Do you have a due date?” she asks. “For the Instagram?”

I don’t give a fuckwould be the answer there, but this partnership with the Locke Foundation is important to me. And the Locke people don’t want to put a logo on their website that doesn’t lead somewhere impressive.

Because apparently it’s not enough for the Locke Foundation people that we have the most effective hemostatic gel in the world. And it’s not enough for them that we want it distributed free to those who otherwise couldn’t afford it.

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