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Chapter 666:
And Brogan Clements, for all his old-money restraint and boardroom composure, was finally and completely ready to fight one.
The laboratory at Apex Bio hummed with controlled chaos.
June stood at the central workstation, her eyes tracking across three simultaneous data streams, her fingers moving across the keyboard with the unconscious precision of a concert pianist. The FDA Phase II results were—she checked the numbers again, disbelieving—perfect. Better than perfect. The molecular binding efficiency was off the charts, the toxicity profile cleaner than anything in the literature.
She should be celebrating. She should be calling her team, calling the White House liaison, calling everyone who had ever doubted that June Erickson could deliver miracles.
Y𝗈𝘂𝘳 ոеx𝘵 f𝗮𝘷𝗈𝗋іtе 𝗋𝘦a𝖽 𝘪𝘴 о𝘯
Instead, she felt hollow. The victory was theoretical, distant, disconnected from the mess of her actual life.
“Dr. Erickson?” Chloe Chen’s voice came from the doorway, hesitant. “The Love Media Group contract revisions. They need your signature on p>
“You’re handling it.” June didn’t look up. “That’s the arrangement p>
“Yes, but—” Chloe’s voice cracked slightly. “Mr. Love’s office has called three times. They’re insisting on speaking with you directly. Something about a media strategy for the Phase II announcement p>
June’s fingers paused over the keyboard. Crawford. Of course. The transfer to Chloe was supposed to create distance, but Crawford had simply escalated, finding new reasons, new pretexts, new holes in the walls she kept building.
“Tell them—” she began, then stopped. She looked at Chloe properly for the first time.
The girl was exhausted. Dark circles under her eyes, coffee stains on her blouse, the tremor in her hands suggesting too much caffeine and too little sleep. June had dumped an impossible workload on her, and Chloe had accepted it without complaint, without question, with the desperate loyalty of someone who knew how rare second chances were.
“Chloe,” June said, her voice softening. “When did you last eat p>
“I—” Chloe blinked, thrown by the non sequitur. “I had a granola bar. This morning. I think p>
“Close the laptop.” June was already moving, reaching for her coat, her bag. “We’re going to dinner p>
“Dr. Erickson, I couldn’t possibly—there’s so much work—the Love contract p>
“Masa.” June held the door open, her expression allowing no argument. “My treat. And we’re not discussing work. Not once. Understand p>
Chloe’s eyes filled with something that looked dangerously like tears. “Yes, ma’am. I mean—yes. Thank you p>
Masa occupied the fourth floor of the Time Warner Center, its entrance unmarked, its reservation list closed to anyone without the proper connections.
June had the proper connections. She also had, apparently, a standing reservation she had never made, under a name she didn’t recognize—arranged, she suspected, by someone who had anticipated exactly this moment.
She didn’t ask. She simply guided Chloe to their table, a semi-private alcove separated from the main room by screens of rice paper and shadow.
The restaurant was a study in controlled minimalism—blond wood, stone basins, the faint scent of cedar and something subtler, more expensive. The chef’s counter was visible through the screens, a theater of precise movements and absolute focus.