Mr. Park Lane (The Mister)

I turned to face him. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday that you were working for Calmation? You must have figured out it’s the drug Gerry and I are working against?”

His chest rose and fell. “I had a suspicion, but I wasn’t completely sure. I was supposed to be keeping it confidential, and then we reached the picnic and—”

“And you didn’t say anything.”

“No, I was too caught up in what was happening between us. But I would have told you—I think. And if you’d have woken me up, we could have discussed it this morning.”

My jaw clenched. “You think you were going to tell me?”

“I’m signed up to a watertight NDA. But yes, I think I would have told you if we hadn’t gotten sidetracked.”

I sighed. Of course he made it sound entirely reasonable. “I guess it doesn’t matter if you told me or not. We’re fundamentally opposed on something incredibly important to me.”

“It’s important to me too,” he said, taking a step toward me. “You have it wrong about Merdon. They’re genuinely trying to help people get the drugs they need. It’s different in the US—the drugs aren’t available to people who don’t have good insurance.”

I took a step back. “You’re being naïve. This is about profits and money for Merdon. That’s it.”

“Merdon can’t sell this drug over the counter without regulatory approval. Calmation isn’t going to be sold on the black market. If the regulator thinks it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”

That was going to be the argument parents used when they decided to self-diagnose their children and administer mood-altering medicine without the support of a doctor. Any drug, even something like paracetamol, could be dangerous if it wasn’t used correctly. And Calmation was way more powerful and potentially dangerous than paracetamol, which was why it had to be a prescription drug. “Just because something’s legal doesn’t make it okay. It’s legal to eat a hundred cheeseburgers in a day. It doesn’t make it a good thing to do.”

“I’ve seen the evidence—their planning. I’ve seen documents. The studies proving the benefits. It’s all on my computer. My client sent me thousands of pages of stuff.” He opened his door and gestured inside. “I can show you. Their entire strategy is about making drugs available and affordable to people who wouldn’t otherwise have access to them.”

It gave me some comfort that Joshua clearly believed he was doing good. He’d been duped. “I believe that’s what they told you. Hell, some people who work for them might really believe it too. But I’m telling you, as a doctor, a pediatrician, and a friend, that trying to get Calmation authorized as an over-the-counter drug is immoral.”

His shoulders drooped and his eyes hit the floor. “You really think so?”

“I think so. Gerry thinks so, and so will the entire pediatric community when this all hits the press.”

Joshua pushed his hands through his hair. “I had a meeting with them today and . . . something was off. What should I do?” he asked, almost as if he was thinking aloud. “Fuck.”

There were a thousand things I could suggest, not least of which was look over my very amateur PR plan and see what needed to be changed.

But these last few hours since I’d left his bed had made something very clear. Something that I’d known all along but had lost sight of. Whenever I was thinking about Joshua, I took my eye off the ball. I needed to focus on my career. On Calmation. On my future. It was so easy for me to get so wrapped up in the man in front of me that I lost sight of what was really important. I refused to regress to my seventeen-year-old self, especially for a man who had a track record of casual sex and little else when it came to women. I didn’t want to lose myself again for the sake of an orgasm.

“I need to go to bed,” I said, turning toward the door.

“Can I come in?” he asked. “I want to figure this out.”

“I don’t think so, Joshua. I’m not in the mood for casual.”

“Hartford,” he said, his tone questioning and confused. “I want to put this right. You’re not going to help?”

“You don’t need my help to do the right thing.”

“I might not need it, but I’d like it.”

I turned back to him. “You remember when I told you about the accident I had when I broke my leg the first time?”

He frowned. “Sure.”

“That night, I was coming after you.” The confession was like heaving off an enormous weight. “I wanted you to notice me, to see me as an adult woman.” Ironically, it had been such a childish decision—reckless. Foolish. And one I was still living with. “I made a stupid call by driving that night and as a result, I ended up losing my dream of dancing professionally.” I never talked about what I’d lost to anyone. Not even my parents. Saying the words out loud brought it back as if it had happened yesterday. My scar split open and it was bleeding. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.”