Then her eyes go distant and she starts to tap her teeth with the tip of her nails. A classic Daphne tell that she’s having a big idea.
“The current serum is made from the distilled essence from the x hybrida rose, right? From pulped petals and blossoms?”
Her bright green flecked eyes come to mine, lit with excitement. “But what if it’s like the yew tree?”
“The what now?”
“Taxol, from the yew tree!”
She zooms backwards and turns so fast with her wheelchair that she almost pulls a wheelie on her way over to a computer in the corner. I can barely keep up with her.
By the time I join her, she’s already got several webpages pulled up.
“Oh, Taxol.” I thought the name sounded familiar, but now that I see what she’s pulled up, I’m reminded of exactly where I’ve seen the name. It’s also a non-chemotherapy drug, developed from— “the bark of yew trees,” I remember out loud.
“Exactly,” Daphne says like I just solved the puzzle.
“What does that have to do with us?”
But Daphne has buzzed to the other side of the room and is pulling out several three-ring binders of old experiments off the shelf. She’s skimming through and discarding almost as fast as she can pull them down.
“Daph, what are you looking for?”
“I know when we first discovered the oncologic applications for the hybrida essence, Belladonna did studies on the properties of the entire plant. Where are those? Are they only at the Belladonna offices?”
I’m still not sure where she’s going but I can help. “I have copies of all of Belladonna’s records.”
She pauses a moment, her head swinging around my direction.
I hold up my hands in a what? gesture. “It was part of the deal when I bought the patents back. I said I wanted to know what I was buying and I wanted all accompanying research. I have copies of everything.”
This time it’s her shaking her head. “You conniving little…”
“Do you want to finish that sentence, or do you want help finding what you’re looking for?”
Her face stays hard only another moment before she breaks up laughing. “You’re incorrigible. But I guess you’re my incorrigible. Okay, get your butt over here and help me find what I’m looking for.”
I’ll accept any excuse to be close to her. I scooted over to her side.
“What is it that we're looking for again?” I ask as I start to sort through the endless shelves of binders. They could have sent the information to me digitally but that would’ve made it easy on me. Instead, boxes upon boxes of these binders were delivered.
“Ha! Sounds like Dad,” Daphne says before going a little sad. But soon she’s too busy flipping through binders, her eyes scanning pages, and she’s distracted, thank gods.
I grab a couple of binders as well, and am just about to ask again what we are looking for when Daphne suddenly slams down the binder she’s looking at and declares, “Ha! There! Look!”
I lean over her shoulder and look. At first all I can see is the page full of running columns of numbers. Gibberish. But then I look at the top and sides of the page and start to decipher what the numbers represent. What it all means.
“Holy…”
“Shit!” Daphne finishes excitedly for me. “Holy shit, right?” she whispers. “We’ve been using the wrong part of the plant. In the yew tree, the medicine is in its bark. We’ve been using the rose, but the real medicine is in the thorns.”
Twelve
Logan
No. It can’t be that simple. I tell Daphne as much.
But she just pounds her fingers at the numbers on the page. “We weren’t trying immunotherapy before. We were just trying to kill the cells. But now that we’re trying to insert living cells that reproduce and target the diseased cells, just look—”
She slides the notebook in front of me. “The properties of the blossoms and pulp that we thought we might have to try to figure out how to synthesize and allow to fix our longevity problem?” she shakes her head and thumps the binder again. “It’s all here already. We were just looking in the wrong place. Or, when we were looking in the right place, we were looking for the wrong thing.”
I keep staring down at the numbers. Could it be real, what she’s saying? Or is she just desperate and seeing miracles that aren’t really there?
Even more dangerous? What she’s saying makes sense.
A tremor works its way through my body. And it’s only then that I realize, deep down, I’ve been absolutely sure that I will lose her. That we’re living on borrowed time. That something and someone so good and precious could never truly be mine.
For all my brash confidence in declaring I would cure her, I knew in reality the fickle fates would snatch her away far too soon. But I ignored all my fear for her.
She needed strength and optimism so I gave her strength and optimism. And ignored my own underlying terror of what I was sure would come.
But what if that’s just my own fucked up past and not…real? What if she doesn’t have to die from this? What if I don’t have to be punished forever for my sins?
I can’t speak, can barely breathe as I hurry over and pull on a fresh pair of medical gloves, then get the blood drawing kit out and ready.
Daphne is quiet and wide-eyed as I approach her with the kit. I think the ramifications of what we might have just stumbled on are finally starting to hit her. But at least the blood draw is familiar. I wrap the rubber tubing around the upper top of her arm, find the vein, and draw several tubes of blood.
“Do we need to go harvest some vines and thorns from the greenhouse?” Daphne asks.
“No, I have some on hand already.” A good thing, because the process of distilling even a milliliter of concentrated oil from any part of a rose takes a lot of raw material and processing.
Daphne claps. “So we can really see if this will work?”
“The batch might be too old, so we might get inconclusive results, don’t get your hopes up—”
“This is going to be great. Stop being such a fart in a jam jar!”
Okay, that made me smile. “I can’t remember, is that one Scottish?”
“Welsh.”
Thirteen
Daphne
“Babe. Babe. Wake up. The results are in.”
I roll over and squint at Logan. He doesn’t look happy or sad. He just looks like Logan—intense. His intensity softens as he takes in my face.
“What is it?” I whisper around the terror in the pit of my stomach. “Did it work?”
He leans closer and for a horrible moment I just know he’s going to say it failed, and hold and comfort me.
But then he says: “It did, baby. It worked.”
I gasp as the fist around my middle abruptly lets go. “Oh my god,” I sag forward, into Logan’s arms. “Oh my god.”
There is so much to do, so much I want to ask him, but his mouth is on mine and in this moment I can't do anything but be with him.
I claw off the bed sheets and my clothes, and clamber onto Logan, our lips frantic on each other’s. He turns so we’re both lying side by side on the bed, still clinging to one another and kissing. I’m breathing him in, deep lungfuls of oxygen and Logan. He is my source.
“I need you,” he murmurs against my throat. He’s still half-clothed, but my hands are up under his shirt, stroking over his acres of muscles. I scoot into place under him and hiss when he breaches my entrance. I dig my nails into his skin, urging him faster. I want him to ride me hard and let our orgasms blow up like a summer storm, quick as lightning. I want to feel him the next day, and forever.
But he won’t let me. He sets the pace, brutally slow, surging into me with increasing force.
Pleasure surges, a white hot force burning through me. I convulse around him, and cry out as his cock continues to batter me.
Orgasms cascade through me, each greater than the last. They hit me from all sides and spin me sidew
ays. The only constant is Logan, rocking over me, grinding against me.
When he finally comes, I hang on for dear life and hope this moment is real.
He collapses over me and I cling to him, not wanting him to shift his weight. He’s my rock, pinning me to earth. My knight who fought Death and won. Strange that winning feels as scary as losing.
I speak my worry before it chokes me. “It might not work again. I mean, we’ll have to run more tests.”
“Already started them.” He raises his head, and his certainty blows my doubts away. “But this is it, baby. We found the answer.”
And I know it’s true.
* * *
Logan
I look down at the beautiful woman lying in my arms and my mind starts spinning. I can’t believe we’ve found the answer after all these years. Now we just need to synthesize the production of our new drug.
But it’s only now as I lay here that I start to think through the actual practicalities of that. I just saw the results, verified them twice to make sure I wasn’t getting excited about nothing, then ran up here to Daphne to tell her the good news.
In other plant-based drug trials, especially one based on a limited supply like ours when such a massive amount of product is needed to produce even a milliliter…and Daphne will need a lot more than that…
Now that we know the molecular makeup, we have to create a synthetic form. They did it for Taxol, the cancer drug discovered from the bark of the yew tree Daphne mentioned the other day.
A pit forms in my stomach. But it could take years. Does Daphne have years? But we made the discovery, I could get her in the first clinical trial. As long as we are in control of production.
I glance around us at the cold stone walls.
A makeshift basement lab in a cold, drafty castle is not going to cut it. We need a lab. A fully functioning, fully-staffed lab working around the clock on this.
My chest goes tight as I roll out of bed as smoothly as I can, careful not to wake Daphne. Where the hell am I going to get a lab?
Belladonna has the labs but as the Rose Garden banquet made clear, they’re far more concerned with making their new business partner Adam Archer happy than maintaining any relationship with Daphne. And after punching their golden boy plus having security called on me…
Shit! Why couldn’t I keep my fucking temper under control?
I storm back down the stairs and head straight for the liquor cabinet. But before I can pour myself two fingers of scotch, I slam the cabinet closed.
I need to be clearheaded. Think. Think. I slam my head with my palm.
My mentor left me with this place and a fair chunk of money, but it’s not an unending well of resources. I’ve been sparing no expense as it is, and am running dangerously low on liquid capital. But if Daphne died, what did it matter? What did any of it matter?
Now, though. To get so close and not be able to go the distance…
No. My fists clench.
I’ll never give up on her.
I breathe out long and deep.
Today was a success. Daphne has a future now. And I will do anything, pay any price…
Humble myself in any way.
I look up, nodding. I know exactly what I have to do.
* * *
I stand with my arms crossed, glaring up at the tall high-rise with Archer Industries emblazoned across the top. And the entrance. And on signs all over the sidewalk.
Seems like a sign of insecurity to me if you feel like you have to plaster your name over everything.
Get it over with. Stop stalling.
My feet stay rooted in place.
There’s only one thought that finally gets me moving: for Daphne.
I force my arms to my side and push through the revolving doors.
I take it as a great sign when the security guard reaches for his Taser the second I walk in. He’s a big bastard, I’ll give him that. Tall, with a shaved head, and muscles that strain his uniform, Adam obviously got this guy for actual security and not just some ex-mall-cop looking for an easy pension.
I pause in the doorway, holding my hands up. “I come in peace. I just want to see Mr. Archer. Junior,” I clarify. I think Adam’s dad still has offices in the building even though he only works part-time now after passing off most responsibilities to Adam the past few years.
“He’ll want to take the meeting.” I have no doubt that Adam will relish in the opportunity to see me eat crow.
The security guard doesn’t move his hand off his Taser. What, do they have me on a watchlist here or something? Or is it just my face that has this guy so damn Taser happy?
I tamp down my temper that rises at the thought. This isn’t about me. I’ll just have to keep reminding myself of that over and over as I wait as patiently as I’m able while the security guard calls upstairs.
I can’t hear what he’s saying, since he’s stepped behind a partition, but he glances my way often as the conversation goes on for some time before the security guard finally buzzes me through.
He’s glaring at me as he hands me a visitor’s pass. “Straight to the top floor. Don’t make any detours or you’ll be escorted from the building immediately.”
I grin at him, making sure to turn the mangled left side of my face towards him as I do. “Whatever you say, boss.”
He glowers and looks like he’s about to yank the pass back, but I’m already halfway toward the elevator banks.
Far too quickly, I’m at Adam’s office door. His assistant rushes me right in. Before I’m ready, frankly.
Then I’m standing in front of him. My arch enemy. The man who almost fucking killed me. And I’m here to ask him a favor.
My gut roils but I stand my ground and hold my shoulders straight. “Adam.” I incline my head in greeting.
He stands as well, but makes no move to come around from behind his desk. Instead he crosses his arms. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“We finally did it. We found a cure. For Battleman’s.”
Adam doesn’t so much as twitch. It’s as if I didn’t even speak. The bastard is going to make me work for it.
“Daphne’s life can be saved now. It doesn’t have to be like it was for her mom. Do you get what I’m saying?” I ask when he still doesn’t respond.
Finally, he arches an eyebrow. “What’s any of this got to do with me?”
Furious fire burns in my gut but I bite it down. Of course he’s going to play games. It’s the only way he knows. If I’m going to get anywhere with him, I have to play it and outmatch him. All the while letting him think he’s winning.
“I own all the patents. But you know that since you’ve acquired Belladonna. Belladonna doesn’t own any of the proprietary research—it’s all mine. But I’ll sign it all back to you.”
He barks out a merciless laugh. “And why would you do that?”
“Because, you idiot, I would do anything, give up anything, to save Daphne’s life.” I can’t help my stoic mask slipping and some of my anger bubbles out.
“Ah, there he is,” Adam says, smiling in satisfaction. “There’s the snarling beast I’m used to.”
“You know what, fuck it,” I say. “We hate each other’s guts. If we had the opportunity, maybe we’d even kill each other.”
He smiles at that and his eyes go disturbingly dark. Oh, this fucker wants to kill me, there’s no doubt about that. Truth is, if I could get away with it, or even if I couldn’t and there was no Daphne, I just might…
But there is Daphne.
“But I’m gambling on the chance that you love money more than you hate me. And there’s a shit ton of money in this for you. We need a lab to synthesize the new drug.”
“But it won’t be applicable just for Battleman’s,” I hurriedly continue. “What we are developing will be the new face of the fight against cancer. This is a gold mine and you can have all the profits. We just need the lab.”
Adam eyes me quizzically, his hand going to his ch
in. He is quiet a long while before finally asking, “And Daphne will die without this?”
His question shouldn’t annoy me but it does. Does he still have feelings for her after all? But again, I swallow my pride. “She might be able to survive this latest relapse, but considering her family history…” I close my eyes and nod, finally telling the truth that I haven’t even admitted to myself. “Yes, she will eventually die without this. If not this time, then the next.”
Adam swears under his breath. At least I’m finally getting through to him.
I look up to find him staring out the window. “So you’ll help? We can make a deal? My patents for your laboratories?”
For another long moment, Adam’s silent.
When he finally does start to speak, it’s not the simple yes I’m expecting.
“Do you know when I first met you, I liked you a lot,” he says. “I thought you were ‘of the earth.’ That was the gracious term my mother used for people like you. The unfortunate poor.”
I grind my teeth. You need him. You can put up with his elitist bullshit meanderings for a few minutes and then you’ll be out of here.
“But then I got to know you. And that’s when I realized you didn’t know your place. You were too big for your own britches.” My fists clench but I stay quiet as he continues. “We could have been a team from the beginning. Unstoppable. Your research skills. My charisma and connections.”
He finally turns from the window and looks at me. “But you just wouldn’t play ball, would you? It was your arrogance. You just had to have your name on everything. You had to have all the praise and adulation.”
Is he fucking serious? This is literally the guy who plasters his name on every single fucking thing he can. He can’t blame it on his dad, either. I know it’s been him who’s pushed to have the Civic Center renamed the Adam Archer Civic Center after donating fifty million to have it renovated.
Billionaire’s Captive: A Beauty and the Rose Box Set Page 42