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  “No, no, and nothing,” I said, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and pouring a glass of red wine for myself. “Do you want one?” I nodded at my glass.

  “Um, sounds like I need one. You didn’t say anything to him? Why not?”

  “Lisa, this man, he’s like a GQ model. I mean, you should have seen him. Perfect black hair, eyes, the square jaw, broad, muscular shoulders, the whole nine. I couldn’t speak to him; I was too busy acting like a teenager at a rock concert.”

  “You wasted a perfect dress because he’s hot?” Lisa shook her head. “Sometimes I can’t believe we’re friends.”

  “What was I supposed to do, go up to him blushing and stuttering and try to impress him by tripping all over my words? No thank you.” I took a long drink of my wine and closed my eyes. I knew I had missed a big opportunity tonight.

  “You kill me sometimes, you know that? Okay, so, what’s the plan for tomorrow night? Now that you’ve seen him, you’re ready for him, was he packing, by the way?”

  “Lisa!”

  “What? Was he? He sounds perfect, I figured you probably eventually worked your way down to his package.”

  “He was wearing dress pants. Perfectly tailored dress pants.”

  “Bummer,” Lisa smirked, sipping her wine. “Is he single?”

  “I doubt it. I can’t imagine he would be.”

  “Did he wear a ring?”

  “No ring.”

  “Hm,” Lisa frowned. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean much these days. You googled him, right?”

  “Not during his lecture, no,” I said wryly.

  “What the hell, what are you waiting for?”

  “The end of the interrogation, officer,” I tilted my head at Lisa and she punched me in the shoulder as she stood up.

  “I’m getting my laptop and we’re going to figure out Mr. Mysterious and everything he’s about.”

  I sighed as I heard her scrambling around her room to unearth her laptop. With any luck at all, he would be married and that would end Lisa’s interest. But, a voice inside my head told me, him being married was not the information I was hoping to find…

  “Okay,” Lisa said, walking back to the kitchen with her laptop open and resting on her forearm. She was typing one-handed as she walked. “Oliver Weeks.” She pressed a few keys and set the laptop on the table.

  I leaned in as a picture of him popped up on the right side of the screen. “That’s him,” I said.

  Lisa whistled. “Holy smokes, yeah, he’s hot. Damn.” She looked at me. “And you didn’t talk to him when you were given a specific invitation to introduce yourself? Have I truly taught you nothing?”

  I sighed. “Click there. It’s a news article from last week.” We clicked on at least fifty websites with information on Oliver Weeks. Some were features on him, others were about Neuotova , and others were rags speculating about the exact same question we were wondering about: was he married. All of the pictures we saw with women in them, the woman was always identified only as “Weeks’ date,” and no woman was pictured twice. We learned he was forty, had lived in the city since he’d dropped out of college, and had been born and spent his childhood on the West Coast.

  Lisa and I finished the bottle of wine and I called it a night, promising her that I would go out tomorrow and buy a dress before the next lecture, and that I would definitely introduce myself tomorrow night.

  I went to bed and tried to sleep, but I couldn’t get Dr. Weeks out of my mind. When I did finally drift off, I dreamed about him. I kept waking up and looking at the clock to see that only an hour or two had gone by. You’re losing your mind, I thought. Get a grip.

  By the time class rolled around the next night, though, I was feeling better, more confident. I’d bought a dress similar to the one I’d worn of Lisa’s, and I did my hair and make up carefully. Suddenly the idea of wearing jeans to the lecture the night before seemed absolutely ludicrous. Tonight, I was preparing for an actual job interview. I had a really good feeling about Dr. Weeks, and not just because he was hot. He had an energy about him, an alpha male sort of thing. I knew that he recognized talent and intelligence and, if he wanted to take me on as an intern, that would be a huge boon for my future in research.

  I arrived on campus early once again, but, this time, the lecture hall was emptier than it had been the night before. I saw Dr. Evans and, after a few minutes, Dr. Weeks walked in the side door with his briefcase in his hand. I waited for him to set up his materials, and then I made my way to the front of the room.

  “Dr. Weeks,” I said, trying to control the shakiness in my voice. Breathe, I told myself. “Hi, my name is Becka Jasper. I’m a graduate student with Dr. Evans.” I reached out my hand to shake his, which he had already automatically extended.

  “Becka, of course,” he said warmly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “I really enjoyed your lecture last night. It was fascinating.”

  “Thank you,” he said, smiling. I reminded myself to take another deep breath at the sight of his straight, perfect teeth.

  “I was wondering if I could take you out for a cup of coffee before the lecture tomorrow night. I’m a researcher and I’d love to hear more of your thoughts about the success of the company and where you think the future is going in food chemistry research.”

  Dr. Weeks smiled. “I think I could swing that, as long as we can throw in a sandwich, and it’s my treat. You’re a student and I’m a CEO; it would be indecent for me to ask you to pay.”

  I smiled. “That sounds just fine, Dr. Weeks, thank you.”

  “Call me Oliver,” he said, and I felt my knees tremble.

  “Oliver.”

  “Here’s my card,” he said, taking a business card from his breast pocket. “My personal cell is on there. Text me tomorrow and let me know where to meet you. Should we say 5:30?”

  “Yes, Sir, I mean, Oliver, yes,” I was blushing again, furiously, and it was time to bail. “Thank you, I’m looking forward to it.” I reached out to shake his hand again. He shook it and held on as he said,

  “I’m looking forward to it as well, Becka.” He looked into my eyes with his intense gaze and I felt myself weakening. It wasn’t just his good looks; it was the energy moving between us when we touched. Even just shaking hands, I felt a warmth shoot through me straight to parts of my body I didn’t typically like to think about while I was in class.

  “Okay, well, I better go sit,” I said.

  “Enjoy the lecture,” he said. “I’ll be asking for a critique tomorrow.” He smiled and, as he did, the skin in the corners of his eyes crinkled gently.

  I laughed and found my way to my seat. I hoped he was kidding about asking for a critique on the lecture, because, when I got home, I could barely remember a word he’d said.

  Oliver

  I had been right, Becka had been the gorgeous woman with the black hair I noticed last night. How could I not notice; she stood out like a piece of gold among pieces of rusted tin. I had planned to seek her out tonight after my lecture, but she beat me to it, finding me before the lecture even began. Once again, she was dressed beautifully; I liked what she was wearing tonight even more than what she had on last night. She looked more natural in it somehow.

  She invited me out to coffee and I accepted, of course. I was surprised at how forward she was; typically women are a little tongue-tied around me; it’s why I tend to avoid dating. But, Becka had already proven herself to be different. I had trouble keeping my mind on my lecture that night; every time I looked out at the audience, my eyes seemed drawn to her. She had her eyes on me, seemingly fascinated by everything I was saying. I smiled at her and she smiled back, but I only did that once, because, as soon as she smiled back at me, I lost my place in my presentation.

  I didn’t get the chance to talk to her the next day; more of Dr. Evans’ students had questions than the night before, and, by the time I was able to see through the waiting crowd, Be
cka had disappeared. I waited the rest of the night and the next morning for her text. I had three business meetings with international clients and I kept one eye on my computer and the other eye on my phone. I had nearly given up when a number I didn’t recognize pinged a text.

  Hi, it’s Becka. Let’s meet at Franks on Fifth for coffee?

  The relief at seeing her words on my screen surprised me. I thought I actually felt my muscles relax. That can’t be, I thought. It’s a text. From a woman. That’s not an unusual thing in your world. Still, it took me a moment to figure out exactly how to respond. After running through a few responses in my head, I decided to go simple. Easy. Direct.

  Perfect, see you then. I clicked send. That out of the way, I was able to concentrate on my work once again.

  The day flew by and, by the time I had finished my last meeting for the day with a senator from Minnesota who had some connections at the University of Minnesota, I had just enough time to freshen up in the restroom before I went to find Franks on Fifth.

  I looked at my reflection in the mirror and nodded. Not bad. A little gray around the temples, but I’d been working out regularly since high school and had managed to keep the trademark CEO paunch at bay.

  I waved goodbye to Megan as I left the office, ignoring the knowing smile on her face. I drove myself to the coffee shop, my GPS guiding the way. Normally my driver takes me, but, since I was teaching at the college this week, I had given him the evenings off.

  When I pulled up to the coffee shop, I saw Megan sitting at a table outside, and immediately changed my mind about her wearing dresses. Tonight, she wore jeans and a tank top, and they looked like a second skin on her. She had curves in all the right places, curves the dresses hadn’t shown, and she held herself differently, more confident and comfortable. I honked the horn lightly and she looked up. I waved, she smiled and waved back.

  I parked the car and took my suit coat off, laying it on the passenger seat to keep it from wrinkling. I turned my phone off—something I never did—and got out of the car.

  Becka stood as I approached, and I found myself smiling, and confused. I was meeting a graduate student in a coffee shop. I had asked my assistant how to text a date. I turned my phone off. It was as through I was a different person whenever anything with Becka was involved. I would have to be careful here; I had no intention of getting involved with anyone romantically. It was too distracting, and I had too much on my hands already running the company the world knew about and running the one only a handful of people knew about. A woman didn’t fit anywhere in that picture.

  “Hi, Dr. Weeks, I mean, Oliver. Thanks again for meeting me.”

  “Hi Becka, this looks like a great place!” And it did. It was clearly a college hangout, with students everywhere studying, relaxing, on dates. The décor was eclectic and the lights were bright enough to allow students to study, but dim enough to cover the dingy walls behind the artwork and book shelves.

  “It’s a favorite among the grad students; we do a lot of study groups here. They don’t have alcohol, which kind of sucks, but, sometimes, that’s actually better.” She grinned at me and I smiled back.

  We ordered the same thing—coffee, black—and returned to the outside table Becka had chosen.

  “So,” I began. “Dr. Evans actually mentioned you to me before you introduced yourself.” She began to blush immediately. “Which was a good thing. Tell me about your thesis and what areas you’re looking to focus your research on in the future.”

  She began to talk and I watched her lips, full and red, as she spoke. Her eyes were passionate, they were a brown so dark her pupils were nearly invisible, and she used her hands when she talked. Her fingers were long and slender, and she wore a fitbit on one wrist. The orange tank top she wore looked beautiful against her skin, and it cradled her breasts, exposing just the tops and her cleavage as she leaned over to take a sip of coffee. For a moment, I imagined reaching across the table and, with my index finger and thumb, gently plucking one of the straps from her shoulder, letting that side of the tank top fall to expose her beautiful breast.

  “That’s fascinating,” I said, having heard only a portion of what she’d said. I heard enough to know that she was whip smart, articulate, and elegant in how she held herself when she talked about her passions.

  We talked until it was nearly time to go to the lecture. I couldn’t believe how fast the time had flown by.

  “I can’t believe how fast the time went,” I said as we recycled our cups.

  “I know, I feel like we just barely got started talking,” Becka said. I thought for a moment, her intense gaze on me.

  “Tell you what, what are you doing after the lecture tonight?” I asked.

  “I’d just planned on going home,” she said.

  “Well, you were right, not serving alcohol is a major flaw in an otherwise very fine establishment. What would you say about continuing our conversation over a glass of wine somewhere after the lecture?”

  She smiled widely. “I would love that.” Her mouth was gorgeous, and her smile was like decorating a diamond with rubies. I took a breath, reminded myself to be cool.

  “Great,” I said, as smoothly as possible. “Wait for me after and we can go together. Did you drive here or do you need a ride?”

  “I’m good, I rode my bike,” she said, pointing to a bike with a basket on the back chained to the side of the building.

  “Then I’ll see you at the lecture.”

  “See you then, Oliver,” she said, rolling my name through her lips and sending an involuntary shiver through me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to look at her even once during the lecture tonight. Last night I just lost my place; who knows what would happen tonight.

  Becka

  All through the lecture I was completely distracted. Having coffee with Oliver had been so much more amazing than I could have imagined. He seemed impressed with my studies and how I saw my future, but, more, I had full permission to look at him for over an hour. To watch his eyes as he listened, to notice if he had any nervous habits or not—I didn’t see any—and to be in his space. When he invited me to continue the evening, date?, after with a cocktail, I nearly died. I’m sure my face blushed bright red, as it did any time I thought about him.

  Tonight’s focus was on corporations who attempt to undermine the research of companies like Neuotova by destroying research, hacking into the computer system, or even breaking into buildings and damaging test subjects or equipment. Oliver gravely stated that the people who do these crimes often believe they’re helping a greater good, but, really, they’re doing more damage to the entire human race. It was a pretty sobering lecture, and it made sense why he had started with a history of Neuotova and moved on from there. The organization of his presentation was impressive. I’d heard other guest lecturers who were business people but were clearly not teachers. I thought that Oliver probably could have been a really great teacher if he hadn’t wanted to be a millionaire. And was he a millionaire? Or was he a billionaire? Did I go to coffee with a billionaire tonight? I looked down at my jeans, with tears in both knees and one in my upper thigh. Yes, I probably did, I thought.

  After the lecture ended, I sat and waited for Oliver. Each night more students, mostly female, had gathered to ask him questions. I noticed that several girls were there night after night, asking different questions. I shook my head. He glanced up at me a few times, smiling, and, of course, I couldn’t help but smile back. I felt excitement surging through my body every time he looked up. I was feeling nervous, more nervous for the drink than I had felt for the coffee, and I didn’t think that was possible.

  When the group had dissipated and the last of the giggling girls had gathered their bags and left the lecture hall, Oliver, Dr. Evans, and I remained.

  “Oh, good,” Dr. Evans said. “You were able to meet.”

  “Yes,” Oliver said. “Your student is quite fascinating.” He looked over at me and smiled.


  “I knew that you would be impressed. She’s our best.”

  “We’re actually going out for a glass of wine to continue a conversation we started earlier, would you like to join us?” Oliver asked.

  I felt my eyes widen and my skin flush again. He was inviting Dr. Evans along? That was fine, of course, but…that would insure that he did not think we were on a date. I crossed my fingers and hoped she would refuse.

  “I’d love to, but…” she hesitated. “Well, okay, maybe just one.”

  “Great,” I said.

  We all agreed to meet at a bar that was fairly close to campus, and was actually on my way home. The whole way there I tried to get myself to be okay with the fact that Dr. Evans was coming along. Tried to remind myself that it wasn’t a big deal. She was my professor and I liked her, and Oliver and I were not on a date. He was probably interviewing me for a position with his company at best, and was using me to get to Dr. Evans at worst. Either way, I couldn’t do anything about it. What I could do, though, was stop fantasizing about capturing the affections of a billionaire.

  When I got to the bar, Dr. Evans and Oliver were already there. They had taken a table outside and were seated across from each other at a table for four. I grabbed the seat between them, and we ordered a bottle of red to share.

  Dr. Evans and Oliver spent some of the time talking about the lectures; Dr. Evans was, as I had been, impressed with his skills as a teacher and presenter. I contributed to the conversation as I could, but mostly I tried to get a read on if there was chemistry between Oliver and Dr. Evans. I didn’t sense anything, but, of course, I didn’t really know one way or the other. We finished the bottle and the server came by to ask if we wanted another.

  “You two can have another if you’d like,” Dr. Evans said, “but I’m going to beg off and head home. I’ve got an eight o’clock class tomorrow morning and too much red wine doesn’t mix well with that.” She smiled and took out her wallet.