Falling Awake

Richardson.”
    Isabel flashed him an approving smile, gave him a thumbs-up and hurried off down the corridor.
    The interior of the Belvedere Center for Sleep Research was a maze of white hallways and stairwells that connected three floors of offices and labs. She had a lengthy hike ahead of her because the small Department of Dream Analysis where she worked was located on the third floor in a wing of the building. Dr. B.’s old office was on the same floor but in another wing.
    She glanced at her watch again and stifled a groan. She was going to be late. Not the best way to start things off with a new boss.
    She rounded the first corner, her lab coat flapping wildly in her wake, and nearly collided with the good-looking man emerging from a stairwell.

    “What’s the rush, Izzy?” Ian Jarrow asked, chuckling.
    “Late for a meeting with the new director.” She did not pause. “See you later.”
    “Hey, you did something to your hair, didn’t you?” His eyes crinkled very nicely when he smiled.
    “Yes.”
    “It’s cute.” He reached out as she went past, evidently intending to snag some of the wispy tendrils. “I like it.”
    “Thanks.” She dodged his hand and hurried away, out of reach.
    Aaargh. Cute. That did it. The style definitely had to go. Mr. Nicholas had promised to make her look sexy, not cute. Cute was for little girls and poodles.
    Well, at least Ian had actually noticed her new cut, she thought, trying for a positive spin. That was better than having him not notice any change at all. But it was too late to make any difference in their relationship. They had stopped dating a month ago, right after Ian took her out to dinner and gently explained that he considered her a good friend, someone he could really talk to, almost a sister. He added that he hoped the fact that they would no longer be seeing each other privately wouldn’t affect their friendship.
    She could have written the script for him. All of her relationships ended in a similar, disturbingly mundane fashion. Men started out wanting to tell her their dreams, proceeded to ask her for advice and ended up regarding her as a good friend; the sister they never had.
    If one more man told her he thought of her as a sister, she would be sorely tempted to strangle him with his tie.

    The worst part was that now, at thirty-three, she was pretty sure she was on borrowed time. By forty, the line about thinking of her as a sister would probably metamorphose into you’re like an aunt to me .
    Just once it would be interesting to have a man look at her and see a warning sign: CAUTION , DANGEROUS CURVES AHEAD . And know that he would keep on coming, regardless, like the exciting, mysterious man she fantasized about in her dreams.
    Maybe she should try something a little more radical in the fashion line, she mused. Maybe it was time to purchase a pair of stiletto heels and a leather bustier. She had a sudden vision of herself striding the halls of the Belvedere Center for Sleep Research dressed as a dominatrix.
    Ahead in the hallway, the door of the ladies’ room opened. A tall, striking woman garbed in a hand-tailored lab coat stepped out.
    “Isabel.”
    “Hello, Dr. Netley.”
    Amelia Netley’s stellar résumé listed a number of glowing degrees and achievements in the field of sleep research. But it was her red hair, cool blue eyes and long, elegant legs that kept everyone buzzing. Isabel thought of her as a sort of modern-day Boadicea. Like the ancient queen of the Iceni who led the famous rebellion against the Romans in the British Isles, there was something regal and dedicated about her.
    A number of betting pools had been formed to pick the name of the lucky man she would deign to date first but Isabel had a feeling that Amelia would keep everyone guessing for a while.

    “Is something wrong?” Amelia asked, auburn brows drawing together in concern. “Why are you in such a hurry?”
    “Got a meeting with the new director.”
    “Really? That seems strange.”
    Amelia had not been intentionally rude, Isabel decided. It was just that her people skills were somewhat deficient. It was not an uncommon problem among members of the research staff.
    “Why do you say that?” Isabel asked politely.
    Amelia’s fine brows puckered a bit. “I heard that he has scheduled a meeting with each of the various department heads today. You’re only a research assistant.”
    Isabel resisted the urge to grind her back teeth. She admired Amelia in