CHAPTER 1
ZOEY FONG MEETS THE HANDSOME
She was a doll. An adorable, frowning, thunder-browed doll in a spotless white shirt. With round, pink cheeks. The color likely came from anger, but the wrath wasn't directed at Davy so he chose to admire and enjoy rather than be terrified.
Although dolls could be really scary when bent on vengeance.
But the object of her ire seemed to exist safely in the device—a microscope?—she was peering into. And after some colorful but not particularly creative cursing, she glanced up and saw him.
"May I help you?"
When people asked if they could help you in that tone of voice, they weren't really looking to come to your aid. Then again, he 'was' intruding.
He smiled apologetically. "I'm a little lost. I'm looking for Dr. Hisanaga."
Davy had never been in university buildings, and he hadn't darkened the halls of any place of learning in a long time, and despite the fact he presented a genial face to the world, he felt a trace of anxiety.
This smelled and looked like a hospital. He'd been in hospitals.
The woman got up with a sigh and came out into the hall, shutting the door. She crossed her arms.
He tried to look like he enjoyed wandering through the underground caverns of a building at Musqueam University, looking for people named Dr. Hisanaga. As it was, the good professor had only grudgingly extended him an appointment. Which he was now late for.
No use in worrying about that now. "I don't know a Dr. Hisanaga."
"Well, I don't either, yet. Is there, like, a directory or a kiosk somewhere?" "Do I look like an information desk?"
He took in her snapping dark eyes and the soft body under the crisp shirt. She was fluffy and angry, like a delicious cake that would give him violent heartburn. He still wanted a bite.
"You're much prettier," he said truthfully. He turned on his best smile.
"Why do 'cis men' think I'm the happy helper booth around here? Tell me this? I mean, I'm working. I've got a microscope. I've got this whole—" she waved her arms at the empty hall "—I've got this whole setup. And these men, these men are forever wandering in asking me for things."
"I apologize." "You do?"
"I really do." A pause.
Davy ventured, "It's just—"
"I knew it. You're going to apologize. You're going to make puppy eyes at me. And then you're going to ask me for something. What? What do you want? A moment of my time? A tour? Fix the printer? 'Can I borrow one of your mugs, Zoey? I don't have any clean ones.'"
She marched off and half terrified, half intrigued, he followed her. "Directions. Just directions. My phone isn't charged."
"Can't you ask someone else?" "No one else seems to be here."
The woman got to what appeared to be a kitchen or lounge of some sort and barged inside. "What do you mean no one else is here?"
She spun slowly as if noticing for the first time they were the only people around.
Davy started into the doorway and then backed out of it. Better to stay clear in case of doll attack—she did seem a little bit more like the haunted, violent type despite the round, rosy cheeks.
"What time is it?"
She pulled out her phone. "Shit, shit, shit. I am so late."
In an unexpected move, she ran to the sink and began scrubbing out mugs. "I'm sorry," Davy said again, because it was an appropriate thing to say in
Canada for all occasions.
"It's not your fault," she muttered.
"At least let me help you do something."
He was already late. And although he hated disappointing people, he got the distinct feeling Dr. Hisanaga would rather he flaked out.
Besides, he had no idea what this woman was going to ask him next. It was invigorating.
