Twenty-eight
Austin
Bright and early on Friday, I step into the lab, my safe haven of wires and whiteboards, hoping to drown out the images of shopping bags and dresses that crowded my living room last night. Mom went all out for the party—no surprise there. She’s always had a flair for the dramatic, especially when it comes to celebrations.
“Morning, Austin,” greets Harrison, his eyes focused like lasers on the battery array in front of him.
“Hey,” I reply, shaking off thoughts of sequins and silk. I drop my bag by my desk, cluttered with schematics and notes. “Let’s get started.”
The lab and the company are already in anniversary-celebration mode, so I’m not sure how much we’ll get done today. Tonight we have a staff-only party before tomorrow’s larger celebration, and they don’t know it, but we’ll be handing out bonus checks. Despite everything that’s happened, everyone is at least getting five figures. Justin had said he wanted to do that once we knew we weren’t going to offer stock options and go public.
We huddle around the first test battery. “Okay, this is our two hundred and twelfth test. We’ve altered the battery size to fit in the robot vehicle that had the fire this week. We’re looking for anything out of the ordinary. Heat spikes, wiring faults, chemical imbalances,” I instruct, though they’ve heard it a dozen times before.
“Got it,” Dan, the technician, mutters as he attaches sensors.
The first battery hums to life. We watch the data stream in, and it’s stubbornly normal. The second, third, and fourth follow suit, silent on the secret that’s turning batteries into fire hazards. With each test, my frustration mounts like a silent crescendo. Our products are safe, just as we engineered them to be. We’re not the ones causing these fires.
“Nothing,” I say, more to myself than the team. “No irregularities, no shorts. It’s like they’re waiting for us to look away before they go up in flames.”
“Maybe the batteries are shy?” Dan jokes.
“Or they’re messing with us,” I add, forcing a smile.
Later in the day, Dan suggests we puncture one cell through the battery lining. It’s not a simple task. It takes two drill bits to bite through the thick plastic and the metal encasement of the sodium-ion cell. We have the cameras going, recording everything as we go so we can use it as a reference.
Sodium ion leaks onto the platform, which can actually cause a short that starts a fire. Slowly the temperature numbers increase, but nothing beyond that. The battery sits on the metal stand like a patient on an operating table, all of us around it like eager surgeons. I glance at the thermal-imaging screen. Temperatures are climbing, and anticipation crackles in the air.
“Come on,” I mutter as if coaxing a stubborn ember to flame. Arms folded, I watch the numbers rise. It’s a slow torture, each incremental increase baiting our anxiety. Then, a wisp of smoke curls from the battery’s casing—so thin it’s almost a figment of my imagination.
“Look!” Sam points, and everyone’s heads snap toward the first sign of success or disaster, depending on how you look at it.
“Get the extinguishers ready,” I command, but my team is already on it.
Heat blooms into fire, tiny at first, then greedily lapping up the oxygen in the lab. We spring into action, a symphony of shouted instructions and the hiss of extinguisher foam. The fire becomes a monster of our own making, but we tame it into submission, reducing it to a smoldering heap of what could have been catastrophic.
“Finally,” I exhale, relief washing over me. We have our starting point. The problem occurs when the sodium-ion cells are punctured through the outer wall of the battery. That’s not anything that would happen when our batteries are installed correctly and without modification. This is all good news. “Let’s call it a day,” I say, looking at the weary faces around me. “Now, we’ve got something to work with next week.”
“Thank God.” Sarah sighs, wiping soot from her brow. “I was about to bail on tonight’s party if this kept up.”
“Speaking of which…” I glance at my watch. “We should get going. A milestone to celebrate, remember?”
“Go ahead, boss. We’ll lock up,” Sam insists, and I nod.
“See you there,” I reply as I make my way out of the lab. Finally, some progress. Now, I feel much more like celebrating.
Last night’s staff celebration went too late, and I just kept wishing Danica was with me. I brought my mom as my plus one, since she’s been here since the beginning. She loved it, but it just wasn’t the same. So today, I’m all in on making this evening with Danica fantastic. I slept in and went for a run, followed by a hearty lunch and a long shower. Now, with an hour or so before I need to leave, I’ve traveled back to the loft. I needed a little space from Mom, frankly. I promised her we’d reconnect after arriving at the party. She seemed mostly okay with making a glamorous entrance on her own.
So now, the transformation begins. My Tom Ford tuxedo is a second skin, tailored to perfection. Ferragamo loafers slip on like they were made for me. I check myself in the mirror, adjusting the bowtie. Perfect . It’s not just about looking the part; it’s about feeling it too.
I cross the hall to Danica’s and rap gently. A moment’s pause, and the door swings open.
“Hey, Austin!” Danica greets me, but I’m lost for words.
“Wow,” is all that escapes me. She’s breathtaking. I gave Alison, my personal assistant, all the information, and she ran with it. She’s going to get a nice bonus. The dress, the same cornflower blue as Danica’s eyes, hugs her figure like it was painted on. Her strawberry blonde hair cascades in soft waves, framing her face. I’m ready to see her out of the dress right now.
“Is it too much?” she asks, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her features as she steps back to let me in.
I shake my head, still caught in her spell. “Absolutely not. You’re perfect.” The words tumble out before I can stop them, but they’re true. In this moment, I don’t care about any party, not when she’s standing in front of me like this.
But I finally find my composure and offer my arm. “Shall we?”
“Let’s,” she replies, placing her hand lightly on my forearm, and together, we turn back toward the door.
“You know,” I say, “I might just have to spoil you later for looking this stunning.”
Her blush deepens, and she laughs. “I wouldn’t object to that.” There’s a spark in her eyes.
“Good, because it’s a promise,” I reply.
At the door, she hands me a small overnight bag, her fingers brushing mine. “Hold this for a second, please?” She turns her attention to the feline spectator by the window. “Mischa, I’ll be back in the morning, okay?”
As if understanding every word, Mischa pads over to her favorite spot, her tail flicking with an air of regal acknowledgment. Danica waves, and the cat—too smart for anyone’s good—lifts her paw, mimicking the gesture in what could only be a farewell salute.
“Amazing,” I marvel, reaching out to take her hand. “Let’s not keep the celebration waiting.”
Danica nods, her smile lighting her entire face, and I realize how much I’ve missed her, even if it was just a few days apart. This puzzles me as much as it feels right. I don’t understand where this is coming from, but as we walk together down the hall, I’m certain of one thing. I’m not letting go.
We settle into the car, and Steve gets us on our way. “Just got word that another driver has your mother,” he reports after a moment. “She’ll be arriving at the Hilton San Francisco Financial District at the same time as you.”
“Thanks, Steve,” I murmur. There’s another detail managed.
Danica shifts beside me, her hand finding mine, her grip tight. Outside, the grandeur of the City looms, its iconic skyline a testament to dreams made tangible. But as we near the hotel, I sense Danica withdrawing, her excitement replaced by a tension that pulls her inward.
“Press at the entry,” she whispers, and it’s not just observation. It’s dread.
“Hey,” I say, leaning closer. “Don’t worry about them. I’m right here with you. We’ll walk in together, okay?” I need to be her anchor in this swell of anxiety.
She nods, trying to smile. The car eases to a stop, the paparazzi’s flashes already twinkling like stars gone wild.
Danica’s breath is a warm tickle on my ear. “Austin, this dress… I couldn’t wear panties. If I trip, if I fall…” Her voice trails off.
It takes every ounce of self-control not to glance down at the fabric hugging her curves, to stay the protective guy I need to be. But damn, images flood my mind, unwelcome yet electric. “You won’t fall,” I assure her, fighting the heat rising within me. “I’ve got you.”
Her laugh is shaky, a silver bell that betrays her fear. “Promise?”
“Promise.” With everything in me, I mean it.
“Okay then,” she says, a new resolve steeling her tone. “Let’s do this.”
Hand in hand, we step out of the car, the air alive with shouts and camera clicks. But all I see is her, all I feel is the press of her skin against mine, and all I know is that tonight, I’ll do anything to keep her safe, to keep her smiling…and to somehow survive this evening without my pants revealing just how much she affects me.