— J.R.R. Tolkien
Sage Meadows
I was feeling good about the way the project was going and the fact that Britni Hill would be coming in for her preliminary visit. I wasn't impressed with her celebrity but knew having her as the public face of the clinical trials would help establish our visibility and for some people, our credibility.
Actually, it was Dean Edward's idea, but he was very astute in monitoring public opinion and protecting the reputation of the university as well.
I suppose the whole topic of reversing aging seems to some people to be voodoo science despite the advances made in gene therapy and years of diligent research compiling data and analyzing outcomes. Regardless, we're on the brink of presenting the world with undeniable proof that we can alter the arc of human destiny by controlling our genes and extending our longevity— and who could have an issue with that?
"Working late?"
I looked up from my cluttered desk to see Sage Meadows framed in the doorway. She was outlined in half-light in a black turtleneck and contrasting honey-coloured hair. She made a dramatic entrance. Not unlike her.
"Sage," I smiled, "this is a pleasant surprise. What brings you across campus?"
"I need to talk to you confidentially about the project. I thought we could go for dinner."
My smile disappeared and I sobered immediately. This was not a social call.
"Is there anything wrong?" I croaked, trying not to look apprehensive.
"My car's outside—I prefer not to discuss it here."
I nodded. "It will take me a few minutes to secure the office and retrieve my things."
"Leave your personal items— I'll drop you back here later. I'll be waiting in the car."
Sage Meadows was a force to be reckoned with and someone whom I'd approach with extreme caution. We dated two years ago and it ended badly.
She was now the Psychology Department Chair and a member of the Dean's council. If she had a grievance against me, she'd be a formidable opponent.
Last thing I wanted to do was alienate her, especially at this crucial point in lunching our project. But I had absolutely no idea what was on her mind. That being the case, I preferred to keep our contact pleasant and not stir up old resentments.
I exited the office quickly and spotted Sage waiting by the curb. She drove a gun-metal Lexus with dark tinted windows and it suited her well.
There was no cheery banter when I got in, nor any as we drove away, as I expected. It was a familiar, uncomfortable feeling. When she'd appear at staff parties I'd always joke with colleagues, all lights dim when Sage walks in. She didn't have a spotlight on her, but she commanded attention as if she did.
I knew she'd be saving her comments for when we were sipping wine, but I humoured her caustic manner not intending to provoke her temper—I had seen that too many times.
I was surprised to see we were headed to the Village and I mused, Sassafraz? —that would be an elite choice, but totally unlike Sage.
It turned out to be The Hazleton Hotel. We surrendered the car to valet parking and a hostess led us back to a secluded, private room already candle-lit and with a bottle of cab sav opened, waiting to be poured.
"I see you remembered my taste in wine," I chuckled.
"Of course," she grinned mischievously, "I try not to remember too much more."
I coloured and saw a glint of victory in her eyes. She always was adept at making making small surgical cuts that barely bled, but would certainly sting.
"The only thing's that's missing is a fire," she smiled, "or do you still enjoy that?"
"I have a fireplace in my townhouse," I replied, pouring the wine.
"You always were so literal, Eli—nuances elude you."
I shrugged, preferring to be teased, rather than accused. The suspense was wearing on me but I didn't dare upset the order of her plan.
"I'm hearing good things about you, Eli—Dean Edwards is impressed."
"That's reassuring," I smiled blandly.
"And that's why I wanted to talk to you—to make sure success continues and nothing detracts from our stellar reputation in academia."
A shiver of fear ran up my spine. "Is there something that could detract from our reputation?" I asked.
She nodded. “Fortunately, you have me looking out for you. Don’t worry, I haven’t spoken to Dean Edwards.”
I stared at her in dread. I knew all her tells, all her cadences, all the unspoken words that hung like cartoon balloons over our heads, waiting to be broken.
I knew exactly what she meant. She hadn’t spoked to Dean Edwards…
Yet.