“Did you observe a decrease in the band intensity of the morphants in the gel?”
“No.” Hamir shook his head.
“Well, morpholinos aren’t completely reliable, whether splice-blocking or start-site targeted. Maybe try doing a DoseWise injection of the MO between one- and two-cell stage and then verify through RT-PCR. Which stage are you using for your RNA prep?”
“I used 20ss and 26hpf.”
“Try preparing RNA from earlier stages and check for MO knockdown. Different MOs have different half-life in the cell.”
“Okay, yeah.”
She loved helping her staff and students solve problems like that. With a smile, she continued on to check in with others.
Finally, she had a chance to grab something to eat. She sank into the chair behind her desk, with a plastic container of kale salad open in front of her, and started going through emails. She smiled to see one from Beck, saying I want to do this, with a GIF of a couple about to have sex against a wall.
She admired the sexy video clip, then typed back a response. That’s hot.
She watched the short clip a few more times, imagining Beck taking her like that. She shifted in her chair. Ahem. She had work to do.
She cleared a few more emails then noticed the one from NHI. She straightened and blinked. Her heart picked up speed. She clicked open the email and scanned it.
No.
She frowned.
That couldn’t be…she reread it, slower…oh my God, no. They’d been turned down for the grant.
She read it a third time, disbelief tightening her face. Then she slumped into her chair and stared blankly across the office.
Vanguard didn’t get the grant.
She covered her mouth with one hand and closed her eyes at the sting of tears.
Well, shit. Damn. Fuck. Fuck.
Her mind went utterly blank for a moment as she fought back the wave of disappointment that swamped her. A ten-million-dollar wave of disappointment.
What were they going to do?
She’d just pitched to Bäcker today, and she wouldn’t hear back from them for possibly a month. Vanguard had funding to carry them that long, but if that was also a no…they were in trouble.
Goddammit!
Now she leaned forward, shoving her salad aside and resting her head on folded arms on the desk. She wanted to cry. A heaviness spread through her body and her chest ached. She sat like that for a long while, thoughts cycling through her head.
How could this have happened? What went wrong? Was it her fault for not preparing properly? She’d been so sure their project was a good match for this research partnership.
Eventually, she lifted her head and read through the formal notification that was attached to the email. Apparently they weren’t such a good match.
Still, she couldn’t help but blame herself. She was the one in charge here, the one who led the team. She’d let them down. Had she been crazy to get their hopes up that they could actually be awarded such a big grant?
She swallowed through a tight, achy throat and looked around her office. She felt weighed down. Unable to even rise out of her chair. Then she sucked in a long breath and slowly let it out.
She’d experienced failures and disappointments before. She could handle this. It just meant she’d start over, exploring more funding opportunities, working harder than ever. This was a part of the mad mission she was on.
She’d spent the last month screwing around with Beck, having hot sex in crazy places and blowing off her work to go paddleboarding and mountain biking. Doing tequila body shots, for the love of Godiva!
She could not do that anymore. Shit just got real. This was a wake-up call that she needed to focus more on her goals. Not on a tattooed, bearded bad boy who could charm the panties off a nun.
Regret now added to the heaviness in her chest. Her lips pushed out and she squeezed her eyes shut. She had to do this.
She pulled herself together to schedule a quick team meeting in Outlook for that afternoon so she could deliver the bad news and regroup. She managed to maintain her composure through that, updating them on her meeting earlier that day also. And they talked about next steps.
Beck was bringing dinner over tonight. Her belly tightened, thinking about the conversation they needed to have.
—
“This isn’t just about profit,” Danny said.
Beck sat in the office with Marco and Cade, and Danny and Sid. They were finally getting around to talking about their food menu.
“The city requires us to sell at least fifty percent food and fifty percent alcohol,” Danny continued.
Beck nodded. They’d learned that from the days they were applying for the various licenses and permits required to open, but he’d forgotten it.
“So if we don’t sell enough food, we can be shut down,” Danny said.