Page 7 of Devil
Ah, so that was the reason for his visit. “They were. I pick the students I want. I want them to stay with me, and they shouldn’t have to pay the price when I decide to take a vacation.” Normally, students were paid by the hour or by stipend. She supplemented that so that hers made a living wage, including when there were no hours available at the lab.
“You pay them from your own money?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I suspect you know I do. What is the real question you want to ask?” He wanted something, and she wanted him to get to the point.
“Why?” he asked.
She regarded him. “I told you why. I’m very selective about the students I work with. When I find ones that I want to be part of my lab, I want to keep them. Funny, but I find that paying a living wage tends to encourage that.”
“They’d stay regardless, and you know that. Working here, and in particular, your lab, holds a prestige that will stay with them far into their careers.”
That was true. But one of the reasons her lab carried more prestige than the others was because she was very selective in her students. Those she persuaded to join her lab were already likely to have excellent careers with or without working for her.
“Is there a problem, Commander?” she asked. Several years ago, she’d gone through a lengthy process to have the unique pay structure approved and set up in the system. For the life of her, she didn’t know why he was now asking questions.
“It puts other labs at a disadvantage,” he answered.
“And?”
“It’s not fair.”
She studied him. “Life often isn’t.”
Respect, or maybe approval, flashed in his eyes, making her rethink her position on staying out of his way. It might behoove her to learn more about this man.
“Again, is there a problem?” she asked.
He held her gaze, then finally he shook his head. “No.”
“Then if you don’t mind…” She gestured to her computer. She hadn’t been working on the device when he’d arrived, but he didn’t need to know that.
“I’ll leave you to it.” He rose and a few moments later, he was gone.
* * *
Not ready to head back to his office after talking with Lily, Darius paused in the hall and texted Judy. It was early for lunch, but he offered to run to the deli and pick up her favorite sandwich. Her response—a series of emojis, including a drooling happy face and a sandwich—made him smile. He got the feeling that she might like working for him more than her previous boss.
The day was cool but not cold enough to require a jacket, and he inhaled a deep breath of the fall air as he stepped out of the building. He’d heard all about New England falls, but since they had trees that changed colors down south, too, he’d always thought the talk was overblown. But even though the summer was only starting to slide into fall, it was easy to see what all the hoopla was about. The air felt a little cleaner, and the temperatures teased him with thoughts of warm fires, hot cider, and cozy nights. The winter would pack a wallop. And living in so much snow and cold wouldn’t be fun once it finally arrived. But fall was gentle enough that the harsh realities of what was to come were easy to romanticize.
It was also nice to be able to wear a button-down shirt without feeling as though he was walking around inside a sauna.
As he waited for a light to change, he thought back to his conversation with Lily. After she’d left for vacation, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Esteban’s enthusiastic admiration of her or her response to his questions about her study. On a whim, he’d pinged Captain Peters and asked if there was additional intel on her that he could access. Two hours later a new file landed in his email. A file that gave him a very different perspective on Dr. Lily Devillier.
In the three weeks she’d been gone, he learned enough to know that he’d sorely misjudged her. He now understood why Esteban was so enamored of her. And he knew exactly why she paid her grad students different wages than her counterparts, and, news flash, it had nothing to do with retaining good talent. The fact that she hadn’t wanted to discuss the details of the arrangement was not unexpected.
On the surface, it appeared that Dr. Lily Devillier was solely and exclusively focused on her career. But the truth was far more complicated. And in the short time she’d been in England, she’d morphed from being an annoying job to being someone he wanted to know. Not just know, but know well enough to be entrusted with her secrets.
Well, perhapssecretswasn’t quite the right word. He’d wager that if asked directly, she’d verify everything he’d found out about her. She’d confirm that she owned Smith House and that the hotel ran a program designed to give young people who’d had difficulties with the law a second chance. And she’d confirm that she hired the brightest grad students who also happened to come from backgrounds that were significantly less privileged than their classmates’. She might even acknowledge that she funded a program that helped women escape domestic violence, and that the student laptops at Garden Day Charter, a school serving one of the most economically and socially challenged areas of Boston, were her doing.
Maybe someday, he’d have the chance to ask her, and she’d trust him enough to tell him.
That thought drew him up short, and he paused with his hand on the door to the deli. She intrigued him. And he acknowledged that he wanted to know her better. But the image that had popped into his head when he’d considered having the opportunity to ask her wasn’t an image of two professional colleagues. No, it was an image of the two of them in his apartment. The two of them relaxed, lounging on his couch, sipping glasses of wine as they shared their space.
“Hey, you going in or what?” someone behind him asked.
Shaking his head to rid it of that unexpected image, he pulled the door open and stepped inside. Scents of fresh bread and deli meats hit him, and he inhaled deeply. He might be intrigued by Dr. Lily Devillier, but he had to remember he wasn’t there to be her friend or her anything else. And so for now, he’d keep watching out for her, and he’d keep his wayward thoughts in line. Which, at the moment, would be easy given that he had to remember the seventeen ingredients to Judy’s favorite sandwich.
CHAPTERFIVE
