Page 133 of Citius

Her health was the only facet of her life that could be described as lacking. But even then, she had the resources to afford the best care. If her condition ever deteriorated, I doubted she’d have any trouble maintaining her current standard of living. After all, her income wasn’t tied solely to her medical career.

Wiping the sweat off my forehead with the Redwing-branded towel, I realized something. She had a second vulnerability: professional stability.

That was something I could remedy—but would she consider giving up sports medicine for designation bioscience?

The thought of working alongside Morgan, day in and day out, challenging each other, pushing each other to excel, striving for the same goal—to help others—scratched an unexpected, almost desirous part of my brain. One I hadn’t even known existed.

“If you’re planning to back out of the ballet gala,” she said as we walked, redirecting my errant thoughts, “can you not wait until the last minute?”

“I don’t follow,” I said, taking a sip of water.

“Why am I not surprised?” Morgan rolled her eyes and let out a belabored sigh. “Ask Joaquin. He’s the brains behind this misadventure—and the one who signed you up for it.”

The sour aftertaste in my mouth had nothing to do with the water. “Is my presence unwelcome?”

“Quite the opposite. The table cost ten thousand dollars, so I want to make sure there’s a body in every seat.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That seems…excessive.”

“It’s the cheapest package,” she said, in a matter-of-fact way that belied how often she spent thousands of dollars rather than tens or hundreds. “And the only one where the MC doesn’t thank you by name, hence the appeal.”

She pulled out her phone to check the time, then glanced over her shoulder, gauging how far she’d strayed from the medical tent. Morgan paused, angling the brim of her hat to shield her eyes from the afternoon sun with her hand as she looked up at me.

“Let me know if you change your mind. And ice your calf.”

“Yes.” I hesitated for half a beat, wondering why I hadn’t refused her invitation outright. Perhaps I was too taken with the confidence woven into her skin—or distracted by the idea rapidly taking shape inside my head. “Yes, I will.”

If the key to locking Morgan in my professional sphere was to keep her busy with PheroPass, then it made perfect sense to propose the women’s gymnastics program for our second round of data collection.

And even if we couldn’t present Morgan with a formal courting offer until July, nothing prohibited me from making her a more lucrative offer in the interim. Adding the role of Special Consultant to Redwing BioTech to her CV should bolster her job prospects.

A call to Aunt Tabitha was in order—as soon as I dealt with this cramp.

Thirty-Seven

Morgan

My home office was usually a calm haven of quiet productivity—but not tonight. I sat at my desk, enduring a full-blown inquisition about all things Cal. Jacobi and Grace were out for their pound of gossipy flesh.

“I knew it—knew it all along—I justknewthe pheromone stud was right for you,” Jacobi declared, pointing at the camera between sips of wine. “You may applaud my brilliance because—”

I muted him. Twenty minutes of his braggadocious nonsense was more than enough.

Jacobi gesticulated wildly, indulging in a silent tirade as he tried to unmute himself.

On the other half of the screen, Grace peered at me from within the cozy confines of her nest, bundled up to her ears in a fluffy purple duvet.

“What’s it like?” she asked, voice humming with curiosity. “Experiencing someone’s pheromones after so long.”

Tracing the edge of the spacebar on my keyboard, I searched for the right words—while willing myself not to dwell on last night.

How I’d licked said pheromones off Cal’s sweaty chest during another thorough fingering session in my bed. Or how I’d woken him up with a well-received hand job that could have led to something even more enjoyable if we hadn’t needed to drive to campus separately for early meetings.

“It’s…nice.” The hitch in my voice and the heat blossoming on my cheeks gave away more than I intended.

“Ooh, nice is good. I like nice,” Grace said, rocking back and forth in her comfortable cocoon. “You deserve nice.”

Jacobi rolled his eyes and typed into the chat window:Nice girls don’t mute their friends.

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