Been There Done That (Leffersbee #1) - Hope Ellis Page 0,5
acquired weight, settled further.
Nellie divided her attention between the two of us. “Uh, Mr. Rossi, I don’t want to delay the rest of our tour. I know you’re hoping to complete your business and fly out tomorrow evening.” She turned toward me. “Zora, we’re counting on you to spare a couple of hours tomorrow morning to host our guest. Introduce him to the work you’ve done so he understands what we require from his team.” She gave me a pointed look. “We can make arrangements if you happen to have class.”
She knew I didn’t have class. I was a research professor; I didn’t teach. Whatever the plot, Nellie must be convinced the university stood to benefit from the so-called Mr. Rossi.
It wasn’t an unusual request for a donor to speak with faculty members, though not one I’d personally fielded often. Folks with the real money didn’t find working with cancer patients sexy enough to merit a visit with yours truly. That honor went to the magicians over in Engineering who built electric cars, or the biomedical wizards who coaxed miracles from their beakers.
Thank God.
I read the tension in the line of Nick’s jaw, the fists balled at his side, the artificial stillness in his stance, while he waited for my answer.
“I’ll have to check my calendar, but I doubt I’ll have time.”
Nellie wore an expression resembling the one my mother had often worn when I’d been in trouble as a kid for not toeing the line. “Zora Elaine Leffersbee. You are out of order.”
“Perfectly understandable,” Dr. Gould said a little too quickly. “We’ve already imposed on you and now we’re making assumptions about your time. I know you’re incredibly busy, and you clearly have a lot going on. But I’d be grateful if we could work something out, Zora. Mr. Rossi is leaving tomorrow night. Perhaps you could check your calendar for us, now?”
The barest of smiles hovered over Nick’s lips before it disappeared. I knew that self-satisfied smirk.
Somehow, they’d already checked. They already knew I was free, and now I was cornered, with no option but to comply. For now.
Turning, I shifted through the mounds of files stacked on my desk, searching for my mouse with frustrated movements, my neck flaring hot. When I slapped a pile of scattered papers, the mouse emerged and crashed to the floor in an apparent suicide attempt. The tiny battery door shot across the room like a projectile while the AAA battery rolled underneath my desk. I dropped to my knees and clawed for the two items in the darkness. Above me, my computer decided to come alive with audio from an educational module my research partner and I had developed for doctors and gynecological patients. Every muscle in my body locked in horror as my recorded voice broadcasted to the occupants in the room and hallway beyond, “When I have sex with a partner, I never orgasm.”
Jesus. Kill me. Kill me now.
Now I remembered. I’d been reviewing an early draft of an educational video before I’d gotten absorbed in another task, one of several hundred that were still undone. The mouse had simply picked up the replay where I left off.
Adesola Rojas, my research partner and real-life gynecologist, resumed her scripted lines. “Your sexual health is important. Learning your body and identifying the things that bring you sexual satisfaction are a priority.”
The damning dialogue continued as I groped in the dark under my desk, my speakers spewing an embarrassing recital of information. Adesola’s voice was perfectly calibrated between urgency and encouragement. “It should be just as much a priority as your partner’s satisfaction. Many, if not most women, are unable to orgasm from penetration alone. Try prioritizing clitoral stimulation during your physical intimacy. Relax. Don’t put pressure on yourself. Either you or your partner can—"
“Dr. Leffersbee?”
I froze, startled to hear that deep voice so close. Casting a glance to the side, I seized at the sight of the creased seams of trousers over highly-shined dark shoes. “Yes.” I hissed the word.
“—find different positions which lend themselves to stimulation. For example, if your partner—"
“Spacebar,” Nick said. “Hitting the spacebar will pause the video with this program.” A definitive click sounded from above.
The video came to a stop, just as Adesola started to extol the virtues of mutual play during sex.
I shook my head, my cheeks on fire. “Thank you,” I said tightly.
Dear God. How had this happened? I hardly experienced disasters of this magnitude anymore. Not since Nick and I . . .