Chapter Text
"I'll be frank with you, Helena." Westmoreland leans back in his chair and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "While I am very impressed with your academic achievements so far, they are just that - academic. I've had some bad experiences with new hires fresh out of university who ultimately couldn't cut it in the field. I know you're not squeamish, but to work for me, you need a certain... ruthlessness." He lets the word hang in the air for emphasis. "I'm sure you are familiar with the stories, and how some people think that I am going 'too far', whatever that means."
Helena definitely is familiar. In fact, that is what drew her to him - Nathaniel Westmoreland is a man who does not care about pesky little things like 'morals' or 'ethics'. 'To see if it can be done' is his main credo, no matter the cost. He lives for his science. And she very much admires that.
"I am aware, Dr. Westmoreland. And I can assure you, that will not be a problem."
"Helena, I told you to call me Nathaniel," he reminds her and smiles.
Westmoreland leans forward and pats her thigh, then he lets his hand sit there.
She is very much aware of his reputation in that regard, too - despite being in his fifties, he's a womanizer, and likes his conquests young and smart. At the university dinner last month, where they met for the first time, he did the same, and Helena managed to casually pull away without making a big thing out of it on that occasion. She even considered whether going along with it might be the way to get the job. Not like she's opposed to that in general, sometimes you have to work with what you've got, it's just not her usual style - the smiling and flirting and all that.
Reciprocating his advances might get her a foot in the door, so to speak. But after weighing the pros and cons, she ultimately settled for another tactic.
This time, Helena returns his smile and puts her hand on top of his. A split second later, Westmoreland suddenly pulls away, staring at the little puncture wound at the back of his hand.
"Did you...?" he murmurs, baffled. "What did you just inject me with?"
That poison ring certainly is an antique, kind of crude, and Helena isn't a huge jewelry person anyway, but she likes it. Has a certain flair.
"Beta-Oploxine," she answers, still smiling at him.
He frowns. "How much?"
"About a milligram."
"So you aren't trying to kill me," he remarks with a raised eyebrow, wiping away the small drop of blood coming out of the wound. His arm will be numb for a few hours, other than that he shouldn't suffer any adverse effects. Probably.
"Of course not. I am going to work for you, after all," Helena notes casually, like that is already a given.
She is gambling, severely. Men like him usually don't appreciate it when you stand up to them. This could go badly - he has enough pull to simply end her whole career right in this room, right now.
But he did ask for ruthlessness.
Westmoreland stares at her for a moment, then he laughs. "I like you. Very bold. If you promise not to dose me with neurotoxins again, you got the job."
"If you don't give me a reason to."
He hesitates, then nods and puts his hand forth. Helena shakes it, trying not to grin too proudly. That gamble paid off after all.