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An Informal Date, Click to Buy
The change in Dr. Jameson’s voice gave warning. Whatever was coming next, Owen wouldn’t like it.
“Do you remember when I explained why we wanted to relocate you from Chicago to our lab here in Virginia?”
Owen remembered all right. He’d hoped, however, that the pharmaceutical company would wise up and realize they were better off not forcing the issue.
“It’s time.” Dr. Jameson built a funeral pyre with his voice.
Owen’s stomach dropped despite the uncomfortably angled chair that seemed to want to force all his internal organs northward.
“Gyermeck Pharmaceuticals will be asking the FDA to fast-track the drug. All our paperwork is in order, and our stats back up the drug’s release. The waiting period with the FDA, though, is... problematic.”
“A Pomeranian has more chance of convincing a government agency to take action. You send me in there, and the drug will end up permanently sidelined.” Owen knew his limitations. People were one of his biggest.
Dr. Jameson’s mouth lifted at the corner. “I’m not asking you to go into a meeting or address Congress. Nothing of the sort.”
Owen should feel better, but he would reserve judgment until Dr. Jameson finished. “Then what?”
“There’s a reception...”
“Uh-uh. No way. Seriously? A social gathering? I’d rather testify before Congress if it’s all the same to you.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not all the same, and Gyermeck isn’t backing down on this. The reception is next Thursday night. That gives you eight days to procure a tux and a date. Find someone who can fill in the awkward silences for you. If you don’t...”
Owen was still shaking his head. “Sending me to a social gathering like that will guarantee Gyermeck never gets approval to release the drug.”
Dr. Jameson stood and moved toward the door. “I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but it’s part of your contract. I’ll check back with you on Tuesday to make sure you have a tuxedo and a date.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ve been instructed to see to it that you attend even if it means I dress you myself and hire an escort to accompany you.”
The door closed behind Dr. Jameson, but Owen remained in the chair. He was supposed to find a date to take to a reception — presumably a government reception — or the pharmaceutical company financing his research would hire one for him.
Could the day get any worse?
A crack echoed in the confined space of his office.
Owen landed on the floor.
Time for a new chair.