Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,102

which terrified me, by the way, but I kept that tidbit to myself.

“Given the frontier-like nature of such a place, I assume I’d begin a career in agriculture,” I said. My voice went up at the end as if it were a question. Ugh, upspeak. I was losing my way, but hey, I’d seen the movie The Martian.

“So you want to be a potato farmer . . . on Mars,” Jason said. His voice was dry. He looked like he was trying not to laugh. Clearly, he’d seen the movie, too.

I met his gaze; his eyes were a soft flannel gray with a spark of laughter tucked in. He had to go to the potato. I knew we both knew that Severin proudly came from Idaho potato-farming stock. Now we’d see who’d done their homework.

“Potatoes—fascinating things, potatoes,” Severin said. He glanced between the two of us as if issuing a challenge. “Eleanor, did you know that the average American eats about one hundred and twenty-four pounds of potatoes per year, while Germans eat twice as many?”

“I did not,” she said. She turned toward him and pushed her glasses up on her nose, studying him with rapt interest.

“I once read that the potato is roughly eighty percent water and twenty percent solid,” Jason offered. Severin’s right eyebrow ticked up. Impressed.

“Fascinating,” Eleanor said. She looked at Jason with approval, as did Severin. I could not drop the ball. Not now. As crazy as it was, I had the feeling our $10 million ask was riding on this conversation.

“The largest potato ever grown was eighteen pounds and four ounces,” I said. Knowing Severin’s personal history, I had recently read up on potato facts. It appeared Knightley had, too. He glanced at me.

“Did you know the Incas used the potato to heal injuries and they believed potatoes made childbirth easier?” he asked. He tipped his chin up ever so slightly.

Clearly, he was throwing down the potato-trivia gauntlet. Game on. I turned in my chair to face him.

“Potatoes have more vitamin C than an orange, more potassium than a banana, and more fiber than an apple,” I said. Take that!

“There are over one hundred varieties of potato in existence,” he shot back.

I could feel Eleanor and Severin watching us as if we were a potato trivia ping-pong match, and I didn’t care.

“Potatoes are grown in all fifty states, with the biggest producers being Washington and Idaho,” he continued.

Oh, you tricky devil, I thought, giving a nod to Severin’s home state. I was going to have to bring it in for the win.

“Really?” I smiled, acknowledging his point. Then I went for the big-daddy factoid, linking our entire conversation together. “Interestingly, in 1995, NASA and the University of Wisconsin successfully grew the first vegetable in space, on the space shuttle Columbia, and it was . . . wait for it . . . the potato.”

Severin grinned and pointed at me with his fork. “There you have it. Spuds could be your future.”

“You never know,” I said. But I knew it wouldn’t happen in this lifetime.

“Well done, Martin. I can actually see you as a Martian potato queen,” Knightley teased. His eyes were twinkling, and it irked me that he could be so adorable while joking at my expense.

“Don’t worry,” I said to him. “I see a bright future for you as my court jester.”

Robbie and Eleanor watched us. Jason grinned. I mock glowered. Truthfully, I was impressed by Knightley’s capability. I had never had a colleague match me in my exhaustive research on a donor’s life and interests before.

“I’m sorry—that got a bit away from us,” I said to Robbie. “While we’re here, was there anything you wanted to ask us about the ACC?”

Robbie glanced between us. He gave us a considering look and said, “Truthfully, at the moment, I’m mostly curious as to whether you’re the one who gave him that black eye or not.”

My eyes went wide. Severin sounded like he was joking, mostly. Panic thrummed in my chest, as I was certain he could sense that things were strained between Jason and me. See? This is why they tell you not to get involved with colleagues. Once the line from professional to personal is crossed, there is no going back, and the potential for disaster is huge.

I glanced at Jason. He didn’t look anywhere near as freaked out as I was. To my surprise, he actually laughed. It sounded genuine, and I forced myself to chuckle while hoping, praying, that the man had