change in productivity occurred when any variable was manipulated, which made the researchers postulate that the staff altered their behavior simply because they were aware that they were under observation.
Since subjects have this predisposition, all researchers can do is attempt to factor this effect into the research design.
Your flirtations appear convincing, Jessica. It seems impossible that the target would know he is part of an experiment.
The test must proceed to the next stage.
It is difficult to type the instruction—a wave of nausea briefly delays its transmission—but it is a vitally necessary one.
Touch his arm, Jessica.
The scene with Thomas also followed this progression: a brief caressing of the arm, another round of drinks, an invitation to continue the conversation at the woman’s apartment.
An abrupt movement from the table by the wall and the memory of Thomas’s duplicity glitches. The man in the blue shirt stands up. You rise as well. Then you head toward the lobby with him trailing a few feet behind you.
It took less than forty minutes from the time you entered the bar for you to seduce him.
Thomas’s defense was sound; it appears that men are incapable of steeling themselves against blatant offers of temptation. Even married ones.
The flood of relief that accompanies this realization is so profound it has a weakening effect on the body.
It was all her fault. Not his.
Bits of shredded cocktail napkin, evidence of the contained anxiety, litter the table. They are scooped into a pile. The untouched glass of sparkling water on the table is finally tasted.
Several moments later, the bell of an incoming text peals.
It is reviewed.
And immediately, it is as though the busy, welcoming bar is plunged into ice and silence.
There is nothing save for the three lines from you.
They are read once.
Then again.
Dr. Shields, I flirted but he rejected me. He said he happily married. He went up to his room and I’m in the hotel lobby.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Friday, December 7
Being told to hook up with a man, and being paid for it, is the same as being a prostitute.
I’m trembling again as I stand in the lobby, waiting for Dr. Shields to respond to my text. But this time it’s with anger.
Did she really expect me to go up to Scott’s room? She probably assumed I would because of my confessions about my one-night stands on her stupid questionnaire.
My pumps pinch my feet and I alternate easing up my left heel, then my right one.
She still hasn’t responded, even though I sent the message several minutes ago. Now the front desk clerk is staring at me, and I feel even more out of place than I did when I walked in.
I can’t believe Dr. Shields put me in this position. It wasn’t about being in danger. It was about the humiliation. I saw the way David and his friends eyed me when I walked out with Scott. And I saw the way Scott looked at me right before he stood up from the table.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
The front-desk clerk has come from behind her post to stand next to me. She’s smiling, but I see in her eyes what I already know: I don’t belong in a place like this, with my sixty-dollar dress from a sample sale and my fake diamond earrings.
“I’m just—I’m waiting for someone,” I say.
Her eyebrows lift.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Is that a problem?” I ask.
“Of course not,” she says. “Would you like to take a seat?” She gestures to the couch over by the fireplace.
We both know what her hospitality is thinly disguising. She probably thinks I’m a hooker, too.
I hear the rapid clicking of heels against the wood floor. I turn to see Dr. Shields striding toward us, and even though I’m upset by what she has just done to me, I can’t help but marvel at her beauty: Her hair is pulled into a sleek chignon and her legs are slim and impossibly long beneath the hemline of her black silk dress. She is everything I tried to be tonight.
“Hello, there,” Dr. Shields calls. When she reaches us, she puts her hand on my arm, like she is claiming me. I see her glance at the woman’s name tag. “Is everything all right here, Sandra?”
The clerk’s manner transforms. “Oh, I was just offering your friend a seat by the fireplace, where it’s more comfortable.”
“How thoughtful,” Dr. Shields says. But her tone is a subtle rebuke, and the clerk retreats.
“Shall we?” Dr. Shields asks, and for a moment