They both struggled for a second, confused—they’d clearly heard the words but were unsure where they came from. Until the recording restarted.
“Olive. You don’t think I accepted you into my lab because you are good,do you? A girl like you. Who figured out so early in her academic career thatfucking well-known, successful scholars is how to get ahead. You fuckedAdam, didn’t you? We both know you’re going to fuck me for the samereason.”
“What the—” Tom took a step forward, hand extended to grab the phone from Olive. He didn’t get far, because Adam pushed him away with a palm on his chest, making him stumble several steps back.
He still wasn’t looking at Tom. And not at Olive, either. He was staring down at her phone, something dark and dangerous and frighteningly still in his expression. She should have probably been scared. Maybe she was, a little.
“—y ou’re telling me you thought your pitiful abstract was selected for a talk because of its quality and scientific importance? Someone here has a very high opinion of herself, considering that her research is useless and derivative and that she can barely put together two words without stuttering like an idiot—”
“It was him,” Adam whispered. His voice was low, barely a whisper, deceptively calm. His eyes, unreadable. “It was Tom. The reason you were crying.”
Olive could only nod. In the background, Tom’s recorded voice droned on and on. Talking about how mediocre she was. How Adam would never believe her. Calling her names.
“This is ridiculous.” Tom was coming closer again, reattempting to take the phone away. “I’m not sure what this bitch’s problem is, but she’s clearly
—”
Adam exploded so fast, she didn’t even see him move. One moment he stood in front of her, and the next he was pinning Tom against the wall.
“I’m going to kill you,” he gritted out, little more than a growl. “If you say another word about the woman I love, if you look at her, if you even think about her—I’m going to fucking kill you.” “Adam—” Tom choked out.
“Actually, I will kill you anyway.”
People were running toward them. The hostess, a waiter, a few faculty members from Adam’s table. They were forming a crowd, yelling in confusion and trying to pull Adam off Tom—with no success. Olive’s mind went to Adam pushing Cherie’s truck, and she almost laughed in a moment of hysteria. Almost.
“Adam,” she called. Her voice was barely audible in the chaos going on around them, but it was what got through to him. He turned to look at her, and there were entire worlds in his eyes. “Adam, don’t,” she whispered. “He’s not worth it.”
Just like that, Adam took a step back and let Tom go. An elderly gentleman—probably a Harvard dean—began laying into him, asking for explanations, telling him how unacceptable his behavior was. Adam ignored him, and everyone else. He headed straight for Olive, and—
He cradled her head with both hands, fingers sliding through her hair and holding her tight as he lowered his forehead to hers. He was warm, and smelled like himself, like safe and home. His thumbs swept through the mess of tears on her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
“It’s not your fault,” she managed to mumble, but he didn’t seem to hear her.
“I’m sorry. I’m—”
“Dr. Carlsen,” a male voice boomed loudly from behind them, and she felt Adam’s body stiffen against hers. “I demand an explanation.” Adam paid no heed to the man, and kept holding Olive.
“Dr. Carlsen,” he repeated, “this is unacceptable—”
“Adam,” Olive whispered. “You have to answer him.”
Adam exhaled. Then he pressed a long, lingering kiss to Olive’s forehead before reluctantly disentangling himself. When she was finally able to get a good look at him, he seemed more like his usual self.
Calm. Angry at the entire world. In charge.
“Send me that recording immediately,” he murmured at her. She nodded, and he turned to the elderly man who’d just approached them. “We need to talk. Privately. Your office?” The other man looked shocked and offended, but he nodded stiffly. Behind him, Tom was making a fuss, and Adam clenched his jaw. “Keep him away from me.” He turned to Olive before leaving, bending closer to her and lowering his voice. His palm was warm against her elbow.
“I am going to take care of this,” he told her. There was something determined, earnest in his eyes. Olive had never felt safer, or more loved.
“And then I’ll come find you, and I’ll take care of you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
HYPOTHESIS: Wearing expired contact lenses will cause bacterial and/or fungal infections that will have repercussions for years to come.
“Holden sent a message for you.”
Olive looked away from the window and to Malcolm, who’d turned off airplane mode the second they’d landed in Charlotte for their layover.
“Holden?”
“Yeah. Well, it’s technically from Carlsen.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
“He lost his phone charger and can’t text you, but he and Holden are on their way back to SFO.”
“Ah.” She nodded, feeling a small rush of relief. That explained Adam’s silence. He hadn’t been in touch since last night. She’d worried that he’d been arrested and was pondering emptying her savings account to help cover his bail. All twelve dollars and sixteen cents. “Where’s their layover?”
“No layover.” Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Direct flight. They’ll be at SFO
ten minutes after us, even though they’re only now leaving Boston. Eat the rich.”
“Did Holden say anything about . . .”
Malcolm shook his head. “Their plane is about to leave, but we can wait for them at SFO. I’m sure Adam will have some updates for you.”
