Message From Viola Mari Read Online Free PDF Page A

have to lie. Have you considered the possibility that he scribbled on purpose just so you would call?” As she spoke, her large brown eyes widened and her eyebrows drew upward. She was the matchmaking detective who never shied away from theorizing about what brewed in any man or woman’s head.
    “No, I haven’t considered that possibility.” I flipped my tidier-than-usual hair in annoyance.
    “Simply call him up, thank him for his comments, which you were disappointed to find were illegible, and ask if he can meet to review them with you. What do you think?”
    “He makes me nervous.” Not to mention excited, hysterical, and insane.
    “You’re one of the best damn scientists in the country and you can’t even talk to a guy?”
    I turned the key in the ignition. When the engine started, I pushed down the pedal angrily. The smell of gasoline made me cough. “Fine, I’ll touch base with him. But no phones. I’ll email him so I can express myself coherently. Are you happy now?”
    “E-mail? You’re such a chicken.”
    I made a tire-screeching turn onto Torrey Pines Avenue.
    I pressed my hands together and paced in front of Justin’s office door at eleven AM, the time we’d agreed to meet. I inhaled a you-can-do-it gulp of air and then tapped on the door. I really hope he doesn’t answer I thought, as I bounced on my toes and waited. I drew in another breath when his muffled voice behind the wooden door instructed me to enter.
    I clutched a folder containing my manuscript in my right hand and had my purse slung over the other shoulder. I wore what I hoped he would think was an attractive mini-dress.
    “Hello.” My unsteady voice didn’t belong to the scientist I knew as me. I pulled on the fabric of my cotton dress with my loose hand. “Hi.” He looked at his watch and rose to his feet. “It’s good to see you.”
    His royal-blue T-shirt stretched tightly over his muscular chest. Golden hairs curled over his forearms, which looked so masculine and strong, I longed to reach out and touch them. His proximity shot a bolt of electricity through me that momentarily stunned me.
    Once my brain unscrambled, I managed to utter, “Yeah, good to see you too.” Meanwhile, my mind shouted let me out of here .
    “It’s so close to lunch time and I’ve got an early afternoon meeting—would you mind if we caught a bite to eat while we review your manuscript?” He raised a blond brow at me seductively.
    He’s looking at me like he’s asking to remove my dress while he reads it . I tugged at the fabric at my hip again and cleared my throat. I wished more than anything I wore glasses to make me appear serious, focused, distinguished—anything other than the melting between the thighs nitwit I felt like just then. “It might take too long, don’t you think? To catch our lunch, cook it, eat it, and still get you to your meeting on time,” I said, laughing too loud. Here I am, back in that elevator during the earthquake.
    “Very funny,” he said.
    His hand brushed against my arm. Accidental, or intentional? “That’ll work for me. I’m in a hurry too.”
    “There’s a sandwich shop across the street that’s quiet. Why don’t we go there?”
    I nodded. As we walked side by side down the stairway, he asked, “Where do you work?”
    “I’m a marine geologist at Scripps.”
    “That sounds exciting. So is your degree in oceanography or geology?”
    “Both, actually. I studied geology as an undergrad at John Hopkins before moving here to obtain my Ph.D. in oceanography at Scripps.”
    “Do you enjoy your work?” He pulled open a door and held it for me.
    “I love it.” I stepped out into the warm, dry air. No good-looking men there to distract me, and little conversation is required. “But I’m doing all the talking here. I’d like to hear how you became a writer.”
    “When I was eight, my parents drove us from Los Angeles to San Antonio. We’d barely gotten out of town when I realized I’d