Page 23 of Redeeming Rabbit

“Isn’t it obvious?” I asked.

“If it was, I wouldn’t have asked.”

I stuffed a bite into my mouth, giving myself time to think. I still had every intention of being honest with Elenore, but this was something I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. At least, not yet. “Rabbits are known for how frequently they fuck.”

She leveled a disbelieving look at me, letting me know she saw right through my bullshit. “If you’re hung like a bunny, just say that.”

I choked on my pizza.

She grinned, obviously proud of herself.

“Play your cards right, Poe, and I just might show you,” I said once I’d cleared my airway enough to speak.

Then she cut off my damn air supply when she said, “Playyourcards right, and I just might want to see it.”

10

Elenore

“You’re kidding, right?” I whispered, trying—but failing—to keep the panic from my voice. “Please tell me this is a joke.”

My boss and I were standing in the entryway of Taste, an upscale downtown restaurant. We were here to meet a potential investor, but her unexpected phone call had foiled our plans for the day. Now, I looked on in horror as her expression remained alarmingly stoic. Dark eyes watched me with a mix of confusion and concern.

“My son broke his arm at school. That’s hardly a laughing matter.”

Lysha Moore was a superwoman. Less than two percent of scientists were African-American women. Lysha had not only spliced her way through those odds, but she was also the majority owner of our company. She believed in what we were doing and had put her money, heart, and soul into the work. And her conviction was contagious. She’d made me believe in the cause, which was the only reason I wasn’t storming out of the restaurant right now.

Well, that and her son had just broken his arm. As far as excuses go, that had been a solid one. But I was socially inept. Hell, I’d asked if she was joking about her son’s injury. Clearly, I couldn’t be trusted to be alone with an investor.

“No. Definitely not funny. Sorry. I hope Micha’s okay. You know I’d do anything to help you out, but—”

“Good. Because I need you to attend this lunch and secure the Chamberlain Industries research grant.”

There was a reason Lysha always ran the potential investor meetings. I was a medical technologist, bred for the lab, dangerous in the wild. I wasn’t built to interact with other human beings. Especially not without supervision.

“This lunch could make or break our company,” I reminded her, trying not to wheeze as the pressure made my chest tighten and my tongue thicken. Soon, I probably wouldn’t be able to speak. I’d sound like an idiot, disgracing our company and making any decently perceptive investor flee for the sake of their intelligence in case my stupidity was contagious. “We should reschedule.”

Lysha frowned at me. “My schedule is packed for the foreseeable future, and I know you can do this. Just hit the highlights, answer his questions, and schmooze.”

“It’s the schmoozing part that has me concerned.” We had an excellent product with the science to back it. I didn’t understand the need to kiss anyone’s ass. Hell, investors should schmooze us.

I wonder if this restaurant has a paper bag I can hyperventilate into.

“You’ll do fine. You’ll be meeting with Cameron Chamberlain.”

The name didn’t ring a bell, but trying to place it was a welcome distraction for my brain, staving off the looming panic attack. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

She typed something into her phone. “He asked for you specifically. I thought you might be acquainted. Perhaps he’s read your articles. It doesn’t matter. I need to go. You’ve got this, Elenore.”

She squeezed my shoulder, and when her gaze met mine, the gratitude and faith in her eyes made me want to be the person she believed me to be. Making people want to develop and perform was another Lysha Moore superpower I envied. Envied but could never reproduce. Before I could respond, she walked away, setting her phone against her ear. Now on my own, I took a deep breath, turned, and smiled at the maître d’, who gestured for me to follow.

As we walked, my mind wandered, abnormal behavior I’d been experiencing all day. No matter how I tried to redirect my thoughts, I couldn’t stop replaying my night with Rabbit. From the moment I’d woken up, the man had commandeered my prefrontal cortex. I couldn’t understand why. Our time together had been unexpectedly enjoyable, but nothing earth-shattering had happened. After an impromptu Q&A session about jobs and interests, we’d watched more talent show wins on the app. Not the losses—I had no desire to see anyone’s dreams get crushed—but watching people shoot their shot and win was one of my guilty pleasures.

At first, Rabbit hadn’t understood how I could be interested in watching videos I already knew would end in victory. But the hope and enthusiasm of the contestants had been contagious, and it had swept him up. When a blind girl won the golden buzzer, I’d even caught the tattooed biker discreetly wiping away a tear. Beneath his tough, colorful outer shell, he was a big softie.

And an anomaly.

Despite his blatant interest in me, Rabbit hadn’t made a single move all night. Strange, since I hadn’t pegged him for a man who practiced self-control. Even more bizarre was my reaction. I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved by his inaction. Either way, it only increased my curiosity about the biker.

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