Chapter Four

ERIC

Earlier, 

From up here, glass bent the light, steel blurred at a distance, his eyes wandered to his tablet, then paused.

Someone had come through the revolving doors. It was Camila.

He leaned back a little and watched. Quite amazing.

She swept her gaze across the lobby.

That was different.

She dropped her pace near the living wall, just enough to register that tangle of plants managed with impossible precision. Oh God!

She stopped at the elevators, hands at both sides of two boxes on top of each other, just waiting. No phone, no twitchy movements, not looking for anything to do.

He let out a slow breath. The unsettled feeling of spotting someone who moved through the world at your own pace. He must be crazy at this point because he's not even supposed to be staring this long at her. 

What's special about her?

The elevator doors slid shut behind her.

He sat up straighter, the meeting ahead suddenly not so routine anymore.

For the first time that day, he felt fully awake.

And though he couldn't explain it yet, somehow knew the building wasn't the only thing she'd end up quietly controlling. Maybe him too. 

Damn! And.... she's...she's fucking beautiful. He grunted at his own admission. 

>>>>Present,

The moment the doors clicked shut, the noise in the conference room on the forty-eighth floor vanished. Glass walls, city skyline sprawling beyond them, and a table that seemed to stretch on for so long you could almost measure power in miles.

Eric sat at the head, jacket tossed aside, sleeves rolled up just far enough to show he meant business, not performance. The sunlight caught his skin, highlighting the faint veins beneath it. He ignored the other executives, eyes fixed on the empty chair to his right.

She will seat beside him. He'd let that happen for sure. 

An executive started, "She's on her way. Should we start the meeting now before........" 

"We'll wait." Without giving a glance at whoever dared to break the silence of the room.

The silence stretched. One second. Another.

The doors slid open.

CAMILA

Camila walked in, a laptop tucked under one arm, gaze already sweeping the room sizing everyone up, deciding who mattered. There was nothing anxious in her movements, just straight line confidence.

"Dr. Camila," a bald man announced, standing halfway. "Project's lead biochem."

Her eyes met with Eric. No real sign of being impressed.

"Let's just get this started with." She muttered under her breath but he heard her.

With a smirk, devilish one at that, "You're late," he said.

She set her laptop down. "Uhm.....I was double checking results, sir."

Chairs creaked as a few people shifted, uncomfortable.

Eric's attention tightened. He didn't look away.

"Good. Sit."

She dropped comfortably into the seat beside him (the one that usually stayed empty unless you'd earned it) but didn't matter right now, and plugged her laptop in. A network of molecular diagrams flickered across the glass wall.

She got right to it, "The compound is holding up. But pushing into Phase II this quarter? Too risky." She shook her head, glancing at him.

"That delay bleeds us out two hundred million," an executive said, voice pinched.

She didn't even acknowledge him. "I understand perfectly." Camila met his gaze. "I also understand what happens when we rush drug trials. People die." With a shrug.

Silence again, heavier this time.

Eric leaned back a little, weighing her words but seemed in no rush for conclusions.

"Explain."

She pulled up more molecular diagrams. "We're seeing anomalies in the binding affinity tests. Push to Phase II now, and we risk catastrophic failure. Or worse, approval with hidden side effects that surface in year five."

"Like the Baxton trial," someone murmured.

Camila nodded. Baxton Pharmaceuticals had rushed a cardiovascular drug to market five years ago. Thirty-seven patients died before the recall.

"Exactly like Baxton." She agreed.

Eric studied her. The entire room seemed to hold its breath.

Finally, "We delay six months. Dr. Camila runs additional trials." He stood. "Meeting adjourned."

As the executives filed out, Sarah paused at Camila's elbow. "Interesting first day," she said quietly. "Making enemies already."

"I'm here to save lives, not make friends."

Sarah's smiled. "How noble."

***************************************************************************************

Ten minutes later, the meeting wrapped and one by one, the executives slipped out. Eric stayed back and watched closely as she snapped her laptop shut. 

Silence hung in the air for a while.

Then, he suddenly closed the space between them and stared deep into her eyes. 

No, her soul. Looking at him was like staring into waves you know will pull you under, and letting them. 

"Have i seen you before?" He questioned again.

Camila met his stare. "I don't think so." Where else would she..... "Except the last time at the reception."

"No, Not that. I swear i've seen you somewhere. Never mind, it doesn't matter. This project is worth billions. I don't accept failure." His eyes held hers. "Understand?" A threat wrapped in professional language. Somehow more terrifying than if he'd shouted.

"It was against my choice to be the project lead so i don't think......" He cuts her off.

Typical. Everything has to be his way.

"Just make the project successful." She nods and stepped back away from the weird heat she was feeling already. His closeness sends distracting signals to her body cells. 

His phone lit on the table. Eric lifted it, and for a split second. Just a heartbeat. Camila's eyes caught the screen.

Her breath stopped.

The wallpaper. A woman in a white dress, back turned, hair catching sunlight.

The world tilted. Hospital. White sheets. The smell of antiseptic. A dress she couldn't remember putting on.

>>> 

“Ms. Camila? Can you hear me?"

A doctor's face swam into view. Kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.

"Where...?" Her voice cracked. Throat raw, tongue thick.

"You're at Mount Sinai. Do you remember anything?"

She tried to think. Tried to grasp at anything. But her mind was a blank room, echoing and empty.

"What... what day is it?"

"April 6th. Wednesday."

April 6th. But the last thing she remembered was... was...

"March," she whispered. "It was March. The 15th. I was... I was at work. I wanted to meet with..." Who? She couldn't remember.

The doctor's expression shifted. Concern. He glanced at someone else in the room.

"Ms. Camila, you have three weeks loss of memory."

Three weeks?! Like One, two, three weeks?!

"What happened to me?"

"We're not entirely sure. You were found unconscious on floor in a road accident. A woman in a white dress, the witness said. You'd been drugged too. Rohypnol, most likely, mixed with something else. The combination caused severe retrograde amnesia." He explained.

"The dress I was wearing... where is it?"

"With your belongings. Though..." The doctor hesitated. "It's very expensive. Designer. The police think you may have attended some kind of event."

Who was she during that time?

And why couldn't she remember any of it?

Later, a nurse brought her the dress in a clear plastic bag. Camila stared at it. White silk. Elegant. Beautiful. But completely unfamiliar.