Chapter 13
NATE
One way or another, I’m going to make it up to her.
Vivienne is right—standing her up the way I did was unacceptable, and I really have no excuses.
Although I may have genuinely forgotten about our fake date—too consumed by my anger for Carter and the mess my life has become to think straight—I did see her string of incoming calls, and I did decide to ignore them.
Now, I realize how wrong that was.
She could have been in the middle of some life-and-death situation—perhaps attacked by another goose, run over by a car, or both at once—and I would never have known. All because I’d been too selfish to think of anyone but myself.
Not to mention, I was a little bitter to see the name of the woman who kissed me with her intoxicating red lips and ran away like it never happened. No phone call. No text. No debrief on how she felt. I was left in the dust, replaying the scene in my head and questioning where I went wrong.
I shake the thought away. Now isn’t the time to dwell on how right her mouth felt against mine. I need to make it up to her.
Make out with her?
My eyes wince in shame as the idea returns as quickly as it vanished.
Regardless, I track down the bakery from yesterday’s date and pull up their website, happy to see they take online orders. A wide assortment of pastries finds its way into my cart with a special emphasis on the tiramisu—all because Vivienne once mentioned she liked them.
Pistachio. Lemon. Matcha. The flavors are likely to send an authentic Italian into a heart attack, but I’d like to believe, for the sake of this apology, that they’d deem it acceptable.
I place the order for pickup as it’s more worthy of forgiveness than delivery. I’m out of my chair and ready to make it up to my fake fiancée when my phone bursts into a frenzy of vibrations.
It isn’t the bakery telling me something’s gone wrong with the order or that the key component of my apology (tiramisu) has sold out—it’s Archer Aviation’s most prominent investor.
I let out a frustrated sigh, irritated that he chose this very moment to grace me with his verbal domination.
Kamal Jameel is a brilliant man—don’t get me wrong—but he loves to talk. Talk shit. Talk circles. Talk over. There’s no getting a word in during a conversation with him, so I settle back in my chair and set the call to speaker.
“You know, Nate, I’ve been rather disappointed with your performance lately.”
I brace myself for his lecture.
“I still remember when you first came onto the scene.” Kamal chuckles on a sigh, a reminiscent tone to his voice.
“Young. Skinny. Twig-like. I’d never seen such snappable bones in my life.
You were a scared little boy navigating this big, scary world, but you had this light, Nate.
This sort of genius I hadn’t seen in a long time, and I knew I needed to be part of it. ”
I find myself staring ahead in stupor, too stunned to speak.
I’m getting roasted like a coffee bean when I should be on my way to making it up to my fake fiancée. Never mind that his description of twenty-four-year-old me as young, skinny, and twig-like is widely inaccurate.
“Now? Gosh, I have no clue what’s happening to you, man.
You were on top of this industry, and as it stands, you’re crashing faster than the Titanic.
And as much as I’d like to believe you’ll survive, that door ain’t going to save you.
Leo shoved you underwater and took his rightful place there along with Rose.
There’s no way out. You’re drowning, mate. ”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line as I process his every word.
It’s a nice analogy…I guess? But what is it with these Leonardo DiCaprio references? It’s downright insulting at this point.
“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I’m confident these rough times will pass, but…” His voice trails off ominously. “If you don’t give an incredible talk at the Aviation Global Forum, I will take myself out as an investor. That’s all! Thanks for your time, man. Really appreciate it.”
The harsh click of the call ending echoes in my ears before I even have the chance to part my lips.
I don’t usually have anything to say to Kamal when we talk—or should I say when he talks—but for once, I wanted to put his connections to use.
I’m sure he’s been in contact with Everett Staines since the event.
And given that he’s still affiliated with Archer Aviation despite the allegations, maybe he could have pulled some strings to get me back in his good graces—explain that I’m not the manwhore he thinks I am.
But clearly, getting into contact with him is not in the cards for me.
If you don’t give an incredible talk at the Aviation Global Forum, I will take myself out as an investor.
Kamal’s words loop in my ear like a cassette tape unwilling to turn off. Though they may have been delivered in a lighthearted manner, he isn’t the kind of man who takes things lightly. If he says he’ll do something, he follows through on it.
The Aviation Global Forum is the biggest aerospace engineering conference of the year. From top aircraft manufacturers to airlines, industry professionals, and researchers, it was a place everyone gathered to network and tease what they've been working on.
Before the spark incident, I’d been chosen as a keynote speaker—something they still haven’t changed despite my crumbling reputation.
While I was confident in what we had to present before, an uneasy feeling bubbles at the thought of it now. The last time I believed we’d done something great, it went to shit, and I can’t help but think it’ll happen again.
The pressure is on—one wrong move, and I could really lose all that I’ve ever worked for. But that’s an issue for later because I have pastries waiting for me at a French bakery.
I bring up Vivienne’s and my chat, needing to find out where she is on this colder Thursday afternoon, only to find myself staring at the flickering line in the text message box.
How would I even start a conversation with her?
I have no idea what to say to this woman. We were brought together by force, not will, and as far as I know, we don’t have any shared interests or hobbies—only experiences.
An idea clicks in my head, and I cackle as I type it out.
Nate: Got attacked by a goose today on my way to work. It made me think of you.
Her response is almost instantaneous.
Vivienne: Are you serious?
I chuckle. This girl is way too gullible.
Nate: No, of course not.
My reply is met with a thumbs down.
Vivienne: You’re not funny.
Nate: People tell me otherwise.
Vivienne: I’ve heard that one before. It’s time you came up with better lines.
Nate: What can I say? I’m at a loss for words whenever I’m in your orbit.
Vivienne: Orbit? To be in someone’s orbit, you have to be close enough to be drawn in.
The three little typing dots flicker, vanish, then reappear before her follow-up message finally comes.
Vivienne: Tell me you aren’t standing outside the lab.
I snort.
That woman is so paranoid, but I’ll admit her instincts are off the charts. Little does she know, she just handed me a clue to her whereabouts.
Nate: Maybe or maybe not. Depends what you’re up to.
The text earns me another thumbs down.
I wait for her to respond, but the reply never comes.
Nate: What are you up to?
Vivienne: I’m not giving you more information than you already have. I can’t have you finding out where I am.
I groan in frustration because she’s making this way harder than it should be. Plus, she said it herself—if we want this fake relationship to work, we’re going to have to communicate.
Nate: I’m trying to make it up to you.
Vivienne: Oh.
Nate: Yeah, oh.
A quiet guilt lingers behind her word, and I can tell her hard exterior is slowly cracking.
As strong as her armor is, Vivienne Brown has a soft heart. I got a small taste of that myself when she was comforting me at the gym, and now, for some odd reason, I’d do anything to see that side of her more.
Vivienne: I’m currently listening to the postdoc present his research update at our biweekly group meetings.
Nate: And how is it going?
Vivienne: Can’t say I’m interested. Why do you think I’m texting you?
My eyes roll in amusement.
That’s another thing to note about Vivienne. She’ll never back down from some great teasing.
Nate: Ouch. Are you saying I’m a second thought? That really hurt to know, my love.
Vivienne: Good. Let it burn.
Nate: Who’s your PI again?
Vivienne: Patrick Anderson.
Jackpot.
A wicked smile appears when she unknowingly admits her location. With a few clicks of my keyboard, I retrieve her whereabouts. I'm jumping out of my seat when another text comes through.
Vivienne: Don't you dare use that information to show at my place of work. You are NOT welcome here.
Satisfaction rings through me. At the end of the day, she really had no choice but to A) talk to me when I get there, and B) like me when she sees the pastries.
Okay, that last one is a stretch. She just has to forgive me for standing her up. And maybe she already has, but it doesn’t sit right with me knowing I didn’t make the effort to show it through my actions as well as my words.
Nate: I’m afraid it’s a little too late for that.
Vivienne: Nope. Absolutely not. If you show up, I will scream…and call security on you.
Nate: Screaming? I can find other ways to make that happen for you.
The response is prompt, starting with her classic thumbs-down emoji.
Vivienne: Straight to jail.
I laugh out loud as I read back her text.
Maybe it did cross the boundaries we set in place, but I can never resist a play on words.
Plus, I saw the way she looked at the gym—her appreciative eyes committing my body to memory, the lingering gaze over my semi underneath the towel. I don’t feel guilty about the blatant flirting, since she did worse the day before. And I wasn’t lying when I said it was part of my personality.
If she reiterates the no-flirting rule, I’ll respect it. But for now? I’ll let myself indulge in some fun—hell, maybe even turn it up a notch when I get to the lab.