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glass. “Rough day?”
    She sipped her wine and nodded, letting the alcohol work on her frayed nerves.
    “Dr. Mathews?”
    “Who else?” She and Tom Mathews had an ongoing battle. The man was old-fashioned and considered women an unwelcome addition to the scientific community. Unfortunately, he was also her supervisor.
    “Do you want to talk about it?” Charles asked. “You know I could—”
    She cut him off. “No.”
    Technically, Charles was both her and Mathews’s employer. He’d founded and now headed the board of Braydon Labs, one of the finest genetic research laboratories in the country. Although Charles liked telling people he acted only as an adviser, everyone knew nothing of consequence happened without his approval. All it would take was one phone call, and her troubles with Tom Mathews would vanish.
    Charles had offered several times to make that call. He wanted to help, and it was a sweet thought. But it was her life and her career, and she wouldn’t have anyone pulling rank to smooth her way.
    “Charles, please,” she said. “I can handle Tom.”
    She thought they might be in for another round on the topic, but Charles surprised her by changing the subject. “So, what would you like for dinner?”
    Nothing, she thought, but knew he would never accept that. “I could throw together an omelet or something.”
    His frown was all the answer she needed. Sydney wasn’t much of a cook, and they both knew it. “Well, we could still go out,” she offered. “Not to La Belle’s, but we could go over to Mario’s. They’re never busy during the week.”
    “With good reason.”
    She sighed. She didn’t have the energy for this tonight.
    Charles and food, or she should say, restaurants. He prided himself on his gourmet taste and frequented the best restaurants in the city where he could see and be seen. It was his one obsession, though looking at him you’d never know it. He was as lean and firmly muscled as any twenty-year-old athlete.
    “What do you want to do, Charles?”
    He considered, then said, “Why don’t you relax for a bit, and I’ll go out and pick up something.”
    She eyed him warily. Takeout wasn’t Charles’s favorite choice. He liked being served. “You wouldn’t mind?”
    “What I mind is that you’re working yourself to death.”
    She tried to make light of the comment. “But think of all the money you’re saving by not having to feed me as often.”
    He came over to her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t joke. You work too hard.”
    “My work is important.”
    “I know, Sydney, but fourteen, sixteen hours a day.” His disapproval was evident in his tone.
    “We’ve been over this before, Charles.” She slipped from beneath his arm, got up from the stool, and headed into the living room, where the Chopin sonata offered comfort.
    Charles followed her. “All I’m saying—”
    “I know what you’re saying.” Irritated, she stopped in front of the mantel, looking at the picture of a blond five-year-old with bright blue eyes and a smile that never failed to stop her heart. She closed her eyes and let the music flow over her, hoping it would soothe her.
    Charles came up behind her and rubbed her upper arms. “It’s because of your son, isn’t it? That’s why you’re driving yourself like this.”
    She didn’t answer. Three years ago yesterday she’d lost her Nicky. For everyone else, the date had come and gone without incident. But she’d remembered.
    “Sydney, your son’s death was a tragic accident.” Charles gave her arms a gentle squeeze and lowered his forehead to rest against the back of her head. “But you need to get on with your life. We need to get on with our life together.”
    She pulled away and turned to face him. “This has nothing to do with Nicky.” It took effort to keep her voice calm, when she wanted to scream at him. “I’m looking for candidate genes to prevent childhood leukemia.