Dirty Dining (25 page)

Jeremy brought Brice to the edge twice, backing off before going too far. Then Brice nudged Jeremy off him.

“I had a different idea for how to end this project.”

Jeremy licked his lips. Brice liked that. “Yes?”

“I’ll need very special ass-istance. Are you up to the task?”

“Oh, I haven’t got all my office supplies with me.” Why hadn’t he brought condoms? Nowhere to hide them since he came in here naked.

“I grabbed a few things from the supply closet.” Brice pulled a condom out of his pocket. “Can you help me wrap this project up?”

“My pleasure.” Jeremy rolled the condom down. He stood up and lay face down across the desk.

“Is that how you want this?” Brice asked. He wasn’t using his fake boss tone.

“Yes, sir.”

Jeremy felt Brice’s hands on his ass, spreading him wide, and felt a finger at his hole.

“You’re already slicked up!”

Brice seemed pleased at Jeremy’s second little surprise, if the way he slid right in was any indication. Given Brice’s state of arousal, it didn’t take long before the project came to a successful conclusion for Brice, while Jeremy thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it.

What he didn’t expect was for Brice to put him in the desk chair and proceed to give him a blowjob that rated eleven on a scale of one to ten. It was extra exciting being completely nude while a man wearing a suit and tie went down on him. He hadn’t known until then it was another of his fantasies.

W
HEN
J
EREMY
finally collected his clothes again, much later, he spotted a text from Dr. Morrell.

Big news. Come to my office first thing tomorrow.

No details on what the big news was. But they’d sent off a preliminary report that afternoon about Jeremy’s latest results. Maybe PharmaTek would come through and restore the funding levels and Jeremy’s stipend.

“You look happy, and not just from what happened in my office.”

“Yeah, my advisor has some news for me. I need to leave early for a meeting with him tomorrow morning. Our sponsor must have been pleased with the latest results.”

“Can you tell me about them?”

“I’ve been dying to tell you, but I probably shouldn’t. It’s covered under my nondisclosure agreement.”

“I won’t ask again, but when you can, I’d like to hear more about it.”

Brice’s interest and his easy acceptance of the constraints relaxed Jeremy. “Let’s get to sleep so I’ll be awake for the meeting.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

They kissed briefly, then snuggled together under the thick comforter.

Tomorrow’s meeting would only add to the perfect week he was having so far.

T
HE
MEETING
went better than Jeremy expected. PharmaTek was thrilled with his latest data and wanted him to prepare a more detailed report. They also asked for some additional tests to be performed. The work would keep Jeremy too busy to see Brice except for the one dinner already scheduled at the club.

Brice would be just as disappointed they wouldn’t have an overnight at his place, but he would understand. He knew how important Jeremy’s work was to him.

He scheduled a meeting with Rhoda and Varun to discuss the project and the workload for the next week.

B
RICE
ENTERED
his company’s building in a great mood. He’d had such a great time with Jeremy the night before, playing another one of his fantasy games. Not usually his thing; he’d only played to humor Jeremy. At least that was how it started, though it quickly turned out to be sexy and fun. Jeremy took Brice out of his comfort zone, out of his staid, predictable world, and infused it with laughter and excitement Brice hadn’t experienced in a long time.

He hummed a nameless tune as he rode the elevator and exited on the eighteenth floor.

“Morning,” he said to Sarah, one of the associates. She nodded her head but kept walking.

Then he spotted Watkins. He almost felt like thanking Watkins for dragging him to the club that first night, though it had been practically kicking and screaming. “Morning, Charles,” Brice said.

Watkins frowned and didn’t respond or even look at Brice.

What the hell was going on? Had someone died? He glanced toward Ron’s office as he went past, but the door was closed. Also unusual.

When Brice got to his own office, he found a note taped to the monitor:

Come see me
.

Ron’s scrawl was unmistakable.

Brice put his bag down, peeled the note off, and tossed it in the trash. He found the Pharm-Gen dissolution contract and headed down the hall to Ron’s office. He rapped softly on the door.

“Come in.”

Ron was seated behind his desk, looking more serious than Brice had ever seen him.

“What happened?”

“Sit down.” It was not a request.

Aware that Ron’s uncharacteristic hostility hadn’t abated overnight, Brice hovered for a moment, then settled into a chair.

“We’ve been friends for a long time. Fifteen years?”

Brice nodded. He didn’t like where this was heading; it felt like a breakup. Was he out of a job? Why?

“Or I thought we were friends. I thought I could count on you. But I’m really disappointed. I thought you were a different person than who you’ve turned out to be.”

Brice was stunned. Had they found out about Jeremy? About the Dinner Club? He thought Ron knew all about it, even if he didn’t know how many times Brice had gone. Had he violated some morals clause in his contract? He waited for Ron to give him more information before he asked any potentially incriminating questions. Law school had taught him more than practicing law.

“You don’t even realize what a difficult position you put me in, do you?” Ron paused. “I’ll be honest. At the end of the quarter, there’s a vote to name new senior partners, and you’ve been nominated. But I can’t vote for you. I thought it best to lay the cards on the table.” He glanced at Brice, clearly expecting a response.

The partner thing was news, as was Ron not wanting to back him.

“I feel like I walked into a film thirty minutes late. What happened? How have I disappointed you?”

“I thought you had my back yesterday. It was the reason I asked you to attend. Of all people, I thought you would make the right decision, even if it wasn’t the profitable decision. Did you even read the binder?”

“I skimmed the technical stuff, but I concentrated on the numbers. I listened to what you told me last time. Not to be too soft on the portfolio companies. I didn’t think the first part of the meeting was that important, and I didn’t read the statements from the officers.”

Ron pushed air loudly between tight lips. “You don’t even know what they’re working on, do you?”

Brice hated to admit that he couldn’t remember. Some of the companies produced things he couldn’t even understand. “I got the impression it doesn’t matter to the bottom line.”

“You need to consider all the information before you can decide which to base your decision on and which to ignore.”

The earthquake rumbling in Brice’s gut told him he’d made a very big mistake. He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “They make the eardrops for—?”

“A vaccine against HIV.”

“No. That meeting’s at eleven today, isn’t it?”

“I told you we shifted the schedule around. Those two meetings got flipped.”

“Shit. The online schedule didn’t get updated.”

“Oh, well, that’s a good excuse.”

Brice felt sick. He’d been rushing rather than being thorough on this review, and if he’d gone to the meeting on time, he would have realized the mistake and voted with Ron when it might have swayed Christie’s decision. It was an enormous blunder, worse than not being made partner or even losing his job. It meant people’s lives. People he knew. Maybe even himself someday. There was nothing to say. He felt sick.

“It’s why I wanted you there. Christie has wanted to cut ties to them for a while, and he’s getting Lane worked up over the numbers. Parker and I have confidence they’re close to a breakthrough with this new line of attack, the VLPs. I couldn’t explain it if my life depended on it, but they gave an excellent layman’s summary yesterday—which you missed. They’ve always been a special company around here and gotten special treatment, but not because they’re friends. The officers have become friends because I’ve fought for them every year.”

“I can understand Christie’s perspective. They don’t have a viable product on the horizon yet, do they? How long before they do? Why do you have such faith in this particular company?”

“Their vaccine works, in limited applications. The stumbling block is the delivery mechanism. Hit a wall. They’ve been funding some cutting-edge research at Cal for the past two years, and that team has made important progress in not only identifying the problem, but positing viable solutions. I think it’s going to be less than a year before they have the missing piece and will be ready for animal trials.”

“I didn’t realize.” An apology was useless, no matter how much Brice regretted not trusting Ron. “What can I do? I’ll talk to Christie, tell him I made a mistake.”

“You’re going to tell him you got the companies mixed up?”

“Yeah. I’m not afraid to admit my errors.” This was too important to care about his reputation.

Ron shook his head. “You’ll lose any credibility with Christie if you do that. I’m not that mad at you. Well, yes I am. But it wouldn’t solve the problem.” Ron took a breath. “You know how Christie thinks. Take a good look at the review and progress reports, including the most recent update they sent us, and see if you can find an angle to appeal to his inherent greed.” Ron never went in for sugarcoating a situation. He swiveled his chair around, a not-particularly-subtle dismissal.

Brice returned to his own office. Next time Ron asked him to sit in on a vote, he’d ask in advance if there was anything specific he should know about the situation. He was useless at office politics.

Then he grabbed the PharmaTek binder, intending to read it cover to cover and find something that appealed to Christie’s obsession over the bottom line.

One week later

J
EREMY
HAD
another early morning meeting with Dr. Morrell. This time, as soon as he walked in the door, he could see the news was not good.

“PharmaTek presented your research to the VC firm, discussed timelines and expenses for continuing research in order to replicate the results sufficiently to integrate into the vaccine.”

“But?”

Dr. Morrell frowned and shook his head. “The project’s on hold. PharmaTek’s funders have backed out. They intend to sell their share to other interested parties.”

“On hold? What does that mean?”

“Discontinued immediately. No additional disbursements will be allowed. They’re putting your latest results into the offer documentation and shopping around for a new VC firm.”

“That’s it? My research budget, fees, and stipend?”

“Your fees are paid through this semester, but you won’t be able to order new equipment or supplies once you exhaust the remaining balance in this research account.”

“Am I still in the doctoral program? Will I finish my degree?”

“I’m working with the MCB department to find resources for you. The problem is that it’s the middle of fall term. The budget has been allocated, and the funding cycle works on the academic year. But I’m certain the department or college will find a solution by next fall. You’ve already received your stipend through the end of this semester, correct?”

Jeremy nodded, not trusting his voice. Every student in this department got university or NIH funding for their degree, unless they had an industry sponsor. Jeremy had been the envy of his colleagues because he’d gotten a bigger chunk of research money and a more generous stipend for personal expenses. At least it had looked that way two and a half years ago.

“I know this must come as a shock. It’s unconscionable if you ask me. I’m happy to extend you some money if you need it. I might be able to find another project for you to work on in the interim, which will cover your fees, but it won’t help with your dissertation. Until the legal issues are resolved, the research belongs to PharmaTek. I will work all my contacts to find another program working on VLP—”

“I’d like to find another HIV vaccine program, even if it’s not VLP.”

Dr. Morrell tugged his beard, his tell that he disagreed with Jeremy. “That could put you back at square one regarding your doctoral research.”

“I understand. The project is that important to me.”

Morrell made another two tugs at the beard as he considered the situation. “I’ll keep that in mind. It might be next term before PharmaTek arranges new financing, and even then there’s no guarantee they will allow you to continue your research here at Cal. That will also disrupt your progress toward your doctorate.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the offer. I will take you up on a spot on another project if I can’t find other arrangements.”

“It is a good opportunity for you to write some journal articles until we can get back to your research. You’ve only got one more year here anyway, and you’ll need more publications if you intend to go after an academic position or a top postdoc placement. And some early peer reviews for the PharmaTek research may sway the new owners to restore your financing.”

“That’s a great idea.” Jeremy stood and shook his advisor’s hand, then left.

He’d controlled himself in the office, but now he needed to shout or punch something to get rid of this pounding in his head. Why couldn’t the VC realize if they cut funding now there wouldn’t be any results, any improvements? Too bad they had finance guys making these decisions and not scientists, not real people.

It wasn’t even the money, or the disruption to his degree that upset Jeremy the most. His research had brought the vaccine so much closer to realization—and to saving lives. Then again, the largest need for such a vaccine was in developing countries where the tech companies couldn’t get top dollar for every dose. He’d work for free if he could just keep making progress on this research.