Not in Love by Ali Hazelwood

Nyota’s and Tisha’s voices drifted out of earshot as I stepped out of my office and stalked down the hallway. I was rarely impulsive, but there was nothing well planned about the way I strode across Kline, or about the side of my fist as I knocked on Florence’s door.

“Not now,” Florence called from inside.

I opened the door anyway. And when I noticed the man sitting across from her, in the chair I had claimed years ago, my heart sank.

“Rue,” Florence was saying, “I’m in a meeting. Could you please—”

“What are you doing here?” I asked. Not to Florence.

Eli’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “So lovely to see you, Dr. Siebert. I’m excellent, thanks for asking. You?”

“What are you doing here?” I repeated.

“Just chatting with an old friend.”

My eyes flitted to Florence, who looked as collected as always—with the exception of her right hand. It was fisted around a pencil so tightly, I wondered if it was already snapped in two. “Eli, what are you doing—”

“Here? No need to concern yourself, since I’m leaving.” He stood. His smile to Florence was soulless, the opposite of the ones I’d been receiving from him in the last few days. “You should walk me out, Rue.”

“I need to speak with Florence.”

“Of course. After we catch up.” He cupped my elbow. “I’m sure Florence will be here all day, at your service.”

She frowned at both of us. As far as social situations went, this one was undecipherable. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” I murmured.

This time, Eli’s smile was more his kind, warm and teasing. Just for me. “Don’t worry,” he said gently. Then, turning to Florence: “Let me know before tonight.” He pushed me out of the office with a hand between my shoulder blades, and before I could ask more questions, he’d taken my hand and was guiding me into an empty conference room. Inside, he didn’t let go. His fingers skimmed up my wrist and closed around my upper arm. He stared at me, gulping me in, and my chest heated with a terrible weight.

“Rue,” he said urgently, “I need to know why you were going to meet Florence.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m asking you.”

“I . . .” I swallowed. Opened my mouth to tell him—and then a terrible tendril of distrust curled inside my belly. He’s with Harkness. They’re about to own Kline. They’re about to own your patent. “Why do you want to know?”

His eyes narrowed and he leaned in. “Because I’m on your side. That a good enough reason?”

After a pause, I nodded. It was true. Eli was on my side. He had been, over and over, a friend to me. Even if thinking of that specific word in relation to him felt at once banal and earth shattering.

But hadn’t Florence been my friend, too? I’d been wrong a lot recently. I clearly had a history of putting my trust in the wrong people.

“My project,” I said. “The microbial coating.”

“Florence owns the patent.”

I blinked at him. “How do you know?” He held my eyes and didn’t reply, so I continued, “I . . . maybe she meant to have the board ratify the contract and forgot. It might have been an oversight. I’ll talk to her and—”

“Come on, Rue.” His fingers squeezed my arm gently, as if to coax me awake. “You know it wasn’t.”

I swallowed. “It’s my only choice, Eli. I have to ask Florence to fix it and hope that she will.”

“Listen to me carefully. Florence has been selling intellectual property to gather funds to buy back the loan. And she already has a buyer for your tech.”

My blood pounded in my throat. It was over, then. “I . . . I need to speak to Nyota.” I attempted to leave, but Eli didn’t let go.

“No, you need to listen to me.” His tone was serious, but gentle and reassuring. I felt myself panic anyway.

“I just—I have to do something.”

“Not right now. Right now, you need to let it be.”

“Let it be?” I blinked at him in disbelief.

“I’m working on this, Rue, and I promise that I’m going to fix this for you. I’m going to make sure you keep your patent. In exchange, I need you to promise me that you won’t confront Florence yet and that you’ll lie low for a couple of days. I’m in the middle of negotiations, and it’s important that you trust me.”

My panic grew. “I . . . are you seriously asking me to just wait and do nothing while she might sell my work?”

“Yes. Because there is nothing you can do.”

“But there’s something you can do?”

“That is correct.”

I took a step back, and his grip slid to my elbow. “Eli, you know how much this tech means to me.”

“I do. And you know how much the biofuel tech meant to me.”

I recoiled. “Is this what’s happening? You want me to go through what you went through? Some—some messed-up cycle of thievery?”

“That’s not what I—” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m going to take care of you. I’m here to help you.”

But I felt dizzier than after a double toe loop. Things were happening too fast, and I couldn’t keep up. All I could parse was the fear that my work would be taken from me. “Harkness is the reason I’m in this situation to begin with,” I pointed out.