The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

If Tom Benton, cancer researcher extraordinaire, came to
Stanford and gave Olive ten minutes of his time, she could
convince him to help her out with her research predicament!
Well . . . maybe.
Olive was much better at actually doing research than at
selling its importance to others. Science communication and
public speaking of any sort were definitely her big
weaknesses. But she had a chance to show Benton how
promising her results were. She could list the clinical benefits
of her work, and she could explain how little she required to
turn her project into a huge success. All she needed was a
quiet bench in a corner of his lab, a couple hundred of his lab
mice, and unlimited access to his twenty-million-dollar
electron microscope. Benton wouldn’t even notice her.
Olive headed for the break room, mentally writing an
impassioned speech on how she was willing to use his
facilities only at night and limit her oxygen consumption to
less than five breaths per minute. She poured herself a cup of
stale coffee and turned around to find someone scowling right
behind her.
She startled so hard that she almost burned herself.
“Jesus!” She clutched her chest, took a deep breath, and
held tighter onto her Scooby-Doo mug. “Anh. You scared the
shit out of me.”
“Olive.”
It was a bad sign. Anh never called her Olive—never,
unless she was reprimanding her for biting her nails to the
quick or for having vitamin gummies for dinner.
“Hey! How was your—”
“The other night.”
Dammit. “—weekend?”