Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Emerson
" D r. Grant, it's good to see you again." Jasper Nielsen's voice rolled through my office like expensive liquor—the kind that goes down smooth but might leave you with one hell of a hangover.
I caught Liam's glance, reading the mix of concern and encouragement in his eyes. Here goes nothing, that look said, and my stomach tightened.
"I'll leave you two to talk." He squeezed my shoulder, warm and reassuring, before he slipped away.
The moment the door clicked shut, the air in my office felt heavier, filled with Nielsen's presence like some kind of corporate cologne.
Those razor-sharp eyes locked onto mine as he settled into the chair across from my desk. It felt a little like being dissected, like he was cataloging every micro-expression, every tell. I forced myself not to fidget under his gaze.
"I'll get straight to the point, Dr. Grant." The way he said my title made it sound like both a compliment and a challenge.
"I've spent the day digging up every ounce of information I could find on what you do here, and I believe your research on the scientific validation of love is going to revolutionize both the scientific and business worlds. I'm prepared to fund your work… if you can deliver results."
My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to escape. Funding. The word I'd been desperate to hear for months.
But something in his tone set off warning bells in my head. I leaned back in my chair, trying to project calm confidence instead of desperate hope. "What exactly are you proposing, Mr. Nielsen?"
"My company is developing a revolutionary new type of dating app that's going to transform the entire industry."
His voice carried the smooth assurance of someone used to getting exactly what they wanted. "But to make it work, I need your expertise in quantifying the science of love."
My scientific curiosity perked up, even as my skepticism flared. A dating app? Really?
But beggars couldn't be choosers, and my lab's future was hanging by a thread. I had to at least hear him out.
"A dating app? How exactly does that fit in with my field of research?"
"It's not just any dating app." The way he said it reminded me of every tech bro who thought they were reinventing the wheel. But then… “This one will incorporate health data collected from smartwatches and other devices. But to truly revolutionize matchmaking, we need your groundbreaking research on the neurological aspects of love. Our aim is to create an algorithm that predicts compatibility with unparalleled accuracy, and I believe your data is the key."
Despite myself, I felt that familiar spark of scientific excitement ignite in my chest.
My mind was already racing with possibilities, hypotheses forming like crystals in solution. "Health data? Like heart rate and sleep patterns?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them, betraying my interest.
Damn it, Emerson, play it cool.
“Exactly!” Jasper’s enthusiasm was palpable. “An app that doesn’t just ask for your height, interests, or if you’re a dog person. Instead, it delves deeper, using the health metrics tracked by your smartwatch to paint a comprehensive picture of your well-being and emotional state. And that’s where you come in. Your insights into how love works at a neurological level will be invaluable in order to interpret the data correctly.”
I was impressed, even if I was wary of his motives. “Alright, I’ll bite. Tell me more.”
Jasper held his hands up, making a show of it, like he was about to share the secret to eternal youth.
“Our app syncs with your smart devices to collect key health indicators. For instance, when you’re on a date, your watch monitors your pulse, skin temperature, and other physiological responses.”
His words started tumbling out faster, his enthusiasm palpable.
“Our algorithm—enhanced by your research—would crunch this data to assess stress levels, excitement, and even detect subtle signs of attraction. By cross-referencing this information with the neurological markers you identify as critical to romantic compatibility, we can provide insights into how well you and your date are likely to mesh on a deeper, biological level.”
My eyebrows eased up. “So you’re saying it can tell if someone’s a good match based on their body’s reactions?”
“Precisely,” Jasper said, leaning back with a satisfied smile. “But that’s not all. The app also offers personalized recommendations to improve your dating experience. Stressed before a date? The app might suggest a quick meditation or breathing exercise to calm your nerves. Noticing that you’re consistently getting poor sleep? It would recommend adjustments to your routine to ensure you’re well-rested and at your best for social interactions.”
He paused, taking a deep breath as if he’d almost forgotten breathing was a thing.
“Essentially, the app becomes a holistic dating coach, helping optimize physical and emotional health to increase your chances of finding true compatibility.”
I had to admit, I was impressed, even if still a little wary. “That’s... actually pretty innovative. But how do you ensure the matches are right?”
Jasper grinned, clearly enjoying the effect his pitch was having.
“By analyzing patterns in the data over time, and interpreting it through the lens of your research on the science of love, it identifies what traits and behaviors in potential matches will elicit positive physiological responses from you. This means that instead of swiping left or right based on superficial attributes, you’re matched with people who are more likely to make you genuinely happy and connected, based on how your body reacts to various interactions.”
I nodded slowly, seeing the potential. “So it’s not just about who looks good on paper, but who makes you feel good in real life.”
“Exactly,” he said, his tone filled with conviction. “Imagine setting up a date and getting a compatibility score based on real-time data, suggesting the best times to meet when both you and your match are most relaxed and receptive. Or receiving notifications about potential matches whose physiological data aligns with yours, indicating a higher likelihood of a meaningful connection.”
We delved into a detailed discussion about the terms of his offer, his suggestions both tantalizing and terrifying. Jasper had clearly done his homework—he knew my lab was struggling financially and that I was desperate for funding.
But the stringent timelines and specific outcomes he demanded gave me pause. It had already been such a long road, and what he was asking for timeline-wise was going to be a challenge, to say the least.
Jasper must have sensed my hesitation. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a thick contract, sliding it across the desk toward me.
“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Dr. Grant. I suggest you think carefully before making a decision.”
With that, he stood and—with a confidence that bordered on arrogance—strutted out of the lab like he owned the place, leaving me alone with the contract and a head full of chaotic thoughts.
I stared at the document in my hands like it was both a winning lottery ticket and a ransom note. The holy grail of research funding was right here, printed on fancy letterhead that probably cost more than my monthly coffee budget (which, let's be real, is not insignificant).
All my problems solved in one neat little package with only the tiny cost of my scientific soul. No biggie.
I was so wrapped up in my mental tug-of-war that I didn’t notice Liam slip back into the lab. It wasn’t until he gently touched my shoulder that I realized he was there, his concern etched into every line of his annoyingly handsome face.
“Everything good, Doc? I caught snippets of your conversation.”
I sighed, leaning heavily into the back of my chair. “He wants to fund our research, but his terms are... well, let’s just say they’re challenging. This could be my last shot to save the lab, but the pressure he’s putting on me, on us... I don’t know if it’s worth it.”
Liam’s brow furrowed as he listened, his eyes darkening with concern. “I don’t trust him, Doc. A guy like him, he doesn’t give a fuck about the science or the ethics of what we’re doing. He just wants results he can exploit for his own gain.”
Liam was probably right. But the temptation of Jasper’s offer, the validation it represented, was hard to resist.
“I need to think about it,” I said, glancing at the clock, a shot of panic zipping through me. “Shit, I’m late for dinner with my family. I have to go. Can you finish up with the last test subjects?”
“Of course.”
Liam’s hand lingered on my shoulder, his touch sparking something in me. “But think about what you really want, Doc. And not just for the lab, but for yourself.”
My hand shook slightly as I reached for my coat. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff in the dark—no idea if my next step would send me plummeting or lead to solid ground.
The weight of the unsigned contract seemed to pulse on my desk like a ticking bomb.
Time kept flashing through my head: maybe weeks until they'd shut us down if I didn't sign. All our work, all our breakthroughs, everything we'd built—gone. Just thinking about it made my chest tight, like someone was squeezing my lungs.
I turned my back to Liam, making a show of organizing papers on my desk. I couldn't let him see the tremor in my hands as I picked up the pen.
My signature looked shaky, uncertain—nothing like my usual confident scrawl. But it didn't matter how it looked, did it? As long as it kept our doors open.
The moment the pen left the paper, it felt like someone had lifted a boulder off my chest.
We weren't going to lose the lab. Not today. Not this week. We had time—maybe not a hell of a lot, but enough to figure something out. To prove ourselves.
But even as that relief flooded through me, another kind of pressure started building in my gut. Jasper's words echoed in my head: "groundbreaking results," "revolutionary findings," "unprecedented accuracy." The expectations coiled around my throat like a python.
What if we couldn't deliver? What if we failed? What if this just delayed the inevitable?
I tossed a folder over the contract like I was hiding evidence of a crime, then started gathering my things with hands that still weren't quite steady.
The familiar motions of packing up helped ground me—laptop in bag, notes filed away, keys in pocket.
Then Liam was there, holding out my coat. That microscopic touch sent electricity zinging through me like I'd just stuck my finger in a socket while wearing copper underwear. His fingers lingered against mine, and time did that annoying thing where it simultaneously stretched forever and moved too fast, like quantum physics but with more sexual tension.
Christ, I needed to escape before my brain completely short-circuited and I did something wildly unprofessional, like grab his stupid perfect face and... nope, not going there. Hard pass on that mental image. (Okay, maybe just a quick peek...)
Fuck, why did he have to be so damn attractive?
It was as though every cell in my body was attuned to him, responding to his presence with an intensity that left me breathless. I could still feel the ghost of his touch, a phantom heat that spread through me, leaving a trail of yearning in its wake.
We walked out of the lab together, an awkward silence hanging in the air like an unresolved chord in a song. The air was cool, a welcome contrast to the heat simmering between us.
My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more confusing than the last, and I glanced at Liam out of the corner of my eye, trying to read his expression, but his face was a puzzle, his eyes focused straight ahead.
As we reached the parking lot, he turned to me. “I know you’ll make the right decision. And remember, you’re not in this alone. I’m here for you, whatever happens.”
Managing a small smile, I was touched by his support. “Thanks, that means a lot.” My voice was softer than I intended, betraying the storm of emotions swirling inside me.
“Anytime, Doc,” he said, his voice low and smooth. The nickname sent another shiver down my spine.
He gave me one last look that contained enough unspoken subtext to fill a doctoral thesis, then turned away, leaving me standing there like a pining protagonist in a lab coat. It was maddening how Liam could do that—make me feel so much with just a touch or a look.
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I needed to focus on the work, not on the way Liam’s eyes lingered on me or the way his voice sent tremors through my body.
With a final glance at that spectacular ass retreating back inside, I hopped into my car, cranked the engine, and tried to get my hormones under control.
Fat chance of that happening.
My brain kept replaying little moments of the day like a broken record. The way he looked at me like I was the last slice of pizza and he was starving. How his hand lingered on my shoulder, probably leaving a Liam-shaped brand on my skin.
I needed a distraction, something to ground me before these thoughts consumed me entirely.
The familiar sight of wrought-iron gates appearing through my windshield provided exactly that as I turned onto the long drive of my family home—The Black Orchid Hotel.
The old building's silhouette against the darkening sky was both imposing and comforting.
My family and I collectively owned and lived in the renovated historic hotel located in the heart of our small town. Each floor had been converted into individual apartments, creating a unique blend of privacy and closeness.
Its grand entrance was framed by tall, elegant columns, and the meticulously manicured gardens burst with seasonal blooms, a testament to the love and care we all shared for this old place.
The building itself, a famous landmark at the edge of town, had a timeless charm with its classic brick exterior and tall, arched windows. It was like stepping into a different world, one far removed from the chaos of my lab and Jasper’s offer.
I made my way across the lush yard, the scent of fresh flowers mingling with the crisp air, each step a desperate attempt to shake off the lingering effects of Liam’s touch. I needed to focus, to clear my head of the way my skin had burned under his touch.
As I stepped inside, I was greeted by a rush of comfort. The interior was a seamless blend of original charm and modern amenities, a place that radiated nostalgia and history.
The lobby was warm and inviting, featuring plush velvet sofas and rich mahogany furniture. Family photographs adorned the walls, capturing moments of joy, laughter, and togetherness. The wooden floor creaked under my feet, probably groaning under the weight of all the family secrets it had heard over the years.
I jabbed my key into my mailbox, the familiar stick in the lock requiring the usual wiggle-and-curse maneuver to get it open. My hand bumped against the metal edges of the tiny compartment as I reached in, scraping my knuckle in the process. Lovely.
A stack of mail slid into my hands—bills, junk, more bills, and... something different. Heavier. The envelope was thick, cream-colored, with that expensive feel of actual cotton paper.
Flipping it over, I frowned at the red wax seal. Who even used those anymore? The Swiss postmark caught my eye, and for a split second, curiosity pushed through my mental fog. But then I realized it wasn’t my name on the envelope; it was my mother’s.
It wasn’t uncommon to mistakenly get someone else’s mail—there were ten of us in the building with the same last name, after all.
Something about it nagged at the back of my mind, but I was already running late, so I stuck it on top of the communal mail center with a soft thump.
I hurried to the elevator and dropped my keys at my apartment on the ninth floor, then took the stairs the rest of the way. The sound of my family’s voices grew louder with each step, like a weird mix of comfort and impending doom.
The roof offered a stunning panoramic view of the serene lake behind the hotel, the water sparkling under the late afternoon sun, a perfect contrast to the lush greenery that bordered the lake.
The rooftop deck itself was a cozy retreat, with comfortable seating arrangements and soft, colorful cushions scattered around.
“Emerson, there you are!” my cousin Mackenzie called out, her eyes sparkling with mischief and determination.
She was standing by the railing, the lake’s reflection dancing in her eyes. “Now that our resident mad scientist has graced us with her presence, I have a proposal to make.”