Chapter 13
Audrey
Ihave no idea what Landon James is saying.
Something about clinical parameters. Simulation benchmarks. FDA response timelines. Seventy-seven days left on the clock, and I can barely remember how to form sentences—because I haven’t just come from reviewing data. I’ve come from making out with Logan Whitman in the lab downstairs.
I nod along anyway, hoping my face is doing something professional as random words filter into my thoughts.
Trial. Flash of Logan’s mouth on mine.
Signal. His hand tangled in my hair.
Baseline. The sound he made when I pulled him closer.
My brain is running two incompatible programs: FDA technical requirements and Logan Whitman’s lips. Neither one is winning.
“The stability metrics from the last hundred and twenty-hour stretch are exactly what we needed,” Landon continues, clicking through slides on the conference room screen. “If we can replicate these results in the next phase of testing, we’re looking at a very strong submission package.”
I cross my legs, uncross them, then cross them again.
Next to me, Logan is taking careful notes, which would be impressive if I didn’t know exactly how scattered his thoughts must be right now.
His handwriting is even, methodical—but twice I’ve caught him glancing my way when he thinks I’m not looking.
The third time he does it, I meet his eyes. His ears go pink immediately, and he looks away so quickly I almost laugh out loud.
“Audrey?” Landon’s voice breaks through my daze. “Can you walk us through the technical modifications of the latest iteration of the adaptive model?”
Every head in the room turns toward me.
I open my mouth. For one horrifying second, nothing comes out except a vague sound that might be the beginning of a word or might be my soul leaving my body.
Then Logan shifts next to me, his hand dropping to my thigh.
One squeeze. Encouraging. Warm.
Every nerve ending in my body lights up like a switchboard. Heat blooms from the point of contact, spreading upward, and for one reckless second, I forget there are other people in this room.
When I glance his way, he gives me a nod—you’ve got this—and the confidence in his eyes snaps my brain back online. Barely.
“Right. Yes.” I sit up straighter. “The original model was failing because of handoff latency between priority tiers. When multiple high-priority signals competed for the same frequency band, the algorithm couldn’t arbitrate fast enough.”
I click to the next slide, grateful for something to focus on besides Logan’s closeness.
“We implemented a tiebreaker protocol using amplitude thresholds. Urgent signals—which tend to have higher amplitude—automatically get bumped to the front of the queue. Then we paired it with a decay function that adjusts the threshold based on the overall system load.”
“Meaning the system self-regulates under stress,” Landon says, nodding. “Excellent work.”
“It was Logan’s idea,” I say before I can stop myself. “The decay function. I had the threshold concept, but he’s the one who figured out how to make it adaptive.”
Logan’s ears go pink. Again. I think it’s becoming my favorite thing about him. “It was collaborative.”
“It was brilliant,” I correct. “Take the compliment.”
There’s a beat of silence. Bennett’s eyebrow ticks up. Layla is looking between us with an expression I know means I’m getting questioned later.
“Well,” Landon says, breaking the moment, “brilliant or collaborative, it’s working. Let’s talk next steps.”
The meeting continues. I force myself to pay attention—to take notes, to ask questions, to be the competent professional I’m supposed to be. But every few minutes, my brain unhelpfully supplies another replay of Logan’s lips on mine, and I have to dig my fingernails into my palm to stay focused.
This is actually happening. Finally. The man I’ve wanted since the moment I laid eyes on him kissed me.
And then I asked him to do it again. And he did. And it was...
God. It was everything.
Which is terrifying, if I’m being honest. Because ‘everything’ is a lot to lose. And I’ve never been great at having things I can’t control.
The door opens and Serena backs in carrying two massive paper bags, the smell of garlic and tomatoes wafting into the room.
“Cavalry’s here,” she announces. “Someone clear a space before I drop the carbonara.”
The meeting dissolves into controlled chaos as people shuffle papers and make room for food. Serena starts unpacking containers while Caleb helps distribute plates and napkins. I’m about to stand up and join the food line when I feel Logan’s hand brush against mine under the table.
Just a touch. Barely there. But it sends electricity up my arm.
I glance at him. He’s looking straight ahead, seemingly focused on Landon’s conversation with Bennett about timeline projections, but there’s a slight quirk to his lips that tells me this wasn’t accidental.
I slide my hand closer to his, our pinkies touching. His breath catches, so slight I almost miss it.
“Breadsticks!” Jenna announces, placing the bag directly in front of us. “Extra for the lab rats who’ve been living on coffee and air for the past week.”
“Thanks,” I manage, hoping my face doesn’t betray the fact that Logan’s thumb is now tracing small circles on the back of my hand.
I reach for a breadstick, suddenly starving despite the butterflies in my stomach.
Next to me, Logan reluctantly releases my hand to accept a plate from Caleb, who’s making his way around the table.
“Eat something substantial,” Serena says, eyeing me critically as she passes. “You look like you’ve been running on fumes.”
“I’ve been busy,” I mumble around a mouthful of breadstick. “Important science stuff.”
“Mhm.” She gives me a look that says she doesn’t quite buy it, then slides a container of pasta toward me. “Eat the carbs. I got that mushroom ravioli you like.”
I don’t argue. The pasta smells amazing, and I suddenly realize I haven’t had a proper meal since... when? Yesterday? The day before? Time has been slippery lately, measured more in simulation cycles than proper days.
As I spoon some of the pasta onto my plate, I notice Serena scrutinizing me, her expression sharp. “Is everything OK, Audrey? You look... different.”
I freeze with the container of pasta tilted over my plate. “I look the same as always.”
“No, she’s right,” Layla says, leaning on her elbow with the same sharp expression. “There’s something. Did you change your makeup?”
“I’m not wearing makeup today. I woke up late. Barely had time to get my contacts in.”
“That’s not what’s changed. We’re used to seeing you without makeup.” Serena tilts her head, studying me. “But something’s different. You’re all... glowy.”
“I’m not glowy.”
“You are,” Layla puts in, and now the whole table is looking at me.
“Listen, I’ll accept that I’m a hot mess since I literally rolled out of bed and showed up to work today.
And then I’ve proceeded to plow through my day on little more than a granola bar and a coffee IV, so yeah, I’m probably a bit of a wild-eyed mess.
But I’m not glowing.” I take a pointed bite of ravioli to shut myself up.
Logan clears his throat beside me. “The simulation data was very encouraging.” His voice is steady, but I catch the way his fingers tap once against the table—his tell when he’s improvising. “That might be the cause of any perceived... glowiness.”
“Simulation data doesn’t make people glow,” Serena says, her eyes narrowing as she looks between us. “But other things do.”
I stuff more ravioli into my mouth to avoid responding. It’s delicious, but I barely taste it. My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure everyone can hear it.
“Let’s focus on the task at hand,” Bennett interjects, mercifully changing the subject. “Audrey, Logan—what’s your timeline for the clinical protocols?”
Logan jumps in with the answer, all business now.
I watch him as he talks, the way his hands move when he’s explaining technical concepts, the precise way he organizes his thoughts even when they’re complicated.
I’m fascinated by the little furrow that appears between his eyebrows when he’s concentrating.
I’ve seen it a thousand times before, but now all I want to do is smooth it away with my fingertips.
With my lips. Or maybe while I’m sitting on his face…
It’s strange, feeling this much and not being able to analyze my way through it.
I keep waiting for my brain to catch up.
To produce a framework, a model, some way to understand what’s happening between us.
But there’s no algorithm for this. Just the terrifying, exhilarating freefall of actually feeling something without a safety net.
I excuse myself when Logan starts getting into the technical specifications for the next round of testing. “Be right back,” I murmur, sliding my chair back and slipping out of the conference room.
The bathroom is blissfully empty when I push through the door. I lean against the sink, finally letting myself breathe. In the mirror, my reflection stares back at me—cheeks flushed, hair slightly mussed, eyes bright. Maybe Serena’s right. Maybe I am glowing.
I splash some cold water on my face, trying to collect myself. This is ridiculous. I’m staring at my reflection when the bathroom door swings open and I nearly jump out of my skin. Serena strides in with Layla right on her heels, both of them wearing identical expressions of determined curiosity.
“Spill,” they say in perfect unison.
“Jesus!” I press a hand to my chest. “Ambush, much?”
Serena leans against the door, blocking my escape. “Something’s going on. We want details.”
“Preferably all of them,” Layla adds. “Chronological order.”
I consider my options: lie, deflect, or make a run for it. I go with the lie.
“Nothing’s going on. Just work. Zero drama.”
Layla’s eyebrows shoot up. “That is the worst lie I’ve ever heard, and I once watched Serena convince a bar full of men that she invented twerking.”