Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Liam
T he numbers on the lab reports swam before my eyes, mocking me. Christ, I couldn't focus.
My brain kept ping-ponging between my own financial train wreck and the lab's funding crisis, allowing me about as much progress as a drunk trying to solve a Rubik's Cube in the dark.
But what really had my head spinning was last night. The way Emerson's voice had gone all clinical and distant: "Love is just a cocktail of chemicals, Liam. Nothing more, nothing less."
But I'd caught it—that tiny crack in her armor, the flash of something raw in her eyes before she'd locked it down tight. The way she'd crossed her arms, using facts and figures like a bulletproof vest against whatever she was really feeling.
The squeak of the lab door sent my pulse jumping.
And there she was. Hair pulled back in that way she probably thought made her look more professional, but those stubborn little wisps around her face gave her away, softening all those sharp edges she tried so hard to maintain.
My heart did its usual stumbling routine, forgetting how to beat properly whenever she was near.
Our eyes connected, and boom—there it was. That electric current from last night, still buzzing between us like a live wire. All those unfinished arguments, those things we'd almost said but didn't.
"Morning." The word came out rough, probably broadcasting every damn thing I was feeling. Mom always said I got that from her—wearing my emotions like a billboard. Dad used to joke that we were both terrible poker players.
"Morning." She slipped past me, close enough that I caught a whiff of her shampoo. "Let's get rolling on today's experiments."
Right. The experiments. Our super professional, totally scientific study of what happens in people's brains when they're getting it on. It was supposed to be clinical, objective—everything Emerson stood for. But lately, watching those readings spike and flutter felt too personal, too close to home.
We worked in loaded silence, the whir of machines providing a soundtrack to our careful avoidance of certain subjects.
Worst of all, the distant sounds of passion filtered through the lab, each moan and gasp a reminder of what we were really studying—what we were both maybe a little afraid of.
I caught myself watching her more than my monitors. How her fingers tapped an unconscious rhythm—the same rhythm she'd tap during our coffee breaks, back when things were simpler. Before funding crises, personal boundaries, and complicated feelings got in the way.
Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw past the careful walls she'd built.
Past the brilliant scientist to vulnerability, desire, and fear—all the things our machines could measure but never truly understand. She looked away first, but not before I caught the slight tremor in her hands as she smoothed her lab coat.
“So, uh... interesting experiments today, huh?” I said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.
Emerson just nodded, eyes glued to her computer screen. “Yep. Important data on sexual response.” Her voice was cool, professional, but there was a hint of tension beneath her usual calm.
We fell back into an uncomfortable silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
Being this close to her was pure torture. I couldn’t focus on the numbers or charts in front of me—my brain kept replaying snippets of our argument last night.
The fire in her voice, the stubborn set of her chin, that electric moment when it felt like something more could happen between us...
My eyes drifted to her lips, partly hidden behind a strand of hair.
God, I wanted to kiss her. To pull her close and see if that icy exterior would melt under my touch. But instead, I was stuck pretending to care about data points and graphs while my heart raced every time she got within ten feet of me.
Emerson’s head snapped up, catching me mid-gawk. For a hot second, something flashed in her eyes—something that screamed “I want to climb you like a tree.”
But then, poof! Gone. Back to Dr. Frosty. She cleared her throat, a nervous habit I was starting to find annoyingly adorable.
“So, about last night...” I began, my voice trailing off as I searched for the right words. “I didn’t mean to get so... intense.”
Emerson looked at me, her face unreadable. “It’s fine. We’re both passionate about our viewpoints.”
“Yeah, but... I don’t think it’s just about that, you know?” I said, lowering my voice.
Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, I thought she might actually agree. But then she shook her head, a small, sad smile playing on her lips.
“We can’t let personal feelings interfere with our work.”
“Who says they have to interfere?” I challenged. “Maybe they could make things... more interesting.”
Emerson’s eyes flashed with something. Desire? Frustration? Fear? Maybe all three.
“We need to focus on the experiments,” she said, adjusting some settings on a nearby heart rate monitor, her voice barely above a whisper.
I shook my head, trying to shake off the dangerous thoughts. This was Emerson Grant, my brilliant, ambitious, emotionally unavailable boss.
We both needed to focus on the work. On the science.
Besides, pushing Emerson to talk before she was ready was like trying to squeeze water from a stone.
“Here, let me see those results,” she said, reaching across my desk. I shifted to hand her the papers but miscalculated the distance. Her hand brushed against mine, sending an electric jolt through my arm. We both froze, caught in that accidental touch like deer in headlights.
Slowly, Emerson raised her eyes to mine.
Time stopped. It was like the whole world narrowed down to just the two of us, our faces inches apart, the air heavy with tension. A storm in those eyes, so full of intelligence and intensity and something else I couldn’t quite figure out...
A loud beep from the heart rate monitor broke the spell. We jumped apart, Emerson’s cheeks flushing red. She cleared her throat and busied herself with straightening an already neat stack of papers.
“Right,” she said briskly, “I think it’s time for a break. I’m going to grab some coffee.”
She bolted from the lab like her ass was on fire, leaving me standing there like a slack-jawed doofus. I slumped into my chair, running a hand through my hair.
What in the ever-loving hell just happened? That moment... it was like being hit by a freight train of lust and confusion, like some unseen force was yanking us together.
I stared at the door she had just walked out of, my heart still pounding. Her touch still lingered on my skin, making it damn near impossible to concentrate. Completely inappropriate, but hey, here I was, stuck with a boner for my boss.
Fantastic.
I kept telling myself to stay professional, to focus on the research. But my body wasn’t listening. Her touch, those flushed cheeks, the way she locked eyes with me—it was everything.
But who was I kidding? Emerson was my boss. The same woman who thought romantic love was a ridiculous biological quirk. No way she’d ever see me as anything more than her lab assistant.
And let’s be honest, we were smack in the middle of a critical study. I couldn’t afford to get sidetracked by these wild thoughts. I had to stay professional, keep my head in the game. Even if every cell inside me buzzed just being near her.
And how the hell was I supposed to handle working side by side if things went any further? If things were already this intense? Especially since we were studying sexual attraction.
I tried to shake it off and focus on the new data, but my eyes kept darting to the clock, waiting for Emerson to get back. The lab was colder without her, dimmer, even with the harsh fluorescent lights.
Christ, I was pathetic. Crushing on a woman who probably saw me as nothing more than an annoying blip in her orderly world. I needed to get my shit together and remember this job was a big fucking deal for me.
I couldn’t screw it up over an impossible crush.
When Emerson finally came back fifteen minutes later, I was glued to my workstation, typing like a man possessed. I didn’t even look up when I felt her beside me, her presence warming the air.
“I got you a coffee,” she said, setting a cup next to me. “Looked like you could use it.”
I blinked at the cup, then up at Emerson. She wasn’t looking at me, already headed back to her workstation. But her cheeks were a bit pink, and as soon as she got there, she began typing with way too much force.
“Thanks,” I said, trying not to sound too surprised. “That’s... really nice of you.”
Emerson shrugged, still avoiding eye contact. “We’ve got a lot of work. You need to stay sharp.”
I took a sip of the coffee—black, two sugars, just how I liked it—and a warmth spread through me that had jack shit to do with the drink.
Emerson knew my coffee order. She noticed I was dragging and got me caffeine without me even asking. It was a small gesture, but considering everything that was going on, it meant a hell of a lot.
We continued our work in aching silence, and I tried to think of something, anything, to get my mind off the tension in the room and the screams coming from private room three. Jesus, were they summoning demons in there?
“Have you ever wondered if what we’re doing is, you know, ethical?” I blurted out like a moron, immediately wanting to smack myself upside the head.
Emerson looked at me, her eyes thoughtful but with a hint of amusement.
“We’re studying human behavior and emotions. There are always ethical concerns, but I believe the potential benefits outweigh the risks. Understanding love on a deeper level will revolutionize relationships and help people find happiness.”
I shifted uncomfortably, trying to recover. “Yeah, but what if we’re meddling in things that shouldn’t be meddled in?” I tried to sound casual, but it came out anything but.
Holy shit. Just shut the fuck up, Liam. Are you trying to get yourself fired?
She sighed, a small smile playing on her lips. “That’s the scientist in me versus the romantic in you.”
She paused, eyes flicking to the door like she was making sure the coast was clear, then back to me, weighing her next words.
“My family is... unconventional, to say the least. Single mom. Multiple children from different fathers. Emotional dependency was seen as a weakness, a source of disappointment. But we’ve always been happy that way. That’s probably why I believe what I do, and to be honest, I’m grateful for that perspective.”
Just as I was about to say something—and granted, probably something stupid—the lab door swung open like it was auditioning for a dramatic entrance.
In walked Jasper Nielsen, looking like he had a stick up his ass.
“Good afternoon,” he said, his voice crisp.
I bit back a groan. Way to cockblock a moment, Nielsen. Right when Emerson was starting to open up.
I watched it happen in slow motion—every soft edge hardening, every hint of vulnerability vanishing behind her professional mask. In the space of a heartbeat, the woman who'd been about to confide in me disappeared, replaced by Dr. Grant, researcher extraordinaire, the moment shattering like glass.