Page 37 of The Price of Scandal
“Do I look science-y?” I asked, smoothing a hand over the fabric.
“You look protected from spills,” she said with a smirk.
“You look excited,” I observed, slipping my phone into the pocket of the lab coat.
She bit her lip in adorable nerd-like excitement, and the attraction went from a zing to a thump. “I am,” she confessed.
“This could be a revolutionary product for your company.”
“This could be life-changing for Mallory,” she countered.
I followed her through the bowels of the lab into a smaller, brightly lit room. Her subjects were seated at the front of the room. A photographer was setting up his lighting equipment. The rest of the inhabitants were an odd mix of business-suited executives and lab-coated geniuses. Everyone seemed excited.
“Mind if I talk to the subjects?” I asked Emily.
She was frowning over some data on an iPad a tech had handed her. “Sure. Be nice,” she said.
As if I would be anything but.
“And don’t record anything,” she said.
“You’re ruining my fun,” I complained.
“The patent is pending, and the subjects have a right to privacy,” Emily said. “Don’t screw with me or them.”
I introduced myself to the participants. Nervous and energetic Nina was twenty-three and had a flesh-colored bandage on both cheeks. Dewayne wasn’t just any athlete but the star point guard for the Miami Buzz. His last season had come to an abrupt end due to a ligament tear and knee surgery.
And Mallory, who was, by best guess, in her mid-forties. She sat with ruler-straight shoulders. Her long hair was swept over the left side of her face. When she looked up at me, I saw why. Her bandage molded around her jaw up to hug the line of her nose. Her perfunctory smile made me think she’d rather be anywhere but here.
“What are you hoping to see once the bandages come off?” I asked Nina.
She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I want to be normal. I don’t want to have to spend an hour every day covering up acne scars or hours on the weekends scouring YouTube for new products or solutions. You know? These stupid scars are getting too much of my life. I’m over them.”
I moved down the line. “How about you, Dewayne?”
He leaned his big frame back. “Man, I just want to leave last season behind me. You know? Blew out my knee. Had the surgery. Now I’m training. I wanna come back faster and stronger. I don’t want to live with this big-ass reminder of the worst moment of my career carved into my knee.”
“And you, Mallory?” I said.
She was silent for a long moment, and I thought maybe she wasn’t going to answer me. “I just want to see an improvement,” she said softly. “I’m not greedy. I’m not asking for perfection or for what I looked like before. I just want my scars to be better. I’m better. I want my face to reflect that.”
Emily joined us, giving me a suspicious look. I held up my hands to show her that I hadn’t recorded or stolen anything.
“Are you three ready?” Emily asked, shifting her attention to her subjects.
They nodded, and she ran through the details. “The sensors we embedded under the bandages have been monitoring for things like moisture and bacteria. That data looks great. We’re all excited to see what the visible results are. Does anyone need a drink of water or anything before we get started?”
No one did, so Emily asked everyone in the room to take their seats.
“Don’t be nervous,” she whispered to Nina when the nurse began to gently tug at the edge of the first bandage.
Nina blew out a breath and squeezed her eyes shut as the nurse efficiently peeled the bandage back.
She was telling Nina not to be nervous, but the way Emily flattened a hand to her own belly told me she was the one experiencing nerves. But the moment passed, and the bandage was loosening.
I could see by the spark in Emily’s eye, the parting of her lips that indicated she liked what she was seeing. Her hand left her stomach.
“Let’s take the other one off, too,” Emily said, leaning in.
