Page 32 of Conspiracies and Chemistry

Sadie sat at the bench next to his, her earbuds in as she used a tiny pipette to drop a chemical into a tray with shallow wells, which I’d learned was called a microtiter plate. I waited for her to set down the pipette, then I tapped her shoulder.

She pulled out her earbud and smiled. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Have you seen Oliver? I have a question to ask him.”

“Not for a minute,” she said.

“Okay,” I said, “I’ll check his office.”

“Check the game room,” she said.

“Game room?” I vaguely remembered the first-floor space near the cafeteria from the tour on my first day, but it seemed like the last place buttoned-up Oliver would hang out during work hours.

She nodded, then dipped her chin like,Is there anything else?

“Thanks.” As I walked toward the exit and hung up my lab coat, a vague sense of disappointment tickled in my belly. Maybe Oliver was the sort of tech bro who played foosball and drank beer on a Monday afternoon. Just because he’d agreed to let Sadie cut back her hours to focus on her graduate degree didn’t necessarily mean he was a good guy. Maybe he had an ulterior motive.

I descended the stairs to the first floor and walked past the cafeteria to the game room.

The room had windows on one end, and, yes, there was a foosball table, plus a ping-pong table and a big square table next to a bookshelf filled with tabletop games. The closer side had no windows and was lined with classic arcade machines. I recognized many of the games I’d played when Dad was at one of his mysterious meetings and I’d sneak out to the local gas station or an arcade if we were near a big city.

The game room was empty, except for Oliver. And he wasn’t playing foosball orDonkey Kong.He bowed his head in front of an open display case in the closest corner to the doorway where I stood. His hands were in his pockets. There was a photo on the shelf of a blond guy laughing. Under its shroud of stubble, the blond man’s chin was the same shape as Sadie’s. Were his eyes the same shade of grayish blue? Was he a relative of hers?

Oliver reached toward the vase of flowers a shelf below the photo and pinched off the wilted head of a daisy. He twirled it between his fingers and murmured something too low for me to hear.

I had enough emotional intelligence to know I should tiptoe out. But the scene fascinated me. Ever since I’d met him, Oliver had given off a sad-boy vibe like the lead singers of the emo bands I’d been obsessed with in my teens. (My god, if he’d ever wear eyeliner, he’d look exactly like Gerard Way of My Chemical Romance.) I’d assumed it was a form of emotional manipulation like Harry’s. But maybe it was real.

Unfortunately, I’d forgotten to hold the door, and it clunked shut, startling Oliver. He whirled to face me. He still held the browned flower in his hand, and I couldn’t interpret the expression on his face. Was the flush on his cheeks from embarrassment or anger?

I held out my hands defensively. “Sorry, I had a question, and they said you were here.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. I just…I come down here to think sometimes.”

“Who’s that?” I tipped my chin at the photo.

“Simon Grimstone.”

So he and Sadie were related.

“He and I founded the company together,” he said, “while we were still in college. We were best friends for, like, ever.”

“Were?”

“He died two years ago. Two years, one month, and fourteen days ago. Car accident.” He glanced at the photo. “We were like puzzle pieces. He completed me.”

“Oh.” I’d skipped over the company history to focus on the science they were doing. That seemed to have been a mistake. “Were you romantic partners too?”

He whipped his head back to face me. “No, nothing like that. We were good friends. But he made up for my lack of business ability, and I had the deep scientific knowledge. He filled in all my gaps. I miss that. I miss him.”

Shit. So he was a legit sad boy. My scalp prickled as a tiny crack opened in my stony heart. I reached up to rub my head and found I’d left the elastic in it from the lab. I tugged it out and shook out my hair, scrubbing my fingers at the prickly part that told me I’d misjudged Oliver.

When I looked back at him, he was staring at me. At my hair, actually, with his lips parted.

“What?” I asked. “Am I supposed to tie back my hair in here too? Are you afraid I might get it wrapped around the foosball rods?”

“No, I…” He licked his lips. Pouting lips I didnotwant to kiss. “No.”

“Is there something between you and Sadie?” I asked. He wouldn’t be the first tech bro to date a subordinate.

---