Last Call

by Bella Michaels

  Reading women is a specialty of mine, but even for me this will be a quick turnaround. I have maybe four minutes to work with.

  “A bracelet,” she says, attempting to clasp on the thin golden strand one-handed. I watch her struggle for a few seconds and then go for it. She’s not the kind of woman who’ll appreciate the knight on a white horse approach, but there’s no time for anything but directness.

  “May I?”

  Palm open, I convey the fact that I’m not a threat.

  She’s about to refuse, but I don’t back down, staring straight into her mint green eyes. Something tells me they’d be a different shade if she weren’t in that smart I mean business but am still a woman suit. I’d love to know what color they are when she’s totally naked.

  “Thanks.”

  I grasp the delicate bracelet and wrap it around her wrist. Concentrating on the task at hand, I don’t get to look at her face, but I don’t need to. I already know it by heart. It’s like a bright pink tulip plopped in the middle of a bouquet of white carnations.

  Her voice, just like the perfume she’s wearing, is surprising. I hadn’t expected it to be so deep. Very carefully, I avoid looking at her chest. Hard to see much anyway beneath that suit coat.

  “I have to get to a meeting,” I say.

  Her lips part, ever so slightly. An encouraging sign.

  “But I’d consider today to be an utter failure if I left here without getting your number.”

  Her only reaction is to blink. She may not be a New Yorker, but this woman clearly knows how to play the game.

  “You don’t know a thing about me,” she counters.

  It’s not a no.

  “Au contraire.”

  I maybe have three minutes left.

  “I know you work here. You seem pretty comfortable, like it’s a familiar setting to you. Which means you’re smart, obviously. I also know you’re not from the city. And that you’re extremely beautiful. I can sense you’re a little leery of me, which you probably should be.”

  I’m actually glad when she begins to walk. I can feel my phone buzzing as I give Enzo his second heart attack of the day. But this time, I really am on my way.

  “Is that so? And why exactly should I be leery of you?”

  “Lots of reasons. Let me tell you over dinner.”

  I honestly can’t get a read on her. From that look she gave me in the hall, I’d thought she was a sure bet, but my beautiful, blonde stranger is clearly having second thoughts.

  “You don’t even know my name.”

  When she walks toward the same door I’m about to enter, I give another silent thanks to the matchmaking gods that have given me a couple of minutes with her.

  Smiling for the first time since we met, she gestures toward the sign.

  CDER.

  Center for Drug Evaluation and Research. The FDA really loves their acronyms.

  “You’re going in here?”

  I push the door open before she can get to it.

  “I am,” I say as she moves past me. I breathe in, decide whatever she’s wearing is my new favorite women’s perfume, and then follow her through the door.

  “May I help you?” the receptionist asks.

  I’m about to say I’m here for a meeting when Enzo comes out of nowhere.

  “Hayden, over here.”

  I wave and look back at Lauren, who hasn’t moved yet.

  “Do you work in here? I’ll find you when I’m done,” I whisper.

  She’s not exactly smiling anymore. This is definitely a smirk, and I don’t like it. Something’s off.

  “Yes, I do.”

  She doesn’t respond to that second part, but Enzo’s on top of me now.

  “Looks like you found my partner,” he says, but not to me.

  Looking back and forth between them, it doesn’t take me long to realize Lauren Conrad is on our review team.

  Shit.

  So much for that. Is she a scientist? The medical officer?

  “I did,” she responds to Enzo. “Shall we restart the meeting?”

  The way she says it clearly communicates how she feels about my tardiness. Join the club. Enzo isn’t super pleased either.

  “And you’ve met?” Enzo asks as all three of us begin to walk down the hall.

  “Actually,” Lauren says, stopping. “We haven’t. Not formally.”

  She sticks out the perfectly manicured hand I put a bracelet on a few minutes ago.

  “Ada Flemming,” she says, taking great pleasure in my discomfort. Because we both know I recognize the name. Not a scientist, or a statistician, or a medical officer.

  When the FDA notified us that our project manager was being transferred to California, they apologized for assigning us a new one so late in the process. With just three months to go in a nearly year-long application approval, we can’t afford lengthy delays.

  This meeting was set up for us to be introduced to the new project manager, the person one step down from the DNPD chief who would be making the final decision on our drug. Essentially, she is the most important person in Enzo’s and my life at the moment.

  Lauren Conrad.

  No, not Lauren.

  Ada Flemming. The same person I’d just hit on like the hungover fool that I am.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Tanner,” she says, her grip strong and her message clear.

  She is pretty much anything but, and I am officially and completely screwed.

  4

  Hayden

  “Please tell me you didn’t hit on our new regulatory project manager.”

  Enzo and I are standing off to the side, apparently waiting for everyone else to filter back into the room. Or maybe he just wants to stand close enough that he can lay into me before everyone else returns to the room.

  “Hayden?” he whispers furiously.

  I’m watching the door for Lauren—or Ada, who was waylaid by the receptionist as we entered.

  “You said not to tell you, so . . .”

  I trail off just as she comes into the room.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “I didn’t know who she was,” I counter.

  “If you were here at nine, you would have.”

  Fair point. Everyone is making their way back to the table—about ten people from the FDA, plus Enzo and me.

  “I’m sorry about that. Long story.”

  As we move to sit, Enzo says something to the effect of, “I can’t wait to hear it,” and then gestures to the empty seat beside him.

  Avoiding Ada’s gaze—I’m not a total idiot—I make myself comfortable and wait for the hammer to drop. It doesn’t take long.

  “Now that we’re all here,” she says, not hiding her annoyance, “shall we get started?”

  My turn, I suppose.

  “I apologize for my tardiness,” I say, offering no excuse because I don’t really have one. Instead, I listen as introductions are made, for the second time I assume, and I’m filled in on what I missed earlier.

  If I thought our project manager smoking hot before, the way she takes charge of the meeting does nothing to waylay my fascination with this woman. She’s obviously respected by the others too. The room, made up of scientists, doctors and statisticians, listens intently to her recap of the process so far.

  “As you know, it’s not an ideal situation to have a new project manager fill in this late in the process, but with my colleague’s transfer, it was unavoidable. Let’s talk about where we are so far, and maybe Karlene can tell us about the monograph?”

  Instead of shifting my focus onto Karlene, another team member I haven’t met, I find myself drawn back to her.

  The woman in charge.

  The one with an amazing backside who smells like a cross-country road trip with the windows down and commands the room as easily as my father. How did she rise through the ranks so quickly? Our last project manager was probably double her age.

  Actually, I think I know the answer to that. She’s d
ynamic, sharp, and commanding.

  “The SSMRD will have to be consulted,” Karlene is saying. I pull out my notepad. Old school. Enzo laughs at the yellow legal pad I carry around, but it serves me well. For example, I’m able to figure out in two seconds flat the SSMRD stands for the Specific Subject Matter Review Division. Yes, I have a list of all the damn FDA acronyms. They’re out of control.

  “Is that standard procedure?” I ask when she’s finished.

  “With a drug such as this,” Karlene responds as she taps her finger on the conference desk, “yes. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “The bigger concern,” says the grey-haired man seated next to her, Randy, I think, “is the supervisory review. I know we’d originally discussed an October decision, but with the transition . . .”

  I sit up. This doesn’t sound good at all.

  “I’d expect at least a thirty-day delay. Does that sound right?” He looks at Ada, and so do I.

  For reasons I don’t care to explain to a table full of near strangers, that’s absolutely not going to work for us. But I hold off on saying so and let her answer.

  “I’d planned to talk to the sponsors about that”—she looks at Enzo and me—“but I won’t take up everyone else’s time. I know you’re all busy. Let’s get an update from each department first. We can stay afterward to discuss the timeline.”

  Everyone seems more than fine with her proposal. They continue around the table, giving an update on everything from the clinical trial review to toxicity reports. I try my best to listen, but the possibility of a delay is the only thing I can focus on.

  That and Ada. Every time she shifts position, I notice.

  And I also notice every glance my way.

  There’ve been at least three in the past hour. But none of them give any hint as to what she’s thinking. She seemed almost amused when she discovered who I was, but she’s all business now.

  “Do either of you have any questions for the team before they leave?”

  Enzo asks the medical officer a question. As always, he’s much more hands-on with the actual product. A chemist, and the person who actually made the discovery, he takes point on all things science-related. Honestly, he doesn’t really need me here, but we set the terms of our cooperation more than a year ago, and neither of us stray from them.

  On the other hand, FDA approval is a make-or-break part of the business, which means both of us have been as involved as possible even though Enzo takes point.

  “Any other questions?” she asks.

  I’m smart enough not to answer. It’s like a college professor asking for questions at the end of class. After the bell has rung. No one dares to say a word, and I won’t be the one who’s responsible for keeping the team in this meeting. Especially since I’m eager to get to the whole timing conversation.

  “OK, thanks for coming, everyone. If you gentlemen can stay, we have a few things to discuss.”

  When they leave, a very awkward silence descends on the room, making it feel a little claustrophobic. No windows. Bare, cream, clinical walls. Exactly the opposite of the look Enzo and I will be going for when we secure our new office space.

  “You mentioned a possible delay,” Enzo starts.

  Ada nods. “As I said, ideally the entire review team remains intact from start to finish. It’s even less desirable for the RPM to change mid-process.”

  RPM. Regulatory Project Manager. Aka Lauren Conrad. Aka Ada Flemming.

  “I apologize for any inconvenience, but a thirty-day delay is standard. I’ll need time to fully review the case, which I’ve already started, of course.”

  No, no, no, no.

  “With all due respect, Ms. Flemming—”

  “Doctor Flemming,” she corrects me. Dammit. Of course. Almost everyone here is either a medical doctor or PhD.

  “I apologize. Doctor Flemming.”

  Has she ever been naked on a boardroom table?

  Doubtful.

  “As you can imagine, we have our investors to consider. Our ability to go to market with our product in a timely manner relies on your approval.”

  “Not my approval. FDA approval. And that is usually the case with any NDA.”

  I have a mind to tell her “New Drug Application” isn’t all that much more difficult to say than NDA. And that her organization seems intent on excluding outsiders with their internal communication and lingo. But I don’t think she or Enzo would appreciate a lesson on exclusive language as a form of subtle ostracism.

  Nor will it help our cause.

  But still.

  “We’re as invested as anyone in making sure the antidote is safe,” I continue, “as it’s been shown to be in all of our preclinical and clinical trials—”

  “There is a process,” she cuts me off, “for a reason, Mr. Tanner.”

  She’s annoyed. And I should probably back off, but the thought of telling my father we’re looking at no less than thirty days, right after I assured him the shift in staffing wouldn’t be a problem . . . no. I can’t do it.

  “I understand . . .”

  “Hayden,” Enzo tries to intervene. But I’m not finished.

  “We certainly don’t want to undermine that process, but any delays could very well alter the face of this entire enterprise.”

  It sounds dramatic, but my words are one hundred percent true.

  I don’t dare look at Enzo.

  Ada sits back, watching me as I do her.

  That’s when I see it. The very same look she gave me outside the ladies’ room. Not that it matters. I won’t be lowering my bucket into that well.

  “I can appreciate your position. I’ve yet to work with a sponsor whose life savings or life’s work wasn’t somehow tied to FDA approval. But that doesn’t change the process.”

  I lean forward. “The process, no. The timeline, yes. It’s through no fault of ours that your agency has caused a delay because of staffing issues.”

  Her body position doesn’t move. But her eyes . . . they’re not as cool and collected as the rest of her. They’re spitting fire at me, actually.

  “I’m new to your case and will need time to properly review it. What exactly do you want from me, Mr. Tanner?”

  Oh, now that’s a loaded question.

  “We understand,” Enzo butts in. “What my partner is saying is just that we’re on an extremely sensitive timeline because of our unique investment agreement.”

  “I will do everything I can to shorten the delay. But you must understand my position as well.” She turns from Enzo to me. “If there are any missteps on my part, my boss might deny your application.”

  Are we talking paper-pushing missteps or something else? I’m pretty sure she just gave me a loud and clear message to back off. Not that it’s needed.

  “We appreciate that,” Enzo says. And just like that, the meeting is over. He stands. She stands. I have no choice but to concede.

  “You are the main point of contact,” she says to Enzo. “Am I correct?”

  He walks toward her and shakes her hand. “I am. And I look forward to working with you.”

  Before I can reach them, she turns to me, nods, and then begins to walk away.

  “I’ll send someone to show you out.”

  Just like that, she’s gone.

  Good riddance.

  “You’re a dead man, Tanner,” Enzo says, not that I need that assessment.

  I unwittingly make eye contact with Enzo and, knowing I stepped in it pretty good this time, attempt to get a smile out of him anyway. “That went well.”

  5

  Ada

  “There she is,” Karlene says cheerfully, “the woman of the hour.”

  Which is a nice thing to hear, except I regretted coming out the moment I opened the door. This isn’t an ordinary Saturday night at The Tap & Grill, our favorite hangout, and there’s an abundance of Mardi Gras beads and mini penis straws to prove it.

  I’m much too exhausted for this kind of scene. Besid
es, this is a bachelorette party for a bride I hardly know. She’s an old friend of Karlene’s, and though we’ve met a few times, she lives in Islip and doesn’t come around that often.

  “Hardly,” I answer, waving hello to Timmy, the bartender.

  “I already have your drink,” Karlene says as I approach the group.

  “You’re a gem,” I say, taking the vodka and club from her. “Thanks.”

  “Stacey, you’ve met Ada before.”

  I hug the bride-to-be, careful not to spill my vodka all over her or mess with her veil.

  “Congratulations. Almost. The wedding is next month, I hear?”

  Her huge smile tells me this isn’t their first pit stop, which I already knew from Karlene. To be honest, the only reason I’m here is that Kar dragged the whole damn bachelorette party to my favorite bar, claiming I couldn’t say no if they were only two blocks away.

  Which was a fair point.

  “Yep, Saturday the 20th,” Stacey says.

  She catches me looking at her very unique straw. “I told them, no veil. No penises. No stripper.”

  “Two out of three.” I laugh. “Someone doesn’t listen very well.”

  “I’m fully expecting a naked man at some point.” She lowers her voice. “But it’s fine. I didn’t really mean it.”

  I laugh. “So what’s the plan for the rest of the night?”

  Karlene jumps in. “We’ll stay here long enough to convince you to come to Flashbacks.”

  “In the Meatpacking District?”

  Stacey flags someone down at the entrance. “Yep. Please come?”

  As much as I love to dance, I hadn’t planned on staying out all night. Coming into a new account at this point means working weekends.

  “I’d love to, but . . .”

  The bride-to-be cocks her head to the side and gives me a plaintive look. Literally gives me big eyes as her friends look on.

  “Are you serious? You’re giving me puppy dog eyes right now,” I tease. Turning to Karlene, I say, “Where did you find her?”

  Both women know I’m done for, as if I’d say no to the bride. Which is how I find myself three vodkas later, my hair in desperate need of a hair tie after dancing at Flashbacks to four ’80s songs in a row.