Under the Microscope. Jessica Andersen

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СКАЧАТЬ three months of free sample distribution to targeted areas, Thriller would go public tomorrow. The presale numbers were already off the charts. The accounting department had even started to use the B word.

      Blockbuster.

      The experts had said it couldn’t be done. They’d said the female sexual response was too complicated to reproduce in pill form.

      Thankfully, all the clinical trials said the experts were wrong. Thriller worked. Women who hadn’t had orgasms in years were lighting up like Christmas trees and calling for more samples with their husbands’ voices in the background, urging them on. Which was a relief, as Raine had worried that men would be threatened by the little pink pills, that they would think Thriller an insult to their manhood.

      But instead of saying Our wives don’t need that when they have us, they were saying Give us more.

      Thank God. Raine squeezed her eyes shut and wondered if the dizziness was relief that Thriller was finally being released, or fear that the numbers wouldn’t hold. If the sales didn’t take off almost immediately, she’d be left swimming in debt, with a staff that needed to be paid and a slim drug portfolio that contained two flops and three promising compounds that had barely entered phase-two trials.

      If Thriller tanked, it would take Rainey Days—and Raine—with it.

      A hand touched her shoulder, and Tori’s soft voice said, “The commercial looks fantastic. Congratulations.”

      The dark-haired woman slipped out of the room. The human embodiment of the word unobtrusive, Tori wasn’t comfortable with crowds, but she gave great phone and kept Raine’s professional life organized to a tee.

      Jeff punched the air in victory. “That rocked!”

      Raine grinned at the younger man’s enthusiasm and at the excitement that lit his mid-blue eyes. Something loosened in her chest. “Hopefully it didn’t rock too hard. That’s the ad targeted at our older demographic. The younger targets—music channels and some of the reality shows—will get a version that’s heavier on the sex and the ‘I am woman, hear me come’ message.”

      Her face didn’t heat anymore when she said stuff like that. As the Thriller mania had geared up over the past months, she’d grown used to thinking of orgasms as a marketable commodity. Jeff, on the other hand, still blushed.

      The faint pink on his pale cheeks made him look younger than his twenty-three years and less worldly than his double degree would suggest. But he manned up, swallowed and nodded. “Good. That’s good. You’re booked on three local radio shows this week, and the Channel Four news is thinking about doing an interview. If we’re lucky, that’ll generate enough buzz to get you picked up by the national media.”

      Raine fought the wince. “Yeah, and I already know two of the interview questions, guaranteed. Is there a personal reason you chose to develop a female sex-enhancement drug, and the ever-popular, have you tried it yourself?”

      The answers were no and no. She’d developed Thriller because the corresponding male sex-enhancement drug had made its parent company approximately a bazillion dollars, and she hadn’t tried the product herself because, well, it was back to that whole empty-apartment thing.

      She didn’t have anything against dating, but she was thirty-five, divorced, childless and focused on building her company. Most of the men she met were either post-midlife crisis and looking for arm candy, or late-thirties and wanted to start a family yesterday. In the absence of someone tall, dark, handsome and not looking to sow his seed at the expense of her career, she’d decided to go with the better off alone theory.

      Jeff avoided her eyes and the pink deepened. “I’m sure you’ll come up with some clever answers between now and then.”

      “Let’s brainstorm while we party. Everyone’s headed to the New Bridge Tavern, right?” She could hear the muted sounds of celebration out in the main office lobby, where she’d set up another TV so the rest of her employees could watch the launch ad.

      Sure, it was 3:00 p.m. on a Monday, but who really cared? They deserved to blow off some steam.

      Their lives were about to change. They could bear the chilly winds of winter in New Bridge, Connecticut, long enough to walk around the corner for a party.

      Jeff grinned. “That was supposed to be a surprise, boss. We thought—”

      Tori burst into the room at a run. She leaned over the conference table and punched a button to activate one of the built-in phones. “You’ve got to hear this.”

      Raine grinned. “Another crank call? Something more creative than heavy breathing and fake moans?” Then she got a good look at Tori’s expression and a knot formed in her stomach. “What’s wrong?”

      “Listen.” Tori stabbed another button and cranked the speakerphone volume.

      After a moment of hissing silence, her recorded voice said, “Rainey Days, Incorporated, this is Tori speaking. How may I help you?”

      “Thriller killed my wife.”

      The oxygen evaporated from the conference room. Raine couldn’t breathe. She could barely hear over the roaring in her ears.

      After a long pause, Tori’s voice said, “I’m sorry to hear about your wife, sir, but—”

      “Cari… She had a sample packet.” The man swallowed loudly, and the sound echoed on the tense air. “The doctors say she had a heart attack. She was only twenty-eight. We have a baby….”

      More hissing silence.

      “Oh, God. Oh, no. Nonononono—” Heart pounding, Raine looked around to see who was saying that and realized it was her. She clamped her lips together and fought the nausea. Fought the panic.

      Think. She had to think.

      She was in charge.

      On the recording, Tori’s voice said, “Will you hold, please? I’m going to connect you to—”

      There was a click, and the line went dead. After a long moment, Tori moved to punch off the speakerphone. “I called back, but nobody picked up. Caller ID says it’s registered to James and Cari Summerton in Houghton, Pennsylvania, a suburb of Philly. He must’ve used Google to find the company and gotten the main number rather than the help line….” She trailed off. “Do you think it could be a prank?”

      Raine didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know what to do. She could barely feel her body—everything was numb besides her brain, which pounded that same panicked litany of no-no-no-no.

      This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

      Fear for her company bubbled up alongside basic human horror. A woman was dead. A mother.

      Panic brushed at the edges of her soul, trying to take over everything, but she beat it back. She wasn’t the weak woman she’d once been, ready to crumble and let someone else take over and fix things. She couldn’t be.

      She was the boss now.

      She placed her palms flat on the conference table and pressed until the numbness receded and she could feel the wood grain beneath her fingertips. СКАЧАТЬ