Chapter 23 #2
Though I’ve spent little time here, one thing is clear: bad reputation or not, no one can deny the genius that is Nate Archer.
I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing it with my own eyes. People are seeking his opinion in every room and asking follow-up questions about everything he says. There’s always the occasional dirty look, but the fact still stands: everyone respects his mind.
And that includes Blake, the student he’s currently talking to. The poor guy is as red as a tomato and clearly nervous. It’s only when their technical conversation finishes that Blake seems to regain his ability to breathe properly.
“You ready to go?” Nate walks up to me when he’s finally done, nodding in the direction of the conference exit.
I shake my head, earning me a look of surprise. “I was wondering if we could stay? Maybe watch the next upcoming talk?”
Only one talk remains for the evening, and part of me hoped Nate wouldn’t question it too much.
Though I did tell Sutton that I would watch Carter Crawford’s talk on her behalf, I also wanted to see the guy for myself.
It’s the only way I’ll be able to get a good read on him.
My instincts about people’s characters are almost always right.
And aside from what Nate has already told me, something about Carter rubs me the wrong way.
I’m determined to find that out.
“You sure?” Nate asks with that same concern in his eyes.
I nod with an eager smile, easing the tension in his shoulders.
“This way.” He nods toward the darkened auditorium, where people are already gathered.
Nate puts his hand on the small of my back, and something about the movement makes my heart jump. Public displays of affection. It’s part of our deal, but knowing that this is now somewhat real makes it somehow different.
My reaction elicits a deep chuckle from the man walking behind me. “I think we’ve done way worse than that, babe.” He leans in to whisper, and I try my hardest not to blush.
Somewhere in the middle of the packed room, we find two empty seats. The dread in the pit of my stomach grows with each murmur and whisper exchanged. But it’s only when the lights illuminate the stage that my anxiety skyrockets.
Red-soled loafers. White turtleneck. Navy blue suit.
A sense of familiarity washes over me as a man walks in with slow, deliberate strides. Dazzling smile. Straight blond hair. Broad shoulders. Carter Crawford is a good-looking man, all right, but something about his personality seems disingenuous.
Nate stiffens beside me at the sight, and my gaze darts over, hoping to find some insight into what he’s thinking. But there’s nothing. Not an ounce of emotion runs through him as his old university friend waves into the crowd.
As requested by Evelyn, I snap a picture for her.
The flash goes off by accident, capturing Carter’s attention.
His brows furrow, and his eyes rake over my face before he does the same to the man sitting next to me.
It’s dark in here. There’s no way he sees us.
But by the wicked look he sports, it feels possible.
A large hand rests on my thigh with a tight squeeze.
The words are unspoken. Nate doesn’t like this one bit. And the regret of forcing him to sit through this finally washes over me. But it’s too late to leave now.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Carter speaks into the microphone. “As always, it’s a pleasure to be surrounded by some of the greatest minds of this generation, to talk and discuss a topic we all love—aviation—but most importantly, aerospace engineering.”
The buzzing of my phone starts up again. I look down to see my two closest friends spamming the group chat.
Evelyn: Good lord, he really is good-looking, isn’t he?
Sutton: First of all, you’ve got a boyfriend.
Sutton: Second of all, we’ve gone over this. He’s good-looking but in an evil way. No one in their right mind wears a turtleneck AND a blazer. It’s a horrible combination.
Evelyn: I’m allowed to crush because he’s famous and totally off the table.
Evelyn: And I agree with that. He definitely needs a new stylist. You should offer up your services.
Sutton: One, I am not a stylist. Two, you deserve jail time for that sentence. That’s an insane thing to suggest.
Evelyn: I deserve jail time for a lot of sentences, but no one’s caught me yet!
I put my phone down, trying to catch up on what I’ve missed, and by the looks of it, it doesn’t seem like much.
“As you all know”—Carter’s voice rushes back to me—“the purpose of these talks is to present upcoming projects, so without further ado, I present to you the SlipStream engine.”
Hushes and whispers fly around the room as the screen changes, revealing a very detailed blueprint of this so-called device.
The hand on my thigh tightens to the point I might lose circulation. And I look over at Nate in concern to find his jaw taut and his eyes strained on Carter.
“My design is built on the principle of inertial dampening—a system that can alter a plane’s resistance to acceleration. By reducing effective inertia, I can push an aircraft to speeds we never thought were imaginable, without tearing it apart.”
I cringe at the way he talks like he came up with this all on his own—as if he doesn’t have a team of people working for him. But it’s only when the next slide comes on, and the graphics really sink in, that I start to wonder if I’ve seen this before.
Slide after slide, the grip of the man sitting next to me tightens while my mind spins faster. It’s the same fonts, same images, same information—only the dark green color scheme of Archer Aviation has been exchanged for Crawford Aerospace’s much blander gray, black, and white.
My head snaps over to Nate when it all clicks into place.
“I know,” he says, so quiet, so calm.
Me? I can’t help the spike of anger that rises on his behalf.
“What do you mean, ‘I know,’ Nate? These are your ideas! That’s your presentation! It’s copy-and-pasted,” I whisper-yell, each word dripping in disbelief, but he's no longer fazed.
Carter seems to catch sight of our commotion, his smile growing wider as he moves on to the next slide, continuing his presentation as if he hadn’t passed someone else’s work as his own.
“You know it’s not the first time he’s done this,” Nate responds, and I hate to realize that he’s right.
That blond, no good motherfucker stole his idea back in university, ran away with it, and built a company from it. Now he’s at it ten years later, doing the same.