“Oh?”

“From the conference program.” He looked at her oddly. “You didn’t notice we’re on the same panel?”

Oh, crap. “Uh—I . . . I didn’t even read who else was on the panel.”

Because I was too busy panicking.

“No worries. It’s mostly boring people.” He winked, and his hand slid to her back, guiding her toward the podium. “Except for you and me, of course.”

Her talk didn’t go poorly.

It didn’t go perfectly, either. She stumbled on the word

“channelrhodopsin” twice, and by some weird trick of the projector her staining looked more like a black blob than a slice. “It looks different on my computer,” Olive told the audience with a strained smile. “Just trust me on this one.”

People chuckled, and she relaxed marginally, grateful that she’d spent hours upon hours memorizing everything she was supposed to say. The room was not as full as she’d feared, and there were a handful of people— likely working on similar projects at other institutions—who took notes and listened raptly to her every word. It should have been overwhelming and anxiety inducing, but about halfway through she realized that it made her oddly giddy, knowing that someone else was passionate about the same research questions that had taken up most of the past two years of her life.

In the second row, Malcolm faked a fascinated expression, while Anh, Jeremy, and a bunch of other grads from Stanford nodded enthusiastically whenever Olive happened to look in their direction. Tom alternated between staring intensely at her and checking his phone with a bored expression—

fair, since he’d already read her report. The session was running late, and the moderator ended up giving her time for only one question—an easy one. At the end, two of the other panelists—well-known cancer researchers whom Olive had to restrain herself not to fangirl over—shook her hand and asked her several questions about her work. She was simultaneously flustered and overjoyed.

“You were so amazing,” Anh told her when it was over, pushing up to hug her. “Also, you look hot and professional, and while you were talking, I had a vision of your future in academia.”

Olive wrapped her arms around Anh. “What vision?”

“You were a high-powered researcher, surrounded by students who hung on your every word. And you were answering a multiparagraph email with an uncapitalized no.”

“Nice. Was I happy?”

“Of course not.” Anh snorted. “It’s academia.”

“Ladies, the department social starts in half an hour.” Malcolm leaned in to kiss Olive on the cheek and squeeze her waist. When she was wearing heels, he was just a tiny bit shorter than her. She definitely wanted a picture of the two of them side by side. “We should go celebrate the single time Olive managed to pronounce ‘channelrhodopsin’ right with some free booze.”

“You dick.”

He pulled her in for a tight hug and whispered in her ear, “You did amazing, Kalamata.” And then, louder: “Let’s go get wasted!”

“Why don’t you guys go ahead? I’ll get my USB and put my stuff back in the hotel.”

Olive made her way through the now-empty room to the podium, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She was relaxed and relieved. Professionally, things were starting to look up: as it turned out, with adequate preparation she could actually string together several coherent sentences in front of other scientists. She also had the means to carry out her research next year, and two big names in her field had just complimented her work. She smiled, letting her mind wander to whether she should text Adam to tell him that he was right, she did make it out alive; she should probably ask how his keynote address had gone, too. If his PowerPoint had acted up and he’d mispronounced words like “microarrays” or “karyotyping,” whether he planned to go to the department social. He was probably meeting up with friends, but maybe she could buy him a thank-you drink for all his help. She would even pay, for once.

“It went well,” someone said.

Olive turned to find Tom standing behind her, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the table. He looked as though he’d been staring at her for a while. “Thank you. Yours, too.” His talk had been a more condensed repeat of the one he’d given at Stanford, and Olive had to admit that she’d spaced out a bit.

“Where’s Adam?” he asked.

“Still giving his keynote, I think.”

“Right.” Tom rolled his eyes. Probably with fondness, though Olive didn’t quite catch it in his expression. “He does that, doesn’t he?”

“Does what?”

“Outdoes you.” He pushed away from the table, ambling closer. “Well, outdoes everyone. It’s not personal.” She frowned, confused, wanting to ask Tom what he meant by that, but he continued, “I think you and I will get along great next year.”

The reminder that Tom believed in her work enough to take her in his lab quashed her discomfort. “We will.” She smiled. “Thank you so much for giving me and my project a chance. I can’t wait to start working with you.”

“You’re welcome.” He was smiling, too. “I think there are a lot of things we can gain from each other. Wouldn’t you agree?”

It seemed to Olive like she had much more to gain from it than he did, but she nodded anyway. “I hope so. I think imaging and blood biomarkers complement each other perfectly, and only by combining them can we—”

“And I have what you need, don’t I? The research funds. The lab space. The time and ability to mentor you properly.”

“Yes. You do. I . . .”

All of a sudden, she could pick out the gray rim of his cornea. Had he gotten closer? He was tall, but not that much taller than her. He didn’t usually feel this imposing.

“I’m grateful. So grateful. I’m sure that—”

She felt his unfamiliar smell in her nostrils, and his breath, hot and unpleasant against the corner of her mouth, and—fingers, a vise-tight grip around her upper arm, and why was he—what was he—

“What—” Heart in her throat, Olive freed her arm and took several steps back. “What are you doing?” Her hand came up to her biceps and—it hurt, where he’d clasped her.

God—had he really done that? Tried to kiss her? No, she must have imagined it. She must be going crazy, because Tom would never—

“A preview, I think.”

She just stared at him, too stunned and numb to react, until he moved closer and bent once more toward her. Then it was happening all over again.

She pushed him away. As forcefully as she could, she pushed him away with both her hands on his chest, until he stumbled back with a cruel, condescending laugh. Abruptly, her lungs seized and she couldn’t breathe.

“A preview of—what? Are you out of your mind?”

“Come on.”

Why was he smiling? Why was that oily, hateful expression on his face?

Why was he looking at her like—

“A pretty girl like you should know the score by now.” He looked at her from head to toe, and the lewd gleam in his eyes made her feel disgusting.

“Don’t lie to me and say you didn’t pick out a dress that short for my benefit.

Nice legs, by the way. I can see why Adam’s wasting his time with you.”

“The— What are you—”

“Olive.” He sighed, putting his hands in his pockets. He should have looked nonthreatening, lounging like that. But he felt like anything but. “You don’t think I accepted you into my lab because you are good, do you?”