The Romance Revival(6)
And while she’ll always point out my crack-of-dawn timestamps, she’ll also admit that none of us have what you’d call a “normal” work-life balance. It’s the price we pay for what we do, and we all knew that going in. Signed a large stack of papers agreeing to it, in fact. “Has anyone checked in on Honey?”
“Subject 10142 is stable as of 0545 this morning,” Tom reports robotically. If Claire is the most dependable assistant I’ve ever had, Tom is the most detail-obsessed. He’s twenty-eight but looks fourteen and can often be found double-checking compound batch codes on his lunch break because he finds it soothing. When he used the words onboarding, pharmacovigilance, and gravimetrically during his first interview, I knew he was my guy.
I take a folder from him, leafing through it. “CRP and platelets?”
“Both look great.”
“Awesome. That’s the cherry on top.” Feeling a rush of excitement, I pass the folder back as we walk through the marble lobby of the glossy steel-and-glass building with the gigantic SURGOPTIX sign visible to anyone driving past on the nearby 805 freeway.
We wave to the security guard behind the desk, who waves back at the three employees his computer screen tells him work in the Laser Optimization department on the tenth floor.
The elevator call buttons look ordinary enough but are fitted with undetectable biometric scanners. As Claire casually presses the one indicating UP, the fingerprint of her right index finger is read and the doors to the second elevator on the left automatically open. Once we’re inside, another scanner verifies our identities, and a hidden panel on the back wall slides open, revealing a short hallway.
When the elevator is called again, the car will be empty, even though it never left the ground floor.
We continue through a door requiring simultaneous retinal scan and handprint clearance, down two flights of metal stairs, to a desk manned by another security guard, through a solid steel door, along a lengthy, concrete tunnel, and into an open, clean, centralized workspace surrounded by a series of modern rooms and laboratories.
Goodbye, SurgOptix. Hello, BioNEX: the actual place where I spend most of my waking hours.
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A robotic British voice floats through overhead speakers just inside the entrance: “Good morning, Dr. Martín.”
“Morning, Rob,” I call back. Security within the BioNEX headquarters is in the form of an AI scanner with a posh accent I call Robert Pattinson. The executives boringly named him AISS, which stands for “artificial intelligence security system,” which they pronounce as “Ace” but I find it impossible to believe anyone looks at that acronym and doesn’t see ASS.
As Tom and Claire peel away to return to their cubicles, my best friend and collaborator, Dr. Annabella Rodriguez, waits outside the conference room. She gives me a quick, tight hug. “How are you feeling?” she asks quietly.
I take a restorative gulp of my fresh coffee and smile at her like we aren’t about to blow health science wide open. “Eh, you know, pretty good.”
“Ready to share the most exciting medical technology ever known to humankind, you mean.”
I laugh through another sip. “You always accuse me of being hyperbolic. I was trying to keep it low-key.”
“Low-key is good.” She bends a little to meet my gaze, serious now. Annie is a steel-coated marshmallow—all bark and (usually) no bite—but can be truly terrifying when she wants to be. “Because you know we can’t talk about Compound Y.”
I swallow, quickly shaking my head. Today we’re discussing the project that is ready for scrutiny and staying far, far away from the one that isn’t. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Don’t let Leonard bait you into discussing it.”
I scoff. My boss, the head of Research and Development, Leonard Montrell, gets even more worked up than I do about this stuff. But we both know we must stick to the plan today. “Let him try. I am a brick wall. A concrete tomb.”
“He saw Honey’s data,” she admits with a wince. “He’s chomping at the bit.”
This throws me. “How? When?”
“Last night. I didn’t want to stress you out before today’s meeting, but I couldn’t not tell you, either. I was finishing the post hoc analyses when he floated into my office like a fucking ghost and saw the P value.”
I groan. “Fuck.”
“It’s great data. Compound Y works. You’ve done it, Em. This isn’t a bad thing… we just need to keep Leonard from bringing it up today.”
“Right. It’s too early. Besides, we have plenty to talk about without it.”
She nods, squeezing my shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, Em. I can’t even tell you.”
“I’m so proud of both of us.” I give her a quick, tight hug and then step back, adjusting my blazer. “Think we’ll make Vince’s butthole pucker into an angry pinhole today?” Vince is Dr. Vincent Barker, scientist colleague, and—not to be dramatic—my nemesis. I don’t say that kind of thing lightly, but this is a man who habitually undermines subordinates, steals credit for every smart idea, and intentionally holds back information to make others look dumb in meetings. Ruining his day would absolutely make mine.