Horace jumped in, “Faye’s right. Research should be open and honest. What’s the point of keeping everything under wraps?”
Eleanor met their gazes, calm and unflinching. “I haven’t been hiding anything.”
“Then tell us,” Faye pressed, her tone sharp, “are your current ideas and innovations really your own, or are you just echoing your father’s opinions?”
She went on, her words dripping with mockery, “Your father, Professor Elliot Sutton, was a visionary in gene editing. Clearly, genius runs in the family.”
Eleanor’s fingers curled slightly against her notes. Faye was really pulling out all the stops to corner her.
Simone, unable to stand it any longer, spoke up, “Faye, now’s not the time for this.”
“Professor Langley, I’m not targeting Eleanor,” Faye replied, flashing a bright, insincere smile. “We all just want to understand her research direction, maybe learn a thing or two from her!”
Horace chimed in, voice heavy with sarcasm, “Exactly! We’re all curious about what makes Eleanor so successful. Share your secrets—after all, not everyone has a renowned academic for a father.”
Eleanor’s voice was steady. “Science has always been about standing on the shoulders of giants. My father’s work inspired me a great deal, and I’ve never denied that.”
She fixed her gaze on Faye. “Now that you’re working with me at Meridian Dynamics, isn’t it fair to say you’re building your future on my shoulders, too?”
Faye’s cheeks flushed crimson. “You—”
Joel interjected, nodding. “The AI-based cellular simulation theory was Eleanor’s own idea. Her abilities are beyond question.”
Under the table, Faye’s fists clenched tight. She’d hoped to embarrass Eleanor, but instead, the joke was on her.
Dr. Lyman’s expression darkened. “Let’s keep our focus on research, not personal vendettas,” he said, his gaze lingering on Faye.
She bit her lip, face burning, and fell silent.
Still, everyone in the room had gotten the message: Eleanor’s work was deeply tied to her father’s legacy. Just the impression Faye wanted to plant.
After the meeting, Joel made a beeline to Eleanor’s office.
“Don’t let Faye get to you,” he said. “Your work speaks for itself.”
I’ve been wanting to get to know you better these past few days.
Why? she asked, stealing a quick moment at the next stoplight.
Isn’t it normal to want to understand someone you like? came his reply.
Eleanor’s breath caught. She quickly typed back, Sorry, I’m driving.
A voice message popped up.
She tapped to listen. Mansfield’s deep voice, tinged with an awkward shyness, filtered through: “Sorry, Miss Sutton. Please drive safely, I won’t distract you anymore. Just… focus on the road, okay?”
He actually sounded a bit flustered.
Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh, warmth blooming in her chest.
For a man with the gravitas of a major general, that boyish awkwardness was unexpectedly endearing.

Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor)