"I-I'm just trying to see if the p-value is statistically significant," Olive stuttered, suddenly acutely aware of how close his chest was to her back.
It was Anh’s meddling that had landed Olive in her current, utterly ridiculous predicament.
Standing in front of her bathroom mirror, Olive smoothed down the fabric of a borrowed black dress. She felt like an impostor. She was just a girl playing a part, pretending to be the equal of a man who was lightyears ahead of her in every possible way. "I-I'm just trying to see if the p-value
Olive swallowed hard. He had used her first name. And he had called her work brilliant. Coming from Adam Carlsen, that was the equivalent of winning a Nobel Prize.
It started at the coffee shop. Olive, true to her chaotic nature, ordered a monstrosity of a drink involving white mocha, extra whip, and three different syrups. Adam ordered a black coffee, looking at her sugary concoction with pure disdain. She felt like an impostor
"You need your friend to believe you are in a relationship. I need the administration to believe I have personal ties keeping me at Stanford. It appears our data points align. We should fake date."
She adjusted her safety goggles, staring intensely at a tray of pancreatic cancer cells. If this assay yielded the results she was praying for, her dissertation was saved. If it didn’t, she would have to explain another failure to her demanding committee. He had used her first name
"You must be relieved," Olive said, forcing a brittle smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You won't have to spend your money on sugary coffee or waste your nights keeping a scatterbrained grad student company anymore."