Page 107 of Drown Like Heaven
It didn’t make much sense, because I still didn’t understand why he’d choosemeout of everyone; there were other, more qualified students in the class. I just made a small humming noise, noncommittal.
“This is the distillation column,” Dr. Killshaw said, turning my attention to the main piece of equipment in the room. “I already got it set up for the day before lecture, and my grad student spent some time monitoring earlier.”
The distillation column was a cylinder about six feet tall, mounted on a metal frame screwed into the floor. Glass panels showed the inside of the column, the various types of packing on different trays. A metal reboiler sat underneath the column, a condenser at the top, with a cold jacket surrounding the glass.
“It’s the main focus of my research,” Dr. Killshaw continued over the faint hum of the reboiler, the sound of the condenser hissing with its cold water flow. “I’ve been working on industrial waste stream improvements.”
I still didn’t know what to say, so I kept my mouth shut. He didn’t seem bothered by my silence. He was clearly comfortable here.
“Your hours would be flexible, and completely up to you. I am allowed to pay you, but not much. I’ll understand if you need the time to do other things.”
Twisting my lips to the side, I cast my gaze around the room again. It wasn’t very large, but I was sure all of the equipment in here must’ve cost a lot. It made me nervous in a way, nervous to touch anything and mess it up somehow. I wondered how much money Dr. Killshaw got from the university for all this.
“There’s a decent amount of downtime, though,” he added.
“While the column stabilizes,” I inferred. If I had time to do my homework in here, it might be really nice. I’d have access to the school’s fast internet, but I wouldn’t be stuck in a public study room or library. It was private down here.
“Correct.”
“So, what exactly are you doing?”
He walked over to the column, my feet carrying me to follow him. Every so often, a drop of distillate formed in the glass receiver at the top, swelling heavy until it fell into the waiting flask with a quietplink. “Reclaiming solvents from industrial waste streams. Sustainability.”
“And I’d be paid for my time?”
“Only fifty cents more than minimum wage,” he warned. “Don’t do this hoping for good money.”
Any amount of money was helpful for me, especially if I was essentially being paid to sit here and do homework. It would make my time more worth it.
“Okay. The hours?”
“That’s going to be up to you. I’m in here most of the time when I’m not lecturing—or my office,” he added. I swallowed, glancing down at my boots on the tile. “The column won’t always be running, but there are always things to do. Nick—my grad student—has a usual schedule for when he stops by, but he also just keeps me updated. Sometimes it’s less.”
His lack of structure around the lab was surprising to me. But I supposed if this was what he ate, slept, and breathed, it wouldn’t matter if other people joined him. I assumed he could do all his work by himself, but liked to have help when he could get it.
“I…”
“You can think about—”
“No,” I cut him off. His face was mildly shocked. Amused, maybe. “I’ll do it.”
Chapter 28
Micah
I turned my back on Dakota to switch on the computer monitor on one of the side benches, acutely aware of the mistake I’d made by inviting her here. I was giving into my own twisted weaknesses, my own sick desires. Things I knew I should never let see the light of day, especially not in this professional setting.
Because she reminded me of him. Of Mason.
And Ihatedit.
A little reckless. A little dangerous.
She had the same edge he did, even if slightly blunted. She treated herself as if she was disposable.
I couldn’t keep my mind off her, no matter how fervently I tried. I was a bloodthirsty shark, and she was the unfortunate silvery glint that’d caught my eye through the water. She probably didn’t realize how trapped she was. Maybe some part of her was uneasy or nervous, feeling the urge to run, but I doubted she knew the extent of my desire.
She was leaning against one of the benchtops, looking at something on her phone, trying to take up the least amount of space as possible, trying to make the least amount of noise as possible. I assumed she thought I was bothered by her presence—which, to be fair, I was. Just not in the way she thought.
