5. Photosynthesis
PHOTOSYNTHESIS
*Samantha*
A week of silence and I’d almost convinced myself it had been a hallucination.
The bizarre offer, his electric touch, even Andreas’s beauty and the way he’d stared at me with those half-lidded olive-green eyes.
I’d thrown myself into lab work with the zeal of a person determined to never contemplate babies, or the possibility that one of those babies could be weaponized in a transatlantic corporate pissing match, until I’d finished my PhD.
The problem with this plan was that my department’s building was a concrete tomb, it’s neoclassical facade an elaborate ruse. The only thing more mind-numbing than running the PCR machine on three hours of sleep was grading undergraduate lab reports for the world’s most detail-oriented professor.
Which is where I found myself on a Thursday while trying not to entertain vengeful thoughts.
I sat hunched over a battered wooden table in the windowless TA office, red pen poised to massacre the concept of “experimental design” as described by a flock of premeds who’d rather be anywhere but here.
If you’ve never graded a report for a lab course, let me summarize: Never in the history of humanity have so many words been written, so little information conveyed, and so few clues given about what the actual assignment was.
I tried to channel my frustration into productivity.
Every time I marked “vague, be specific,” I imagined my pen was a tiny sword, stabbing a member of the Kristiansen family (Andreas excluded).
I made it through a half stack of blue books—my PI was old-school about lab reports—before my phone vibrated, jolting me out of my reverie.
The message was from building security. I squinted at the screen, then at my own handwriting in the margin of the lab report I’d been grading (“Explain how yeast actually works, Kelsey!”), then back at the phone.
“Please come to the lobby. You have a delivery.”
I immediately assumed it was Kaitlyn. I’d texted her yesterday to turn down an invitation for dinner and offer to cook for us instead.
When she’d pushed the issue, I told her about my vow to go cold turkey on ice cream and takeout, and this had triggered a predictable best friend meltdown in which she tried to Venmo me twice and threatened to order groceries to my door.
It would be just like her to send something, possibly a three-tiered Edible Arrangement with “I’m proud of you, Samwise” spelled out in pineapple.
Kaitlyn called me Samwise, as in Samwise Gamgee, her favorite character from Tolkien’s epic, Lord of the Rings . Strider had been my favorite, predictably. But I didn’t mind the nickname because Samwise was a sexy badass and fantastic cook.
Bracing myself for embarrassment and pineapple, I headed down the hallway and toward the elevator, weaving past a pair of lost-looking students who were wearing identical university sweatshirts.
The building’s lobby was a relic of another era, all faux marble and bulletproof glass.
The security desk sat next to a bronze bust of one of the genetics department’s founders.
Behind the desk, the security guard saw me and nodded toward the waiting area.
“Someone’s here for you,” he said. “Office is to your left.”
I frowned. There was a second glass-enclosed space just off the lobby. I stepped inside, expecting to see a box of fruit.
Instead, standing in front of the window, with the posture of a man who could not believe he’d been made to wait for anything in his entire life, was Tobias Kristiansen.
If Andreas had inherited his mother’s Roman goddess genes, Tobias was pure Norse, minus the Viking.
He was taller than I remembered, and his suit was navy, tailored to within a micron of his existence.
The effect was that of a man who wanted to dominate a boardroom but had never, ever laughed at a fart joke.
His blond hair was aggressively parted and his skin was the color of mayonnaise, so pale it practically reflected the fluorescent lights.
Despite all this, he was extremely and irritatingly handsome.
I didn’t recognize him immediately. It had taken me two point two seconds.
This was understandable since I hadn’t seen Tobias since my dad’s funeral, and even then, he’d stayed on the periphery, too busy being important to make eye contact with a grieving thirteen-year-old.
But something in his face was familiar. Maybe it was the nose, objectively small compared to the rest of his features, or the unsettlingly pale blue eyes that tracked me across the room.
“Miss Jarlston,” he said, tone modulated for maximum condescension and superiority.
I stopped in the doorway, pulse spiking while my extremities went cold.
My first impulse was to turn on my heel and leave.
But that would be cowardly, and instinct told me Tobias would almost certainly use it against me later.
Instead, I shifted my weight, crossed my arms, and said, “I thought I smelled cabbage.”
He smiled, the barest movement of lips. “Thank you for making time for me in your busy, important schedule.”
I didn’t say anything, because nothing I could say would be as potent as a well-timed silence.
Tobias gestured to the lone chair in the room. “Please, have a seat.”
I stood, deliberately.
He shrugged, as if my disobedience was just as he expected. “How is grad school treating you?”
“You don’t care, so why ask?”
Another smile, wider this time. “You always were a quick one, Sam.”
I hated that he called me Sam. No one called me Sam except for my friends, and he was not in that category.
“How long is this going to take?” I asked, glancing at my phone screen before returning my glare to him. I could’ve finished grading those reports by now.
He appraised me, gaze moving from my clogs to my scrubs, my lab coat, and the ID badge around my neck, then back to my face. “Direct, smart, and beautiful. I like that. I can see why my little brother is so fixated.”
I blanched, my stomach churning. “Excuse me?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll get to the point. You and Andreas, you met.”
I thought about denying it, but Andreas had sorta warned me that one of his brothers might contact me. I suspected Tobias kept tabs on Andreas and likely possessed proof that we’d met.
Thus, I shrugged. “So?”
“What did you two discuss?”
“He wanted to catch up,” I said, infusing my technically true statement with boredom. “It’s been over a decade.”
Tobias’s eyes narrowed. “You expect me to believe that he just wanted to catch up? Andreas doesn’t have friends, Sam. He has adversaries and useful allies. Which are you?”
My jaw clenched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He stepped closer, and even though there was a desk between us, the sense of threat was real.
“See, here’s the thing. Genetix is a major donor to your university.
In fact, our family’s foundation funds a sizable chunk of your department’s budget.
It would be a shame if something complicated that relationship. ”
I stared at him, but I plotted an escape route. Security was just outside the door. If I had to run out of here, I’d be fine. “Are you threatening me?”
He shrugged again. “Just letting you know how things work.”
“Good. Because here’s how they work for me.
” I put my hands on the back of the plastic chair, gripping it tight enough to make my knuckles go white.
“I have no interest in your family—including your little brother—your company, or your money. Andreas sought me out, not the other way around. I told him to get lost. Therefore, I assume we’re done. ”
Tobias administered a slow, appraising look. Then he reached into the inner pocket of his suit and pulled out a slim manila envelope. He set it on the desk with exaggerated care.
“Open it,” he said.
I hesitated, then picked it up. Inside were glossy color prints, old-school-private-investigator-style.
Obviously, I recognized myself immediately.
The photos were in reverse chronological order: me walking out of the café, arms crossed, eyes narrowed; me sitting at a table with Andreas, looking at a piece of paper; me standing on the sidewalk just after Andreas had approached.
I set the photos down, face burning even though Andreas and I hadn’t done anything to be embarrassed about. But still. It felt awful to know I’d been spied on and photographed.
“Cute,” I said. “I didn’t deny we met. What’s your point?”
Tobias’s voice was patient, almost gentle.
“My brother is the best chess player in the world, but otherwise, he’s an idiot.
He thinks he can get away with ... whatever this is.
” He tapped the photos, as if that explained everything.
“But you are smarter than that. You know there are consequences to getting involved with my family again. For everyone.”
I looked at the photos, then at him. “Why do you care who Andreas speaks to? Don’t you have more important things to do than stalk your little brother’s social life?”
He bristled. “I am invested in my family’s company, and in keeping things stable until Father passes. We can’t afford distractions.”
I shrugged. “Then maybe you should talk to your brother about not ambushing people outside their jobs.”
“Or maybe you should stop meeting with him, entertaining his schemes and giving him false hope, or else I will have no choice but to make you suffer,” Tobias said, voice dropping to a low whisper.
There was a beat of silence.
I couldn’t help it, I started to laugh. Not a big, hearty laugh, but a thin, incredulous one, because of course this family would bully me for absolutely no reason. That was their opening bid, that’s all they ever did.
“I see. So, you do know what we discussed. Why pretend otherwise?” I said, going for broke, deciding I’d play around with him, just a little, just enough to irritate the man.
Tobias hesitated, then said, “Why don’t you fill me in on what you think I know.”
I leaned in, like I was going to spill my darkest secret. “You’re right. I was the one to set up the meeting. Because—gosh, I don’t know how to say this, and I can’t believe you found out so quickly.” I pressed my lips together and gave him my best big I’m-so-bashful eyes.
“What? What is it?” he demanded, leaning further over the desk.
“I’m in love with Andreas.”
He reared back. “What?”
“I’ve had a crush on your brother since I was, like, eight. I have a shrine to him in my closet, always have. My prized possession is a paper cup he once used. Sometimes, as night, I press my lips to the rim of the cup and?—”
He huffed impatiently, his eyes narrowing.
I wasn’t finished. “—pretend we’re kissing. So, I finally told him at the coffee shop. Andreas was nice about it and let me down gently. But still, one day, I’m determined that he will be mine.”
Tobias looked furious, but also seemed caught off guard, his gaze flicking over me. “I know you are lying.”
“How would you know? Did you record our conversation? If you did, you wouldn’t be here.” Irritating him—even in this small way—felt incredibly satisfying. Better than ten ice-cream pints. This moment and Tobias Kristiansen’s frustrated glower would sustain me for months.
“Because Andreas would not have refused your overtures, nor would he have let you down gently.” He studied me, suddenly looking tired, lips pressed into a thin line. “Obviously, I do not believe you. You are after something.”
I spread my hands. “If I am, it’s none of your business. But I suggest you talk to your brother, instead of me.”
He glared, then pocketed the envelope. “Stay away from him.”
I grinned, because irritating him was the only weapon I had. “Or what? You’ll have me kicked out of grad school? Remove funding for the college? Have your goons follow me to my favorite bagel shop and buy out all the chive cream cheese before I can order?”
He shook his head, eyes skating over me, seeming genuinely perplexed. “I understand his preoccupation, now that I have seen you again. But you are more trouble than you are worth, Sam.”
“Right back at you, Toby .”
Tobias opened his mouth, likely to object to my usage of his childhood moniker, but just then, my phone buzzed again. I looked down, expecting another passive-aggressive message from Kaitlyn about accepting her food offerings, but it was from Dmitry.
Dmitry: Your plates are done. What do you want me to do with the samples? Also, Dr. Nieminen says hi.
I smiled grimly, then looked up at Tobias, who was still standing there, radiating contempt but also curiosity. The curiosity felt more dangerous.
“Sorry, gotta run,” I said, lifting my phone. “Duty calls.”
He straightened to his full height again, but not before muttering, “You would do well to remember my warning.”
“You sound like a Disney villain. Get a better writer,” I shot back, already halfway out the door.
I headed for the elevator, adrenaline pounding in my ears, and hit the up button twice just for the satisfaction of it. As the doors closed behind me, I replayed the entire encounter, and three statements stood out as particularly alarming.
I can see why my little brother is so fixated.
Because Andreas would not have refused your overtures, nor would he have let you down gently.
I understand his preoccupation.
“Damn it,” I muttered, giving my head a shake and resolving to ignore Tobias’s statements.
Tobias Kristiansen was just as diabolical as his father. Maybe he’d said those things to unsettle me and get under my skin. Or maybe they served some other evil, strategic purpose. Nothing that man said should be accepted as truth, I knew that. The only thing I could do was get on with my life.
Let go of the past. Let it all go.
Forget Tobias. Forget that psycho family.
But Andreas isn’t a psycho.
My steps slowed and I felt my frown intensify as the image of adult Andreas sitting across from me in that café last week replayed again in my mind for the millionth time in seven days.
I tried closing my eyes, but it was no use.
He was still there, reaching across the table, staring at me, voice gentle.
Ugh. This is the worst.
Thank goodness I still had the other pint of ice cream in my freezer at home. I was going to need it.