Absolute Zero (14 page)

“I’m so sorry. I have a nervous stomach but this is unreal. Maybe food poisoning? I don’t know…”

“I’ll do it,” Anne responded casually.

“You will? Oh Anne! You’re the best. I mean that. You’ll be great. You’re really smart…”

“Right. Ok. So, what time and where?” she asked.

“Nine a.m. in the conference room next to his office. Whatever you do, don’t be late. He’s a stickler for being on time,” she added before groaning.

“No problem. Em? Don’t worry about this, all right? Go to bed, call me later and I’ll let you know how it went, Ok?”

“Thank you,” Em whispered. “I’m so sorry to do this to you…” she stated.

“I’m not worried about it. I’ve done this a million times,” Anne stated confidently before hanging up.

She wasn’t lying. She may be slightly anti-social; however, her presentation skills were always spot on, especially when she knew her material. She knew this material. She could present it with her eyes closed.

*****

She walked into the conference room with her file tucked beneath her arm, copies of the presentation as well as a thumb drive in her hand just in case. She was five minutes early and yet there were at least 10 people sitting at the huge conference table. Every single face looked somewhat pale, their eyes all switched to her as she wandered in offering some sort of sympathy, it seemed.

“Good morning,” she offered and received some replies, some nods. Her eyes searched for the first available seat and noticed that all seats surrounding the one at the head of the table were vacant, four on each side as if everyone were trying to put as much distance between themselves and the man that would undoubtedly seat himself there. A leather bound file, a steaming coffee mug on a coaster and a small notebook were present but the man was not. Luckily, she found one open seat near the opposite end of the table and she immediately walked toward it to claim it.

She placed her material on the table in front of her.

“Where’s Em?” she heard whispered from Ryan as he leaned toward her.

“Sick,” she whispered back.

“How convenient,” he muttered on a hushed breath. “Where’s Paul?” his eyes grew a bit wider as he looked at the other faces around the table.

The only other woman seated at the table across from Anne gave a shrug before answering. “He wasn’t here last year. He has no idea. I better call him before he’s late.” She immediately grabbed her phone and pressed numbers.

A very nervous looking Harry Kerns walked in the room, catching Anne’s eye before searching for a seat near the opposite end of the table. He sighed loudly when there obviously was nothing to be found except the seats near the front.

“Morning Harry,” someone stated. He grunted something unintelligible in response. His hands were shaking as he placed papers on the desk in front of him, Anne noticed. McClellan’s assistant Andrea wandered in shortly after, seating herself at a small table near the corner of the room after acknowledging everyone with a timid ‘Good Morning’.

What was
with
everyone? Was this the Spanish Inquisition? McClellan wasn’t
that
bad, Anne thought as her gaze wandered from person to person around the table. Of course, it was highly unlikely McClellan showed up at
their
houses with flowers. Or stood too close. Or whispered words in their ears with his sexy-as-hell accent…

Stop
. She would start blushing soon if she didn’t get her thoughts back in order. As if by design, the object of her thoughts walked in and stopped immediately as his eyes landed on her and her alone. He seemed…surprised. And he should be. She wasn’t supposed to be in this meeting. Her eyes immediately fastened themselves on the file folder in front of her.

“Good morning,” he stated and received a multitude of mumbled responses around the table.

He seated himself at the head of the table and looked at the faces before his eyes focused on, passed up, backtracked and forced themselves to keep moving beyond Anne.
What was she doing here?
She looked so professional and polished in a perfectly tailored white button up shirt. The first two buttons were undone, showing just enough of her chest as to be intriguing but not enough to be considered cheap. He wondered briefly if she was wearing a skirt. It was all he could do not to look under the table to find out.

Ridiculous arse.

Focus.

“All right, so I asked you all here this morning to get an update on your current projects. I realize Rand and your new Lab Manager are on vacation, excuse me…at a conference,” he amended without waiting for a reaction, “however, I’m only here for the week and I am more than slightly interested in what you’re working on. I assume everyone has received and formatted their presentations based on the templates you were sent?” He looked around the table. Most eyes were focused down. Except for Anne. She was looking straight at him without even the slightest hint of nervousness. The rest of the participants, on the other hand…

All eyes shifted toward a younger man that just appeared in the doorway, his eyes looking for a seat before he took two steps in the room.

“Stop,” Ian stated.

“Ah…excuse me?” The man shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

“It’s…” Ian checked the watch on his wrist, “Two minutes after nine. You’re late.”

“It was the copier. It got jammed, yet again. I’m really sorry.” He blew out a frustrated breath.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Ah…Paul?”

“Hmm, Paul. That’s unfortunate. You can turn around and leave. Maybe next time you can start a bit earlier and maybe not leave your fate in the hands of a temperamental copier,” he spoke in a frosty tone. Anne’s eyes widened as she watched two bright spots of red appeared on the man’s cheeks.

“I’m…just…it’s, I’m sorry…” he stammered. Her eyes wandered back to McClellan as he gave a shrug and flicked a finger toward the door.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he breathed out, completely disregarding the man as he focused his attention on the sheet of paper in front of him. Her eyes flew back to Paul, who honestly looked as if he was in shock. He backed out of the door slowly and turned to scurry away from the room.

“Harry?” McClellan barked out in the otherwise silent room.

“Ye…Yes?” he answered.

“Close the door. I’m assuming everyone else is here?” She saw his brows were furrowed, yet he didn’t look up from the paper. She opened her mouth to tell him about Em, but clamped her mouth shut when he spoke again.

“First up, Ryan. Give your drive to Andrea, please.”

“Ah…my drive?”

“Yes. Your presentation? I specifically asked you all to save them on a thumb drive?”

Anne blew out a relieved sigh as her eyes attached to the small drive next to her hand.

“I ah…I sent an email with an attachment,” Ryan stated in a small voice.

“I’m sorry. Is that what I asked for?” McClellan shot him a direct look which caused the other man to visibility shrink, or so it seemed to Anne.

“N…no sir,” he stammered.

“Fine. Andrea?”

“Yes, Sir?” she piped up from the corner of the room.

“Can you bring up Ryan’s email?”

“Yes Sir…” Anne watched the huge flat screen as Andrea’s emails were projected. She quickly scrolled through the subject lines. Subjects such as “Hey Girl! Lunch Today??” and “Birthday Cake” caught her eye as the woman frantically searched through her emails before clicking on the one she sought. Anne’s eyes quickly shifted toward McClellan but he seemed absorbed in the paper in front of him. He looked up quickly, catching her gaze before a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips for what seemed like her alone. She turned her attention back to the screen.

“Here it is.” Andrea clicked on the attachment, bringing up a report very similar to the one she and Em created the day before. Anne listened to Ryan quickly explain everything on the report, hoping he would take a breath at some point. He was obviously nervous, but apparently McClellan was pleased. Or at least he asked no questions after the presentation, which was probably a good thing…

“Next up, Carol?”

If it was possible, Carol spoke even more quickly than Ryan, but she too came out virtually unscathed.
Maybe his bark was worse than his bite? Maybe he wasn’t so bad?
Anne thought, relaxing back into the comfy office chair.

Seven other people presented their work, and for the most part, the questions were minimal.  The presentations were very detailed and thorough; it was obvious they were prepared for any question that came up. Even Harry managed to stammer through his presentation with minimal interruptions from McClellan. Em’s presentation was last, luckily, so she would be able to tailor her information in a way that would be suitable for the man seated at the head of the table.

“Don?”

Don must have felt somewhat bolstered by the lack of questions from McClellan, so he seemed completely out of sorts as soon as the question erupted from the head of the table.

“Sir, umm, Sir?”

“I asked what your plan was to counteract the dispersal of effect. What do you credit the loss of potency to?”

“Umm…I’m not…quite sure yet, I’m still studying that,” he responded.

“And how long have you been working on this?” McClellan asked.

“Th…three months?”

“Three months, really…and you have no idea why this is happening?”

“Not yet,” Don responded in an almost feeble voice.

“Anne?” At the sound of her name, she immediately jerked, her eyes flying from the presentation on the screen to McClellan’s face.

“What do
you
think?” He was staring straight at her.

She opened her suddenly parched mouth, her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip before she could stop it. Fortunately the subject matter was something she was more than adequately familiar with. On the down side, it was also related to subject matter that got her shit-canned from her last job.

“Well,” she forced out before willing her nerves to calm down, she focused her attention away from McClellan to Don, who looked, for all intents and purposes, as if he may pass out at any moment. “Most migraine medications are comprised of Triptans just like your study. Triptans in theory should reduce swelling which makes sense, but as you’re probably aware only 60% of study participants experience relief within 2 hours of ingestion. The other 40% receive no relief at all. Low levels of Serotonin are usually to blame, but there is the possibility of temperature. Recent studies are showing that elevated brain temperature may be a symptom if not a cause of migraines. I wonder if you studied under a controlled elevated temperature?”

Don’s mouth moved but nothing came out.

“Temperature? The brain is regulated the same as body temperature,” McClellan spoke quite decidedly from his perch at the head of the table.

“Is it? Are you certain of that?” she turned her focus on him; one of her eyebrows raised pretty much the same as his in direct challenge.

“Are you a migraine expert, Ms. Bennett?” he asked.

“In some regards? Yes,” she replied coolly.

“Oh? Are you a brain surgeon, Ms. Bennett?” he replied in an equally cool tone.

“It’s
Doctor
Bennett. And yes, I am,” she replied before her brain caught up with her mouth. Of course, if he looked at her resume, he would know that.

“Really?”

“Yes.
Really
.”

All heads at the table were pretty much swiveling from Anne to McClellan and back again.

“Well, isn’t that something,” he replied as he tapped his pen lightly against his lips. He placed the pen down and fixed her with one of his more intense stares. “
Dr.
Bennett? Might I ask why you’re here? I don’t see your name on the agenda,” he lifted the piece of paper as some sort of proof.

“That’s because my name isn’t
on
the agenda,” she replied.

“Right. So this meeting sounded like so much fun you decided to crash it?”
Was he being funny?
The look on his face didn’t indicate that in the least.

“No. Emma Black is on the agenda. She’s indisposed, I’m filling in for her,” Anne felt her body bristle from the exchange.

“Indisposed? As in, she was too busy to come to this meeting?”

“Indisposed as in sick, Sir.” She emphasized the ‘Sir’ and thought better of it after the storm clouds seemed to start brewing in his eyes.

“Sick? What’s wrong with her?”

“I’d rather not…say.” She stated in a more subdued manner.

“So Miss Black has a mysterious illness and leaves you to present her work?”

“No. She truly
is
ill and I helped her with the presentation. I feel I can more than adequately present this material.”

“Ms. Bennett, why are you doing someone else’s work? Don’t you have your own project to work on?” he asked in a rather smug tone that grated on her last nerve.