The Cinderella Project (A Comedy of Love, #1) (3 page)

“As the crowd surged toward the doors, Nicholas lost sight of his one, true love. He hadn’t even gotten her name. But once again, luck was with him—she had dropped her cell phone before getting pulled into the throng. Had Nicholas not bent to retrieve it for her, our handsome prince might not have lost sight of his love. But still, he had a tie to her.”

Then I reached the part I tended to… embellish… for her sake. “Prince Nicholas couldn’t sleep that night, knowing full well that he had no other choice but to find his true love and propose marriage to her. Before the sun had risen, Nicholas was waiting anxiously outside the classiest jewelry store in town, credit card in hand. Soon thereafter, he purchased the finest ring money could buy and returned to his royal palace of an apartment, to await the phone call of destiny.

“She phoned him later that evening. Her wicked stepmother had been furious that Ella had lost her cell phone and had forbade her from using the home phone in order to call the cell phone and find her prince.

“But once again, the godmother arrived to distract the stepmother and stepsister and Ella was able to escape to a local payphone, where she frantically—it was frantically, wasn’t it?”

Ella nodded in eager agreement.

“Right, then. Where she frantically dialed her cell number, knowing that destiny was just a call away. Sure enough, Prince Nicholas picked up the phone. The sound of her musical voice moved him nigh to tears and apparently his voice was nice enough that she didn’t assume a middle-aged stalker had grabbed her phone. They agreed to meet in a local park
to declare their true love and live happily ever after.

“The end.”

Ella clapped excitedly for me and I bowed as best I could. Despite my overwhelming fatigue, entertaining her was always enjoyable. By now, the fireworks were in full force. I especially liked the ones that produced specialty shapes. Ella squealed and kissed me when an explosion pasted a giant, pink heart on the night sky. I laid down and she curled up beside me, resting her head on my chest as the heavens lit up in a lovely dance. Absently, I stroked her arm and felt her get goose bumps.

“How do you still manage to do that, Nicky?” she asked in awe.

“No idea, really,” I said. It was the plain, honest truth.

“Nicky?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you love me?”

“Of course I do,” I answered. I could already see where this was going.

“Prove it.”

“Um… how?”

“Did you mean it when you said you’d marry me tomorrow if you could?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Well... yeah. But you know we’ve already ruled out eloping. Mom and Dad would politely kill me and I don’t know that your dad would be thrilled with it either. Besides, we still need the time to plan the wedding.”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Do we?”

I blinked again. “Um…. Did you have something else in mind?”

She looked up at the brilliant color-bursts for a while before answering. “Nicky? I don’t think I want to get married in the winter. I don’t want holidays interfering with our anniversary. And really, I don’t want to wait that long. Let’s just do something smaller and go for October. Just think! We could be man and wife in only two months!”

I stopped cold. Where had this come from? “Um, Ella? October is… a bit busy for me already.”

She sat up quickly. “Why?”

What did she mean “why”? I gently placed my hands on her shoulders—that always seemed to calm her—and then quietly reminded her that the defense of my dissertation was scheduled for late that month.

Ella suddenly looked as though she might start to cry. She composed herself quickly and then turned her gaze elsewhere. Softly she said, “So you’re not going to prove it, then, are you?”

Okay, this was officially confusing. “I guess I must be tired, Els. I’m not putting two and two together on this one. You know I love you, no matter when we get married. If you don’t want a big wedding, I’m okay with that. But we chose December so that we could really have the time together without all the distractions of school. Help me see how I’m not proving my love by wanting to go with Plan A.”

Her face closed and
her voice grew soft. “If you really loved me, you’d love me more than school.”

Whoa. Did she really believe I loved school
more
than I loved her? I struggled with the notion for a while, but when I didn’t answer immediately she began sniffling lightly and made to stand. I stood with her and pulled her to me.

“Ella, I’m not sure what I’ve said or done to worry you about my commitment, but if this is really that important to you…,” though my gut told me I was making a mistake, I finished, “October should be real fun.”

She smiled, kissed me warmly and then thanked me. The tear of joy on her face certainly looked real. The fireworks had ended, and people were busily gathering their belongings and making their way home. I glanced at my watch and sighed, knowing I’d be wasted in the morning after this late a night. Without another word, we walked back to her apartment. I could only hope my proof of love was enough for her.

CHAPTER THREE

“Jim, what did you think, the first time you saw me? Like, really saw me?”

“No way? Can you believe how much stuff is out there on these… social network
things? For the love of Peter, it’s no wonder identity theft is everywhere. Jeez, you can even find out what kind of underwear someone’s wearing right now.”

“Jim, did you just hear a word I said?”

“What? Oh, um… no. Just Facebook me.”

Moiré showed up right on time the following Wednesday, turning heads as she walked in the door. So what if she was a little pretty? So what if her perfume made me want to hover over her? Physical beauty was only skin deep. It was nothing more than the product of a properly shaped skeleton overlain by just the right proportioning of muscles. Her slightly-lidded eyes needn’t be mysterious if one just understood that she was merely relaxing her orbicularis oculi. Her lips might look pleasant as she smiled, but that only meant that her incisivi labii were shaped in a balanced, symmetrical way that indicated good overall health and muscular development. She was a healthy specimen, sure. That meant she probably had lower health insurance premiums. Right. Nothing more than show. Nothing.

“Moiré De Lanthe reporting as ordered,” she said with a small grin and a mock salute. My heart stopped at the sound of her voice.

Get a grip
, I told myself.
That’s just air moving through a properly shaped larynx in a non-dissonant manner.

“Miss De Lanthe,” I sighed. “Look, about the other night—” I stopped as I noticed curious eyes turn my way. Everyone knew I was usually the last person out of the lab. Neither was my engagement a secret, even though it was never discussed.

“Actually, why don’t we discuss this outside,” I said quietly, gesturing at the door.

“Sure,” she said and we walked out into the hall.

“As I was saying,” I continued in muted tones, “I was really tired and my mind really was
not
thinking properly. I’m sure you’re a very talented individual and I’m sure you probably have a lot to contribute to the Department. I don’t think it’s fair that you should have to go completely unpaid for that work and that’s essentially the situation you’re facing working for me.”

“Yes, you mentioned that last night. I wasn’t expecting pay. Most internships don’t pay.”

I was well aware of that fact. Let’s try reason number two. “You’re right, of course. Another thing I ought to mention is that I’m within three-and-a-half months of completing and defending my dissertation. Again, I’m sure you’re very intelligent and capable but given my workload, I honestly don’t see myself having anywhere near enough time to properly train you. That and I’m so far into my work that you’d probably spend most of that time just getting up to speed, only to come to a screeching halt when I finish.

“Look, I know you’re interested in this subject. You’re more than welcome to read my dissertation when it’s published, but I don’t want you to waste the better part of a semester just trying to catch up. I really think you’d have a more beneficial experience if you found someone who was just starting out his or her work and then go with them. You’d get in on the ground floor. They’d spend a semester fumbling to get into gear anyway, so you’d both be on the same page the whole time.”

Moiré cupped her chin in her hand. “So in other words, you think I’m an idiot and you don’t want to babysit me when you’re this close to the finish line. Does that about sum it up?”

My. She was rather direct. “No, no, that’s not it at all,” I said, waving defensively. “Again, I’m sure you’re one of the best and brightest. I just honestly don’t believe that
I
—that
my
situation—will be of any benefit to
you
.” That was true enough. “For
your
sake, I’m making a professional suggestion that you consider something you could spend more time with and something that’s still new enough that you would be able to come abreast of the project in hours or days, instead of months.”

“I appreciate your concern for me,” she said and I noticed that those perfectly-formed labii were still molded in that teasing little smile. “Maybe I can allay some of your fears? You see, I’ve had some spare time this summer and I chose this project quite deliberately. I know that you’re measuring the way people’s nervous systems respond not only to different physical stimuli, but how their perceptions about the source of those stimuli affect the neurophysical response. Your objective is to determine whether standard indicators of relationship success can be detected by brainwave patterns and I know that you’ve got enough
drive to compare that data with anecdotal observations. You use couples in various stages of romantic relationships, from beginning to end. You stimulate brain function with pressure on certain body regions typically associated with romantic contact. Your baseline tests use just pressure, which is then supplemented by pressure exerted on those regions while the subjects view images of people unrelated to them.

“You have a very straightforward and comprehensive methodology and your results have been very consistent. Your core literary research involves several hundred books, including novels from the romance genre alongside official psychological texts. You’ve supplemented all of those with multi-media research, primarily in the form of films and love songs. According to what I’ve found, you’ve conducted over nine-hundred tests thus far.

“Your faculty sponsor is Reginald Jordan, Dean of the Department and you’ve had a total of four research assistants over the course of your work, though it has been just over a year since you last had one. Thus, you’ve been working completely on your own at various part-time jobs for nearly a thousand man hours.” She paused for a moment in thought.

“Oh and your favorite color is gray-blue.”

I stared at her for several moments, dumbstruck.

Finally, I managed to speak. “I don’t recall having published my autobiography yet. Would you care to write it for me? I’m not sure whether to feel flattered or invaded, to be honest. I’m pretty sure none of that is on the Internet either…
.”

Her smile widened. “Well? Does that at least give you a hint that I might know what I’m doing here? No need to play catch up?”

I nodded slightly, still awed that
that
much information was available on me without my knowledge. I had to wonder if she knew my social security number and credit card information as well. This was just weird. It still didn’t change the fact that she was a big risk I didn’t want.

“You look too professional for this project,” I blurted thoughtlessly. What had I just said? Was that even an
excuse
for dismissing someone who had obviously done their homework? I groaned inwardly. She didn’t say a word; she just took down her hair and shook it out. I noticed that it flowed to several inches below her shoulders and looked not unlike a mass of liquid fire.

“There. How’s that?” she said coyly. “I could undo a few of the top buttons on my blouse, too, if that would work. But something tells me that would violate the dress code, among other things.” She winked at me playfully.

I stammered something, stunned at her forwardness, but she just laughed and said, “Don’t worry, Doctor Cairn. I’m teasing you. Anyway, I won’t get in your way and I’ll be as professional as this job demands. After all, respect is earned. Besides, you have to admit that you need the help now more than ever, what, with the big day closing in on you.”

What had she just said? How could she know about
that
? But then, she somehow knew my favorite color, so why not that I was about to get married? I felt my face flush and my tongue lock up.

“Your… dissertation defense?” she said, eyeing me quizzically. “It’s coming closer. What… did you think I meant?
I really think you could benefit from having someone around to help, even if it’s just filing and organizing your notes, don’t you?”

“Oh, um…
, never mind. I’m still dealing with the effects of a late night and an early morning is all.”

“So… do we still have a deal?” she asked, tilting her head just a little. Just enough to make her eyes glimmer in a nice way. I glanced away.

I admired her confidence, her easy manner and her real spirit. I made it a point not to admire anything else. There was no denying that she was considerably better versed on what I was doing than all my other assistants had been combined—even after some of them were done working for me. I also had to admit that I
had
been rather swamped, of late, between school and work and the wedding. Granted, Ella had been doing the lion’s share of the wedding planning (perhaps a little
too
much) but it’s not like it wasn’t on my mind at all. I was falling behind on sleep and my personal organizational levels were at an all time low; they weren’t looking to improve any time soon. Maybe… maybe it would be good to get a bit of help, especially since she didn’t seem to be worried about money. Maybe that would give me more time to spend with Ella. I could just assign Moiré to work when I wasn’t there—or at least when I’m not there alone—and I could neatly avoid undesirable situations that might compromise my promise to Ella. I would simply have to keep my personal life completely separate from my work life and ensure the potential for problems was avoided from the get-go. Perhaps this might not be as bad an idea as I had originally thought.

Somewhere, deep inside of me, I had a feeling that I really just wanted to keep Moiré around. Luckily, that feeling was deep enough that I was able to chalk it up to a standard “male hormone response,” and ignore it.

“Well,” I said at last, “it might just be that you could help me out with one or two little things. I still think you’d get a better, more comprehensive experience with someone else, but this
would
only set you back this one semester and you’re what year in school?”

“Sophomore.”

“Right. Plenty of time to still get in a proper run through a real project.”

“So you’re still going to hire me?”

I waffled for another instant or two and then stuck out my hand. “Consider us partners,” I said with a wan smile. “Welcome aboard.”

She seized my hand firmly and gave me a grave nod. Then she let a hint of a smile peek through. Her playfulness was almost infectious. “I’m glad to hear that,” she said. “It means that my trip to University H.R. wasn’t wasted this morning.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “You’ve already been to Human Resources?”

She raised an eyebrow in return. “You told me last night that you’d hire me. I just took care of the paperwork for you. A trip to H.R. was a walk in the park.”

I was impressed and grateful that she’d eliminated the boring stuff. Since a research assistant was an actual
job
—no matter how little the pay—the university had a procedure in place to deal with it. Actually, the university had procedures in place to handle using the toilet after hours and sneezing more than three times in a row. Okay, so I’m exaggerating. Slightly.

I thanked her for saving me the trouble I’d had with previous assistants and then asked her to put her hair back up before we re-entered the lab. I was
not
about to chance anyone wondering whether something untoward had gone on out in the hall. Taboo or not, that’d get talked about; it might even get back to Ella. Wouldn’t
that
make for hours of fun?

We walked into the lab and I took a moment to collect her basic personal information. It was on file already, but I liked to keep my own records. Memorizing her cell number took seconds, but I didn’t bother to look at her address. When would I ever need it?

With the personal info stuff out of the way, I pulled up the old documents that I had used to instruct past research assistants. She already knew enough about what we were actually doing that I ended up skipping most of my spiel about daily routines and went straight to what I liked to call the “Researcher’s Code.”

“The Researcher’s Code?” she asked.

I grinned. “It’s just my little way of making this seem all that much more professional. I figure if I laid down some ground rules for my assistants and myself then I might avoid problems. I decided to codify this behavior and give it a name. Hence, ‘The Researcher’s Code.’”

“Okay,” she said agreeably. “What are the rules in this code?”

“Actually,” I said, “they’re more like… guidelines. But it’s real simple. Hands are kept to oneself when not testing a subject. When testing a subject, consent
must
be obtained and all potential touching explained and agreed to
before
testing begins.”

“Right. Those are a given.”

“Yes. But you might be surprised how many people
don’t
get those concepts, even after they’ve been explained. Anyway, the last one: in order to ensure maximum objectivity in our work, personal lives get left at the door inasmuch as practical. By that I mean ‘dating lives’ and such. I’ve found that it’s far too easy to map one’s own life onto a situation—we all do it unconsciously anyway—and in order to help preserve the kind of legitimacy that doctoral work needs, I’d like to generally keep relationship-based discussions off the table. It’s nothing personal and it’s not that I just don’t care. But the Department has hinted that my work toes a line they’re not comfortable with and if we let our own personal feelings seep in….”